The Project Gutenberg EBook of Harper's Round Table, March 3, 1896, Vol.
XVII., No. 853, by Various

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Title: Harper's Round Table, March 3, 1896, Vol. XVII., No. 853

Author: Various

Release Date: April 9, 2017 [EBook #54520]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HARPER'S ROUND TABLE, MARCH ***




Produced by Annie R. McGuire








[Illustration: HARPER'S ROUND TABLE]

Copyright, 1896, by HARPER & BROTHERS. All Rights Reserved.

       *       *       *       *       *

PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, MARCH 3, 1896. FIVE CENTS A COPY.

VOL. XVII.--NO. 853. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.

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[Illustration]

A STOLEN COURT-HOUSE.

BY GEORGE MEASON WHICHER.


Father limped across the dirt floor of our sod house, and painfully sat
down on the edge of his bunk. "Boys," he said, with a little groan, "I
guess you'll have to go after that Durham bull. My rheumatism is so bad
I can't stir!"

"To-night?" asked Barney, eagerly, giving his book a shove.

"Who told you where he is?" I asked, hoping for time enough to look up
one more word.

"They've sent word from Hermann's that he's been around there ever since
that last herd came in from the South. They're going to move on early
to-morrow, and I'm afraid we'll never see him if we don't get him
to-night. Those drovers don't frighten off cattle that insist on going
along."

"Which Hermann's is it?" I asked again. "The ranch south of Alkali?"

"You'd better not be caught calling their town Alkali," interrupted
Barney. "They're touchier than ever about it since we got the
county-seat away from them last election."

"That's the place," answered father; "and I reckon it doesn't take much
of the potash out of their land to quit calling the town Alkali. No more
will they get their county-seat back again by calling the place
Fairlands."

I thrust my Cæsar under the brush thatch of our house where it joined
the sod wall. Barney was rummaging in his bunk and preparing for the
trip with unmistakable pleasure. He had not mourned greatly when
father's health had compelled us to leave our home in far-off Illinois
and settle in western Nebraska. But I had disliked to fall out of my
class in the Pana High-school, and now, after working all summer on our
claim, I was spending the fall and winter evenings in making up some of
the neglected studies, with the secret hope that father would be well
enough to spare me the next year.

"You can get Otto to lend you his ponies and go with you," went on
father. "Take the lower trail to the ranch, so's not to go through
Alkali. They've been feeling pretty ugly toward people from up here
anyway since election, and I hear there's been a row about it this week
and another of their men killed. And you be careful, Milton, and don't
let Barney get into any trouble with the cowboys at the ranch. They're a
dare-devil set; I wouldn't let you boys go if I could help it."

We did not hear all of this speech, I am afraid, for Barney was trying
to get his revolver into his pocket without attracting father's
attention, and I was still struggling with a subjunctive in the speech
of Ariovistus. But we were soon ready for our short walk to Otto's claim
in the section adjoining ours, and slightly nearer the little town of
Garfield. Otto was our nearest neighbor, an honest, hard-working German,
who had given us much assistance in the difficult work of settling on
our claim, and had now promised father to go with us and recover our
precious but troublesome Durham bull.

It must have been ten o'clock when we clattered across the long board
bridge over the Platte, and rode on through the short main street in
Garfield, the newly chosen capital of Black Ash County. We reached the
end of the street and were about to turn west into the wagon-trail
leading to Fairlands, or Alkali, as her triumphant rival persisted in
calling the town.

"What's that new shanty?" asked Barney, pointing to a small building as
we rode past. It could not have been more than twelve feet wide and
twenty feet long, but the gable end facing the street was masked by the
hideous square front of pioneer architecture, and from the top of the
unpainted pine cornice fluttered three or four cheap flags.

"T'at's t'e new court-house," explained Otto, proudly. "T'e sheriff is
alreaty yesterday mit his posse to Alkali gone, und pring t'e gounty
pooks pack."

"Did he bring back his posse?" asked Barney.

"Mostly," said Otto, with a grin; "some, t'ey ko on weiter."

The county-seat feud was a serious matter to the settlers in the towns
concerned, but Otto, like ourselves, could see a ludicrous side to it.

"I'll wager the Alkali gang burn it down," said Barney, as we left the
court-house behind us. "They're bound to do something to get even."

Otto did not reply. On we cantered over the long swells of the prairie,
the night wind blowing fresh and cold in our faces, while the frost
sparkled on the russet and brown grasses along the hard trail. Far off
we caught the shimmer of the moonlight on a "blow-out," where the light
soil showed at the crumbling edge of a bluff, and nearer at hand, on the
lowlands, we could see the straggling line of telegraph poles that
marked the line of the railroad.

We had ridden about half of our eight miles when Otto, who was leading,
suddenly halted. Before us lay a deep draw, as the dry hollows between
the ridges of the prairie are called. At the bottom of the slope, just
where the trail to Hermann's ranch joined the main road, stood a group
of men and horses. The latter were mostly harnessed to two elongated
lumber wagons, while their drivers and one or two horsemen were gathered
around a small fire of cattle chips and sage-brush. We could hear their
loud talk and laughter as we stood looking down upon them. Suddenly they
became silent.

"T'ey see us alreaty," said Otto. "Kome on, poys."

"Whar you'uns goin' this time o' day?" demanded one of the men, as we
rode up and saluted them. We recognized the speaker as Arkansaw Joe, a
saloon-keeper in Fairlands of no particular reputation. Most of his
companions evidently belonged to the same profession, though not so
eminent as their leader; but the horsemen, I felt sure, were cowboys
from the ranch to which we were going. Otto briefly explained our
errand.

"It's only that Dutchman from beyond Garfield and the two tenderfoot
kids," spoke another of the group. "I reckon they're all right."

Any foreigner is a Dutchman to a certain class of Americans. Otto had
long since grown tired of explaining that he came from Bavaria, and no
longer chafed against the classification. We were not so satisfied, but
it did not seem wise to argue about it just then.

"You'll have a dandy time with that critter of yourn," remarked one of
the ranchmen. "Hermann's picketed him for you, and he's tearin' mad.
It'll be a regular circus to see you git him back."

"Wat you t'ink, Milt?" said Otto. "We ko pack for t'e fat'er--nit?"

"I 'low you'uns'll go straight on," interposed Arkansaw, meaningly.
"We'uns are usin' this here trail to the east to-night, and it's all
needed. 'Sides, the kids 'ud miss the fun with the Durham."

There was no mistaking this hint, and we took the trail for the ranch,
Otto evidently worried, and Barney boiling over with indignation.

"Kids!" he exclaimed, scornfully, as we rode up the other side of the
draw. "I'd like to show them--"

The rest remained unsaid, for down the trail came a jingling crowd of
cowboys, and looking back as they rode past us, we saw them join the
group around the fire.

"What on earth are they up to, Otto?" I asked. He shook his head
soberly. Mischief was brewing, and we longed to ride back and see what
was about to happen, but Otto and I at least recognized the danger of
such a plan after the warning we had received.

Our thoughts were effectually diverted from this topic when we reached
the ranch. The bull was not an amiable beast on ordinary occasions, and
we found him in one of his wildest moods. His bellowings had attracted a
score of stray cattle from the outskirts of the ranch, and they were
standing beyond the reach of his horns as he strained on his picket
rope, and they were pawing the ground, pretending to gore one another,
until the bull was wild with rage. It took Otto a long time to get a
second rope around his horns, and meanwhile Barney and I, by the
vigorous use of our quirts, scattered the mavericks over the prairie.
The end of the picket rope was then fastened to my saddle, and we began
our struggle toward home. Again and again the bull would lower his horns
and make a desperate charge at one of his captors, only to be jerked to
his knees by the other. At times he would stand bellowing and snorting
until Barney rode up and plied the lash, when he would plunge ahead like
a runaway locomotive. Only the nimble-footed, long-suffering broncos
could or would have endured the wild work. To increase our trouble the
stray cattle kept close behind us. Many times they came so close that
Otto and I were compelled to halt and hold the bull, while Barney, with
hoarse shouts and language as abusive as he dared use, drove them back.

It was nearly dawn when we halted for this purpose on the edge of the
large draw where we had seen the mysterious gathering. As I watched
Barney dispersing our troublesome followers, I heard Otto muttering to
himself some polysyllabic imprecation on cattle in general and the
Durham bull in particular, and then he stopped short with a gasp of
surprise. Over the ridge on the other side of the draw there struggled
into sight two parallel columns of puffing horses, and then there slowly
climbed against the ruddy eastern sky the outlines of a building. Even
in that imperfect light we recognized it at the first glance as the
court-house deprived of its flags.

"Ach, du liebe Zeit!" gasped Otto. "T'ey shteal t'e gourt-house!"

It had been an easy task to shift it from its flimsy under-pinning to
the lumber wagons, and the horses had dragged it with little difficulty
over the smooth prairie. When necessary, the cowboys had helped pull by
fastening their lariats to the sill, and the party had probably reached
the draw with less exertion than we. I heard the sharp clank of the
drag-chains as they prepared to descend the slope.

"Where on earth are the Garfielders?" said I, and as I spoke we heard
the crack of a revolver from beyond the ridge. The cowboys unfastened
their ropes, and hurried back yelling like fiends and firing their
six-shooters into the air. Afar off the solitary church bell at Garfield
began to jingle wildly.

"Sound the tocsin!" shouted Barney, abandoning his chase and riding back
to see the fun. "What ho! Garfield to the rescue!"

But it was only too apparent that the town had been taken by surprise,
and had few champions in the field as yet. The shots grew fainter, and
in another minute the cowboys came over the ridge laughing and swearing
at the top of their voices, and rode down to help the teams up the
slope.

"Good-by court-house, if they once get her past the draw!" I exclaimed.

"Geewilikins!" said Barney, "I'd like to give 'm a shot," and he began
tugging at his pocket.

"Shtop t'at!" shrieked Otto. "You fool poy, mint t'em shteers!"

But it was too late. Down the trail behind us thundered the cattle. The
bull gave a bellow, and started down into the draw. Taken off our guard,
Otto and I were dragged helplessly after him, while Barney, giving an
Ogallalla war-whoop, fired his revolver as rapidly as he could. The air
fairly quivered with Otto's expostulations, addressed now to the bull
and now to the "verfluchte kid." On we swept in a mad race, and
yielding to a wild impulse, I gave forth my most blood-curdling yells. I
saw, rather than heard, the startled oaths of the teamsters. In the next
moment their horses were plunging and kicking as they heard the roar of
the angry Durham charging down upon them. There was a snapping of
harness and a breaking of axles as the teams swerved sharply apart, and
the new court-house rolled majestically over on its side with a crash of
broken windows. On we dashed, a tangle of horses and men, in the wake of
the bull, with a score of crazy cattle bringing up our rear. Before the
cowboys could recover from their surprise we were upon them. With a
snort of defiance the bull toppled over every horse he could reach, and
ploughed his way through the crowd of squealing broncos, dragging us
after him. As the horsemen scattered I saw Arkansaw Joe rolling out of a
cactus-bed, while his bronco fled in the direction of Alkali.

"Too bad to spoil our circus!" yelled Barney, as he swept past with a
grin. We reached the top of the slope, leaving our cattle train to amuse
our dismounted adversaries.

"Cut t'at lariat," shouted Otto, "and git home."

We urged our ponies to their topmost speed, for we knew only too well
what to expect when the cowboys should have had an opportunity to load
their revolvers. Had they not been empty when we made our charge, we
should hardly have escaped so easily. Luckily we were well out of range
by the time they reached the top of the draw. They galloped after us
about a mile, shouting and firing, until they saw us join a group of
horsemen who had ridden out from Garfield. Others were hurrying up, and
we were soon surrounded by a crowd of indignant citizens. We quickly
told what had happened. In a short time the force was thought large
enough to proceed to the rescue of the court-house, and in spite of
Otto's remonstrance, Barney and I turned back with them. But long before
we reached the scene of our adventure a column of smoke told us the fate
of the stolen building. There was nothing left to do when we rode up to
the blazing pile but to vow vengeance on the thieves, and resolve to
keep a better watch hereafter. When we arrived at our home we found that
the bull had preceded us, much to father's surprise. While I got
breakfast for the family, Barney gleefully related our adventure, and
finished by declaring that the bull ought to be immortalized in history
together with the geese that saved the Capitol. Father looked grave, and
warned us not to go near Alkali. We did not go, except once; but that,
as Mr. Kipling says, is another story.




THE CARE OF A GUN.

BY H. H. BENSON.


Aside from the pride and satisfaction which every sportsman should take
in keeping his favorite weapon bright and free from spots, inside and
out, it pays to keep a gun clean. The residue left in the barrel after
firing contains acids, which will soon eat "pits" or spots in the metal,
and when once started, it is almost impossible to prevent them
increasing in size and number. When badly pitted, the recoil is
increased by the roughness in the barrel. A gun can be cleaned by the
following directions. The cleaning-rod should have at least three
tools--a wool swab, a wire scratch-brush, and a wiper to run rags
through. Have plenty of water at hand--warm if you have it, if not cold
will do nicely. Put the swab on the rod, and some water in a tin basin
or wooden pail. By placing one end of the barrel in the water, you can
pump it up and down the barrel with the swab. When it is discolored take
fresh water, squeeze out the swab in it, and repeat the operation, until
the water comes from the barrel as clear as it went in. If the gun has
stood overnight, or longer, since using, it is best to put on the
scratch-brush after the first swabbing, and a few passes with this will
remove any hardened powder or leading. The next step is to fill the
wiper with woollen or cotton rags, and dry the barrel thoroughly. When
one set becomes wet take another, until they come from the barrel
perfectly dry. Then stand the barrel on end on a heated stove, changing
it from end to end, taking care that it does not become overheated. By
the time it is well warmed up, the hot air from the stove will have
dried out every particle of moisture left in the barrel. If no stove is
at hand, the last set of drying rags used must be plied vigorously up
and down the barrel until it becomes quite warm from the friction.
Drying is the most important part of cleaning, and if the least particle
of moisture is left in the barrel it will be a rust spot the next time
the gun is taken from its case. The gun may now be oiled, inside and
out, with sewing-machine oil or gun grease, which can be had in any
gun-store. The woollen rags used for greasing soak up a great deal of
oil, and should be dropped into the gun cover for future use.

Cartridges can be bought ready loaded, by hand or machinery, but most
sportsmen prefer to load their own, for several reasons. They find it
much cheaper, and the shells can be loaded to suit each one's individual
notion.

In regard to the safe handling of guns, almost all rules centre in that
of always carrying the gun in such a way that if it should be
accidentally discharged it would do no harm. If this rule is borne in
mind, and strictly obeyed in the beginning, it becomes a habit, and is
followed intuitively. The gun may be carried safely on either shoulder,
or in the hollow of either arm, with a sharp upward slant. When
momentarily expecting a bird to rise, and obliged to have the gun
cocked, it should be carried across the breast with a sharp upward slope
to the left. This is the only way the gun should be carried cocked. A
breech-loader is so easily unloaded that there is no excuse for getting
into a wagon or boat, or going around a house, without unloading. Never
hand a loaded gun to any one who asks to look at it. Whenever you pick
up any kind of a gun to examine it, always open it and see if it is
loaded, and the habit will grow so that you will do this almost without
knowing it. It seems needless to say never pull a gun toward you by the
muzzle through a fence or out of a boat or wagon, yet the violation of
this rule is the cause of more accidents than anything else. Never climb
a fence with your gun cocked.

In learning the art of shooting on the wing--and this is the only way in
which a shot-gun should be used--the following suggestions may be of
some help, but no amount of printed directions can teach you to shoot.
Practice is the best teacher. Nine out of ten young sportsmen shoot too
quickly. A game bird rises with a startling whir of the wing (and
sometimes when least expected), which gives the idea that he is making
much greater speed than he really is. Beginners are apt to become
excited, and throw up the gun anywhere in that direction, and blaze away
with no definite aim. For this reason it is best to begin with
blackbirds, ricebirds, and rails.

In almost every shot it is necessary to hold ahead of the bird, to allow
for the time it takes to explode the cartridge and throw the shot to the
bird. Even in this short space of time a cross-flying bird would be
safely out of the shot circle if you aimed right at him. If a bird flies
straight away from you, neither rising nor dropping, you should aim
right at it. If flying straight across, you should hold well ahead of
it. If quartering, still hold ahead, but less.

Many will ask how far to hold ahead, and this is a difficult question to
answer accurately, as we have no means of knowing just how far ahead we
do hold. One might say six feet and another six inches. What might
appear to be an inch at the muzzle of the gun might really be a foot in
front of a bird forty yards away. It must be learned by experience, and
when accustomed to it the aim will be taken almost instantly, governed
by the direction of flight, the speed of the bird, and the distance from
the shooter.

It is best to ask permission of the owner to shoot over his land. You
will seldom be refused, and will frequently be given permission to shoot
over land which is posted "No Shooting." The land-owners know that it is
the lawless hoodlums who do them damage.

Every true sportsman strictly obeys the game laws, and it is to his
advantage to do so, although in many States the laws are practically a
dead letter. Shooting out of season has nearly killed the game in many
localities, when it would still be abundant if the game laws had been
observed.




THE AMERICAN NIGHTS' ENTERTAINMENTS.

THE KITE MASQUERADE.

BY EMMA J. GRAY.


March had come in like a lion, but, contrary to the old prediction, was
going out in the same fashion. At least, so thought Dick Atwater as he
violently pulled his friend Joe Jacobs's door bell. Only a second or
two, and the door opened, when, rapidly passing through, he bounded up
two staircases, and in response to a hasty knock, was joyfully welcomed
in Joe's den, room, sanctum, or whatever the third-floor front might be
denominated.

[Illustration]

"Hello, old chap!" was the cheery, familiar greeting. "What's up now?
for that some scheme's afloat I know"; and immediately Joe commenced to
laugh, though, had any one inquired what at, he could not have told,
unless it was the merry twinkle in Dick's eyes--enough to make a judge
laugh, much less a rollicking, good-natured boy--the hale-fellow
sort--and Dick's boon companion and greatest friend.

So, without further parley, the two boys sat down opposite to each
other, one face all expectancy, knowing he was to hear something awfully
jolly; the other all animation, for so sure he was that he was about to
unfold a really taking scheme.

And this is what Joe heard: "You know April-fool's day will soon be
here, and as it's blowing great guns now, I don't imagine that all the
wind will die down by that time. So my plan is to give a kite masquerade
on the afternoon of that day."

"Fine!" and Joe Jacobs immediately jumped up to get out his new
"sky-scraper," as he called it, though it was altogether perfect; kite,
tail, string, everything was there, and his friend Dick had seen it
possibly fifty times before. But the simple thought of anything novel in
the kite line seemed too much for Joe's excitable temperament; besides,
he was very proud of this kite; it was brand-new, and none of the
fellows, if we will except Dick, knew that he had it.

So Joe, having gotten out his kite, again sat down, and with his
treasure in hand, holding it scrutinizingly up, looking at it most
attentively--indeed, surveying it backwards, forwards, every sort of a
way, even to an occasional unwinding and winding again of the string,
and unfastening of the tail--he yet was full of inquiry to discover
more. And as for Dick, he talked as excitedly, rapidly, and earnestly as
if Joe was as still as the Sphinx. He was not in the very least nervous
or ruffled, so entirely does one boy understand another. The scheme was
to give the exhibition in the lot in which they played baseball, and, as
Dick said, "Wear costumes, with masks, and we'll have lots of fun
fooling one another--just the sport for the 1st of April." And then he
added, "We'll tell the fellows to-morrow; I'm not afraid but what
they'll join us, and they can do as they like about their clothes, but
we'll dress each other up, Joe. What do you say to that for a fool
trick?" and a quick slap on the shoulder added emphasis to the boy's
enthusiasm.

"It's immense, that's what I think, and our kites are boss too. I wonder
if they'll suspect who we are?"

"Not if I can help it."

"I say, what will we wear, though, Dick? I don't care how ridiculous I
make myself."

"I know you don't; and I've thought you might go as an old soldier.
There is your father's cast-off suit--how would that do?"

"But there's some difference in our size."

"Well," laughed his friend, "about a hundred or so pounds. But that will
go for nothing when I get hold of the wadding. What fun I'll have
stuffing you! Fortunately your height's about right. I say, though, Joe,
you'd better wear a mask with a big gray beard, Santa Claus fashion, and
that will cover over any wrinkles there might be about the neck. And
don't forget the sabre. Go as a sure-enough soldier, or don't go as a
soldier at all. And for myself, there is always so much talk about my
leanness, gaunt, hungry-looking style, that I shall wear the costume of
a real down-East Yankee; and in order to make myself look taller than
ever I shall ask my sister to sew several red cloth stripes down my
trouser legs, long-tailed coat, and vest."

"You'll be a sight for mortal eye," complimented Joe, laughing so
heartily that he lost his balance and rolled off his chair full length
onto the new kite, which, however, was not in the least hurt by this
fantastic antic.

"I hope I will. I want to be a sight. And say, Joe, where do you suppose
I can borrow a tall gray beaver hat and a big"--and he held his hands at
arms'-length apart--"red cotton handkerchief?"

"I can get you the bandanna right enough, but the hat's a poser." And
Joe screwed up his mouth thoughtfully awhile; then, with a triumphant
nod, said: "I've got it. Go to Dr. Worth; he always wears 'em, and keeps
'em, too, for centuries almost. I once saw a whole stock of them on the
top shelf in his store-room. He'll let us have one all right enough,
I'll wager."

"That's good, and I'll get the dudest style of false face too, for I
mean to be a dandy; and our fun--well, it will beat a house afire."

After a little more laughter, comment, and explanation, the boys began
to talk about a game that Joe had learned the year before while in
Germany, and that both the boys thought would be a good thing to follow
the masquerade.

"What did you say it was called?"

"Schlaglaufen."

"My jaw is broken," and Dick rapidly raised his left hand, laying it
with a piteous cry across his lower jaw.

[Illustration]

At this action Joe gave him a sharp look; and then came the words. "You
needn't be so gay," and again the boys laughed merrily, Joe afterwards
adding, "Well, another name for the game, and a much more pronounceable
one, is 'Running for the Cap,' because a post is fixed in the ground,
and on it a cap is placed and run for. The boys must be equally divided;
one set is called catchers, the other runners, and these sets must stand
fifty yards apart. The catchers' position is thirty yards from the post,
and the runners' twenty. The call, one, two, three, is given, and on the
second three is spoken one boy from each party runs to the post. The
runner will naturally get there first, and he has to put the cap on his
head, and then replace it. He must do this with the utmost rapidity, as,
should the catcher overtake him on his way back to the position which he
held before starting to run, the boy becomes the catcher's prisoner, and
can no longer play."

[Illustration]

The rest of the time Dick spent in Joe's room was given to
marble-playing. Both boys were experts, and it was oftener than
otherwise a tie game rather than that either boy could honestly be
counted as being ahead of the other. Indeed, so evenly they played, it
was a great delight to play without other boys being in the game, and,
therefore, whenever there was opportunity, they, so to speak, challenged
each other. Joe's floor was carpeted in a square pattern measuring six
inches each way. Having selected a convenient square, an agate was
placed in each of three angles, counting the nearest one ten, the middle
twenty, and the other thirty. Two marbles were then rolled from the
fourth angle, the inside marble being on the angle, the other
immediately back of it, the object being to hit each agate with both
marbles. For this five shots were allowed. When done the numbers were
counted and the agates replaced for the next player. This amusement was
succeeded by the three following games:

_The Bagatelle-board Count Game._--Chalk a floor or mark a space in
exact copy of a bagatelle board ten feet long by three wide. In the
enclosure, at correct distances, mark the numbers; this may be done with
chalk, or the numbers may be painted on thin wooden blocks and laid in
position. Each player must start his marble at the extreme left-hand
corner, and state before starting the number he wishes to roll to.
Should the marble go to that number, and not roll on so as to touch
another, the player counts the number selected, and can then state
another number and play for that, and can so continue for seven minutes,
provided his marble always hits the number selected, and though rolling
on, does not touch or stop at any other. When his time is up his count
is scored, and the next player follows, subject to the same rules.
Should the marble stop on the number selected, it is counted double in
favor of the player. Again, should the marble, having reached the
selected number, still roll on and touch another, no count is allowed,
and the player must stop until his turn comes again.

_Five-arch Discount Game._--A strip of wood two inches thick, five
inches wide, and one yard long will be required. In this cut five
arches, making the centre one four inches in width, the others three
inches each; stand it up on the floor or on a table, and make the
starting-point six feet away. Four marbles may be rolled by each player.
When a marble goes through the centre arch it counts sixty, but if,
instead, it goes through either of the small arches, thirty is counted
off. If a marble fails to pass through either, it is counted out of the
game, and must be removed. The next turn around the player will use only
three instead of four marbles. The boy who has the highest tally has
won; should there be a tie they must roll again.

This game requires practice, or some players will find that they have
lost more than they have made.

_Circle Game._--Make a target of brown wrapping-paper, and put the
number 100 on the bull's eye. Outside of this mark five rings, making
the largest one two feet in diameter, the others proportionately
smaller. Inside of these rings put the numbers 10, 20, 30, 40, 50, the
centre as stated, being 100. Mark out a space on the ground for a base
five feet away; place the target on the ground, blindfold a player, lead
him to the base, turn him around twice, and leave him facing the target.
He is now entitled to roll three marbles, and then remove the blindfold.
His count will be the added numbers in the rings at which his marbles
have stopped. Should any of them stop on a line, he is entitled to the
largest number adjoining. No marbles must be moved, and each boy has the
privilege of trying the ground once with each marble, before being
blindfolded.

       *       *       *       *       *

At the Zoological Garden Railway Station, in Berlin, a restaurant has
been opened where rolls of bread and various kinds of eatables, etc.,
are dispensed automatically. On depositing in the slots ten-pfennig
pieces or fifty-pfennig pieces--according to the kind of refreshment
required--the apparatus delivers either rolls of bread or glasses filled
with drinkables--cups of coffee, tea, cocoa, etc. The bread rolls are of
different kinds, each kind being in a separate glass machine. In front
of them is a marble counter, and before each machine is a plate. When a
ten-pfennig piece is dropped into the slot the plate sinks below the
surface of the counter, and a roll of bread glides into it. The
restaurant has lately been thronged with customers. On one single Sunday
20,000 glasses and cups were paid for and emptied by the public, and
8000 penny rolls were demanded, and for the most part eaten.




FOR KING OR COUNTRY.

A Story of the Revolution.

BY JAMES BARNES.

CHAPTER XXI.

WHAT LED TO IT.


When George had left Rivington seated in his chaise on the Paulus Hook
Turnpike, he walked on down the narrow lane to which the path had led
him. A number of small houses stood there close together.

An old man was chopping wood in the back yard of the fifth house.
Although it was cold, he was in his shirt sleeves, and the blows of his
axe were sharp and lusty.

George, coming along the fence, observed him for some time before he
spoke. Then he cleared the rails with a left-handed vault, and
approached closer. The old man had stopped his chopping, and George saw
that he had but one leg.

"Good-morning!" George said, quietly. "God save our country!"

"Amen!" was the answer.

It was the patriot greeting.

"Will you help me?" went on George. "I have escaped from prison in New
York."

"You are blunt in the telling of it," said the kindly voice--there was a
twinkle in the sharp black eyes--"and I will be blunt in my answer. _I
will._ But come into the house. The door-yard is no place for the
discussion of state secrets."

When the door had closed behind them, the old man had looked at George's
clothes with interest.

"Were you in the hulks?" he asked. "I should judge not."

"No," returned George; "I was in the sugar-house prison, on Vine Street,
and was treated fairly well."

"Friends at court, eh?" suggested the old man, bobbing quickly over to a
window and letting the light into the room.

"Ay," said George, "and they helped me to escape. I will talk bluntly
again. I am a Lieutenant in the Thirteenth New Jersey Infantry, and was
despatched to New York on special business. I was captured, held
prisoner, and would now return to my command at Morristown."

"What's the news in town?" asked the old man.

"You hear but little in prison, but there are rumors that General Howe
is lazy," George answered.

"'Tis a frightful scandal," chuckled his host, who had now bobbed to the
other side of the room, and was taking down some cold meat and a loaf of
bread from the cupboard.

A door opened, and a young girl came from an inner room. She gave a
little exclamation as she saw that her grandfather had some one with
him.

"Another defender to assist," said the old man, briskly.

"Oh!" said the girl, smiling. "And what can we do for him?"

"Send him on his way rejoicing," was the answer. "Come, sir," he added;
"break bread with us, and I will drive you out of the Debatable District
and start you on your journey."

George murmured his thanks.

"No need of that," said the old man; "you are giving us a privilege.
Harness the old mare, Minnie, lass," he said. "No, don't move. She's as
handy as a whip about a stable," he added, as George had arisen.

The young girl flushed, and patted her grandfather on the shoulder as
she passed.

"It will be ready in a minute," she said, glancing at George out of the
corner of her eye.

"Put her to the sledge, and toss some hay in the bottom of it," called
the old gaffer after her. "I am afraid I shall have to take you part of
the way as cargo," he said, turning, and at the same time filling a
pewter mug full of cool fresh milk. "There's the drink that keeps one
young," he added, pouring out another for himself.

The sledge was waiting in the wood-shed, and George was soon covered
with the light load of hay.

"We have some suspicious neighbors hereabouts," said the girl, as she
lightly tossed the cover so as to conceal the young officer's form.
"Good-by, and an easy journey to you."

"Good-by, and a thousand thanks," came the answer from the depths of the
hay.

"G'long, Molly," said the old man, and the sledge slipped over the
shavings into the snowy road.

They jogged along for an hour or so, when it became evident to George
that they had left the beaten track and were going through deeper snow.

"Whoa up, old sweetheart! Back! back! 'Sh! 'sh!" called the driver,
reining in. "Jump out," he said. "Here's where we change."

They were drawn up alongside of an old log barn in the midst of a
clearing in the woods.

George struggled from his hiding-place.

Searching in the hay, his benefactor drew forth a saddle.

"It is impossible for you to walk, and you must take old Molly and jog
along as best you can. You will have to accept a loan of her, Mr.
Lieutenant. Fifteen miles from here you will find Lyons Farms. Ask for
the house of Pastor Hinchley. You can be as blunt with him as you were
with me. Leave the old mare there. Mr. Hinchley will set you on your
way, and you can proceed on foot. If I am not mistaken, there are some
of our gallant lads not many miles to the westward of Short Hills."

"To whom should I be thankful?" inquired George, quite overcome.

"To the Lord Almighty and His humble servant Peter Wissinck, very much
at your service. My ancestor it was who settled the island of
Manhattan."

The old man had said this proudly.

"That is an honor indeed," replied George, lifting his hat.

"Yes," said the old man, "I am as Dutch as blue china plate. Dutch
backbone and Yankee heart--that's a good combination for you!"

"Good indeed," said George. "But pray tell me how you are going to
return?" he continued, loath at first to accept the kind offer of the
horse.

"Dot and go one," was the answer. "Hop, skip, and a jump. There's no one
can beat me at it. Come, lad, into the saddle."

As George settled himself and reached forward for the reins old Peter
struck the mare a slap on the flank.

"G'long, Molly," he said. "Take good care of him."

Then he turned and started back at a furious pace along the drifted
road. It would have taken a good walker to have caught up with him.

If George had known the adventures that were soon to befall him his
heart might have failed him. He had ridden on for some hours, when he
thought he heard the sound of distant shots ahead. It was past noonday
when he came in sight of Lyons Farms.


CHAPTER XXII.

A FORCED OPPORTUNITY.

We left William standing in the hallway at Stanham Manor. When Cato had
gone with the heavy saddle-bags, he closed the door that led to the
north wing softly behind him.

Lieutenant Frothingham was left alone. He sighed and rested his elbow on
the back of a tall chair, and gazed into the glowing embers on the
hearth. For a long time he remained motionless, and when he looked up
again and out of the window he saw that a black cloud had obscured the
moon. But there was a small circle of light moving down the lane. Long
black shadows wavered across the snow on the meadow.

He stepped to the window sill, and at last could make out that it was a
lantern, and that the shadows were those of the man's legs who carried
it. There were dark objects behind him, and now the figures turned
about the corner and came straight toward the house. He heard the
slamming of a side door, and saw Cato step outside and start to meet the
new-comers.

Suddenly Cato stopped, and turning, sped like a deer back to the
veranda, and dodged in through the side entrance. How noiselessly the
old man could move! William did not know that he had entered the hall
until there was a soft touch on the elbow that was in the sling.

"Jasper Gates!" exclaimed the old man, whispering, with his face close
to William's ear. "Hide yo'self. Don't go outside. Some folks is
bringin' some one up here on a litter, and, 'fo' de Lawd, I do believe
it's yo' brudder Mas'r George. Come quick. Hide in de big garret at de
head ob de stairs. I'll help you git 'way 'fore mornin'. Don't stop to
talk now, chile, but come 'long."

He led the way up the stairway two steps at a time. In a minute or so
there was great confusion through the house.

Two men carrying a rough litter made of boughs came into the hall. They
were preceded by the slouching figure of Adam Bent Knee, the old Indian,
carrying a lantern. The men laid their burden on the floor before the
fire.

Aunt Clarissa, in a quilted dressing-gown, came down the stairs. The
light from the candle showed red through her fingers.

"Ugh! most froze," said the old Indian.

"It's Master George, ma'am," said one of the men who had carried the
litter. "Old Adam found him in the snow a short way down the road. He's
got a bad touch, surely."

The other man tapped his forehead significantly.

It was evident that something serious was amiss, for the poor figure on
the litter murmured incoherently.

Aunt Polly, scared almost gray, had been awakened at last. She had given
one look at the empty bed that William had left, and like a frightened,
squawking hen flew down the hall. "Lawd fo'gib me, I done fall 'sleep,"
she said, "an' he must git 'way den. What's he don wiv dose close?"

"His imprisonment was too much for him," said Aunt Clarissa. "We should
have watched him more closely."

A delirious moan showed that some immediate action must be taken.

"Here, you, lift him up and take him to his room--poor boy! How did he
get out?" said Aunt Clarissa, noticing that the right arm was still
supported in the black silk neckerchief.

In a few minutes George, moaning feebly, was ensconced in the pillows
not long ago left vacant by his brother. It was evident that he was
suffering from exposure. He was in a raging fever.

A man was despatched at once for the doctor, but it would be some hours
before he could return.

"Now, all of you, off to bed," said Aunt Clarissa. "I will watch him."

"Won't you let me stay, Mistis?" murmured Aunt Polly, tearfully. "I'll
promise not to go to sleep."

"Out of my sight!" said Aunt Clarissa, sternly. "I would not trust you
to watch a boiling kettle. Out of my sight, you viper!"

Mrs. Frothingham's solicitude for her nephew was something new and
strange, but, nevertheless, the servants slunk away.

Aunt Clarissa, however, had not forgotten to thank Adam Bent Knee or the
men whom he had called from the foundry settlement to assist him in
carrying the litter. The old Indian had related none of the
circumstances, merely stating he had found George in the snow.

When she was alone the stern nature broke down, and Aunt Clarissa
approached the bedside. She knelt down and hid her face in her hands.

"I am punished for my stubborn pride," she said. Then in prayer she
poured forth all the contrition of her heart.

Sleep is a curious phenomenon in many ways. Things that might be
expected to awaken seem to coincide with our dreaming thoughts and pass
us by, while soft noises or an unexpected presence awakens us as if a
cold hand had been laid upon the forehead.

Grace had not been awakened by the trampling of the many feet or the
commotion caused by carrying George up the stairway. She had dreamed
that a body of troops had taken possession of the house, and that she
was endeavoring to hide, for a voice had seemed to say, "The British are
here!"

Afterwards the dream had changed, as all dreams do, and she was again a
little girl playing on the bank of the brook with her two beloved
brothers--one now lying ill in the big room down the hall, and the
other, for aught she knew, far away in the distant city of London--for
William's letter to Aunt Clarissa announcing his arrival in America had
not reached Stanham Mills.

As Grace dreamed once more of the old days, she had awakened. The moon
had come out again, and was about to sink behind the range of western
hills, but the cold light flooded the room.

All at once Grace started and sat up. Yes! There was no doubt about it.
There were footsteps going down the hall. She stole to the door and
opened it cautiously, her heart beating fast.

She was not mistaken, for there was the figure of her brother George,
dressed exactly as when he had arrived on horseback, stepping carefully
down the broad staircase.

The girl hastened back into the room, and slipping her little white feet
into a pair of soft slippers, she threw a heavy cloak about her, and
picked up the candle that was burning brightly behind its paper shade.

When she reached the hallway below she started. There was her brother
endeavoring with his left hand to open the heavy front door. "George!"
she called, "Is it you?"

"Go back. Don't come near me," came the answer, "I pray you let me go."

[Illustration: "WHERE ARE YOU GOING? STOP! STOP!" SHE SAID.]

It seemed to Grace that she must yet be dreaming; but despite the
warning, she approached closer, holding the candle high above her head.
"Where are you going? Stop! Stop!" she said.

"Good-by, good-by, dear sister," was the only answer.

With an effort the door had been thrown open, and a gust of wind blowing
coldly in extinguished the candle she was holding.

The door closed softly. Grace stumbled forward. The last thing that was
pictured in her mind was that strange left hand reaching and tugging at
the massive bolt. Across the back of it she had seen a scar!

It was so black around her that her eyes at first could not find the
direction of familiar objects. At last, however, she made out the
stairway, and turned toward it, filled with fright at what she had seen.

What did it mean? It was _William's hand!_ And now something was moving,
she was sure, over to the left against the wainscoting, and she could
hear it scrape: and then she felt as if she heard a breath. It was too
much for her tense nerves, and she shrieked aloud--the terrifying
woman's scream of fear and horror that starts the strongest nerves.

"'S--'sh--, it's only Cato!" said a voice close to her.

Grace controlled herself with an effort. But the one scream had rung
through the house, and lights and footsteps came hurrying along the
corridors. "Oh, Cato, I'm so frightened!" she said. "You don't know what
I have seen."

"You's been walkin' in yo' sleep, missy," said the old negro. "Come,
here's Aunt Polly; jes go 'long wid her."

"It's nuffin, it's nuffin at all," he shouted to the group that had
assembled at the head of the stairway, Aunt Clarissa and the guest, the
young officer, among them. The latter had wound, toga fashion, about him
a patchwork quilt, and carried his drawn sword in his hand, "Jes Miss
Grace been walkin' in her sleep, and got little skeered, I reckin," said
the old servant, with a throaty laugh.

"No, Cato, I was not walking in my sleep. I saw--"

"Now come, Miss Grace," interrupted Aunt Polly, "jes don' t'ink ob dat
no more. Come off to bed, an' let yo' ol' mammy tuck yo' in."

Aunt Clarissa followed her niece into her bedroom, but would not let the
old negress follow.

The young officer had disappeared as soon as he had seen there was no
use for his eager steel.

"Grace," said Aunt Clarissa, "what was it?"

"It was William," said the girl; "I saw him plainly. He said, 'Good-by.'
Oh, auntie, what does it mean? You remember the scar across his hand?"

"It means that something has happened," said Aunt Clarissa, at first,
sententiously. Then, after a pause: "Come, come, now; it may only be a
dream, after all. Go to sleep. I must go back to your brother George."

Aunt Clarissa was worried, nevertheless; and when she reached the
bedroom where George lay she once more sank down upon her knees. Oh,
Inconsistency! Aunt Clarissa was praying for the confusion of the forces
of the King!

The figure on the bed moaned uneasily.

"What is it, dear?" said Aunt Clarissa, lifting her head from the
counterpane.

If George could have heard this term of endearment, it would have almost
convinced him that he must have lost his wits; but Aunt Clarissa had
undergone a great reconstruction.

"Oh, it is you, Cloud, is it?" exclaimed George, distinctly. "You
black-hearted villain, you dare not harm me." Again he sank back and
mumbled incoherently.

Aunt Clarissa had listened. "Cloud--Cloud--why, that's the name of our
old overseer! What could he have been doing around here?" she whispered.

At this minute there was a clatter at the front door; the doctor had
arrived.

"Where under the sun has this young man been?" he asked, as he stood at
the bedside.

"In a few words I will tell you," said Aunt Clarissa, who never wasted
her breath at the best. "He has escaped from an English prison in New
York, where they treat men so horribly that it is enough to turn one's
hair to listen to it, let alone one's heart. He arrived yesterday
afternoon on horseback, looking tired and worn. He fainted, and I put
him to bed. I left that worthless colored wench Polly to keep her eye on
him, and she fell asleep. He got out somehow, and the Lord only knows
where he has been, for his clothes were torn and smothered in mud and
ooze when they found him up the road. He probably had been gone two
hours."

"He's been through some great strain," said the doctor; "and see the
marks around his neck."

There was a welt the breadth of one's finger showing plainly on the
white skin of George's throat.

"Rest is what he needs. The trouble is with his brain. The wound in his
arm is old and healing." The doctor spoke slowly, and placed his ear on
George's chest. "He will recover," he said.

After he had made this examination the surgeon had left a sleeping
potion, and had ridden home in the early morning light. He had arrived
at the Manor House by the Valley Road, but determined to make his way
back across the Ridge.

But he had gone only a short distance along the road that led up the
hill when his horse stopped and began to blow, much in the manner of a
startled deer, his ears pricked forward, and his haunches lowered and
quivering.

The doctor looked ahead, and saw something in the bushes. But not a step
nearer could he urge his steed. So he slipped from the saddle, and
dragging the reins over the trembling horse's head, took a stride to one
side of the road.

There lay the body of a man with arms outstretched and the face turned
upwards. He had on a pair of fringed buckskin leggings and an old
soldier coat, green with red facings. He was dead.

The doctor stooped closer to examine, and an exclamation broke from his
lips. The man had been scalped skilfully! It was years since such a
thing had occurred in that part of the country.

There was something familiar in the drawn features, and the doctor,
twisting himself so as to obtain a better look, uttered something
beneath his breath.

"By Homer's beard!" he said, "it's Cloud, the renegade!"

There were signs of a struggle in the bushes and the prints of
moccasined feet in the snow. Further on it was evident from footprints
that a number of men and horses had crossed the road.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]




RICK DALE.

A Story of the Northwest Coast.

BY KIRK MUNROE,

AUTHOR OF "SNOW-SHOES AND SLEDGES," "THE FUR-SEAL'S TOOTH," "THE 'MATE'
SERIES," "FLAMINGO FEATHER," ETC.

CHAPTER III.

ALARIC TAKES A FIRST LESSON.


On the day following that of the runaway, Esther Dale resumed her
position as a personally conducted tourist, and departed from San
Francisco, leaving Alaric to feel that he had lost the first real friend
he had ever known. Her influence remained with him, however, and as he
thought of her words and example, his determination to enter upon some
different form of life became indelibly fixed.

That very day he drove again to the park, this time with only his groom
for company, and went directly to the place where the game of baseball
had been in progress the afternoon before. As he hoped, another was
about to begin, though there were not quite enough players to make two
full nines. Hearing one of the boys say this, and discovering an
acquaintance among them, Alaric jumped from his cart, and going up to
him, asked to be allowed to fill one of the vacant positions.

Reg Barker was freckle-faced and red-headed, clad in flannels, with
sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and was adjusting a catcher's mask to
his face when Alaric approached. As the latter made known his desire,
Reg Barker, who was extremely jealous of the other's wealth and fame as
a traveller, regarded him for a moment with amazement, and then burst
into a shout of laughter.

"Hi, fellows!" he called, "here's a good one--best I ever heard! Here's
Allie Todd, kid gloves and all, wants to play first base. What do you
say--shall we give him a show?"

"Yes," shouted one; "No," cried another, as the boys crowded about the
two, gazing at Alaric curiously as though he belonged to some different
species.

"We might make him Captain of the nine," called out one boy, who had
just gone to the bat.

"No, he'd do better as umpire," suggested Reg Barker. "Don't you see
he's dressed for it? I don't know, though; I'm afraid that would come
under the head of cruelty to children, and we'd have the society down on
us."

As Alaric, with a crimson face and a choking in his throat, sought in
vain for some outlet of escape from the tormentors who surrounded him,
and at the same time longed with a bitter longing for the power to
annihilate them, a lad somewhat older than the others forced his way
through the throng and demanded to know what was the row. He was Dave
Carncross, the pitcher, and one of the best amateur players of his age
on the coast.

"It's Miss Allie Todd," explained Reg Barker, "and her ladyship is
offering to show us how to play ball."

"Shut up, Red Top," commanded the new-comer, threateningly. "When I want
any of your chaff I'll let you know." Then turning to Alaric, he said,
pleasantly, "Now, young un, tell me all about it yourself."

"There isn't much to tell," replied the boy, in a low tone, and with an
instinctive warming of his heart toward the sturdy lad who had come to
his rescue. "I wanted to learn how to play ball, and knowing Reg Barker,
asked him to teach me; that's all."

"And he insulted you, like the young brute he is. I see. Red Top, if you
won't learn manners any other way I shall have to thrash them into you.
So look out for yourself. Now, you new fellow, your name's Todd, isn't
it?"

"Yes."

"And your father is Amos Todd, the millionaire?"

Alaric admitted that such was the case.

"Well, I know you, or rather my father knows your father. In fact, I
think they have some business together, and after this whenever you
choose to come out here if I'm around I'll see that you are treated
decently. As for learning to play ball, the mere fact that you want to
shows that you are made of good stuff, and I don't mind giving you a
lesson right now. So let's see if you can catch."

Thus saying, the stalwart young pitcher, who held a ball in his hand,
ran back a few rods, and with a seemingly careless swing of his arm,
threw the ball straight and swift as an arrow at Alaric, who
instinctively held out his hands.

Had he undertaken to stop a spent cannon-ball the boy could hardly have
been more amazed at the result. As the ball dropped to the ground he
felt as though he had grasped a handful of red-hot coals. Both his kid
gloves were split right across the palms, and the smart of his hands was
so great that, in spite of his efforts to restrain them, unbidden tears
sprang to his eyes.

A shout of laughter arose from the spectators of this practical lesson;
but Dave Carncross, running up to him and recovering the dropped ball,
said, cheerily: "Never mind those duffers, young un. They couldn't do
any better themselves once, and you'll do better than any of them some
time. First lessons in experience always come high, and have to be paid
for on the spot; but they are worth the price, and you'll know better
next time than to stop a hot hall with stiff arms. What you want to do
is to let 'em give with the ball. See, like this."

Here Dave picked up a bat, struck the ball straight up in the air until
it seemed to be going out of sight, and running under it as it
descended, caught it as deftly and gently as though it had been a wad of
feathers.

"There," said he, "you have learned by experience the wrong way of
catching a ball, and seen the right way. I can't stop to teach you any
more now, for our game is waiting. What you want to do, though, is to go
down town and get a ball--a 'regulation dead,' mind--take it home, and
practise catching until you have learned the trick and covered your
hands with blisters. Then come back here, and I will show you something
else. Good-by--so long!"

With this the good-natured fellow ran off to take his place in the
pitcher's box, leaving Alaric filled with gratitude, and glowing with
the first thrill of real boyish life that he had ever known. For a while
he stood and watched the game, his still-tingling hands causing him to
appreciate as never before the beauty of every successful catch that was
made. He wondered if pitching a ball could be as difficult as catching
one, or even any harder than it looked. It certainly appeared easy
enough. He admired the reckless manner in which the players flung
themselves at the bases, sliding along the ground as though bent on
ploughing it with their noses; while the ability to hit one of those
red-hot balls with a regulation bat seemed to him little short of
marvellous. In fact, our lad was, for the first time in his life,
viewing a game of baseball through his newly discovered loop-hole of
experience, and finding it a vastly different affair from the same scene
shrouded by an unrent veil of ignorance.

After he had driven away from the fascinating game, his mind was so full
of it that when, in passing the children's playground, he was invited by
Miss Sue Barker, sister of red-headed Reg, to join in a game of croquet,
he declined, politely enough, but with such an unwonted tone of contempt
in his voice as caused the girl to stare after him in amazement.

He procured a regulation baseball before going home, and then practised
with it in the court-yard behind the Todd palace until his hands were
red and swollen. Their condition was so noticeable at dinner-time that
his father inquired into the cause. When the boy confessed that he had
been practising with a baseball, his brother John laughed loud and long,
and asked him if he intended to become a professional.

His sister only said, "Oh, Allie! How can you care to do anything so
common? And where did you pick up the notion? I am sure you never saw
anything of the kind in France."

"No," replied the boy; "I only wish I had."

His father said, "It's all right, my son, so long as you play gently;
but you must be very careful not to over-exert yourself. Remember your
poor weak heart and the consequences of too violent exercise."

"Oh, bother my weak heart!" cried the boy, impatiently. "I don't believe
my heart's any weaker than anybody else's heart, and the doctor who said
so was an old muff."

At this unheard-of outbreak on the part of the long-suffering youngest
member of the family John and Margaret glanced significantly at each
other, as though they suspected his mind was becoming affected as well
as his body; while his father said, soothingly, as though to an ailing
child:

"Well, well, Allie, let it go. I am sorry that you should forget your
manners; but if the subject is distasteful to you, we won't talk of it
any more."

"But I want to talk of it, father. I am sorry that I spoke as I did just
now; but you can't know what an unhappy thing it is to be living on in
the way I am, without doing anything that amounts to anything, or will
ever lead to anything. Won't you let me go on to a ranch or somewhere
where I can learn to be a man?"

"Of course, my boy," replied Amos Todd, still speaking as soothingly as
he knew how. "I will let you go anywhere you please, and do what you
please, just as quickly as I can find the right person to take care of
you, and see that you do nothing injurious. How would you like to go to
France with Margaret and me this summer? I am thinking of making the
trip."

"I would rather go to China, or anywhere else in the world," replied the
boy, vehemently. "I am tired to death of France and Germany and
Switzerland and Italy, and all the other wretched European places, with
their _bads_ and _bains_ and _spas_ and Herr Doctors and _malades_. I
want to go into a world of live people, and strong people, and people
who don't know whether they have any hearts or not, and don't care."

"Well, well, son, I will try and arrange something for you, only don't
get excited," said Amos Todd, at the same time burying himself in his
evening paper so as to put an end to the uncomfortable interview.

In spite of the unsatisfactory ending of this conversation, Alaric felt
greatly encouraged by it, and during the week that followed he devoted
himself as assiduously to learning to catch a baseball as though that
were the one preparation needful for plunging into a world of live
people. Morning, noon, and evening he kept his groom so busy passing
ball with him that the exercising of the ponies was sadly neglected in
consequence. With all this practice, and in spite of bruised hands and
lamed fingers, he at length became so expert that he began to think of
hunting up his friend Dave Carncross, and presenting himself for an
examination in the art of ball-catching.

Every now and then he asked his father if he had not thought of some
plan for him, and the invariable answer was: "It's all right, Allie;
I've got a scheme on foot that is working so that I can tell you about
it in a few days."

In the mean time the date of Amos Todd's departure for Europe with his
daughter was fixed. Shortly before its arrival the former called Alaric
aside, and, with a beaming face, announced that he had at length
succeeded in making most satisfactory arrangements. "You said you wanted
to go to China, you know," he continued; "so I have laid out a fine trip
for you to China, and India, and Egypt, and all sorts of places, and
persuaded a most excellent couple, a gentleman and his wife, to go along
and take care of you. He is a professor and she is a doctor, so you will
be well looked after, and won't have the least bit of responsibility or
worry."


CHAPTER IV.

THE "EMPRESS" LOSES A PASSENGER.

Professor Maximus Sonntagg, a big man with a beard, and his wife, Mrs.
Dr. Ophelia Sonntagg, who was thin and mysterious, had come out of the
East to seek their fortunes in the Golden City about a year before, but
up to this time without any great amount of success. The former was a
professor of almost everything in the shape of ancient and modern art,
languages, history, and a lot of other things, concerning all of which
he wrote articles for the papers, always signing his name to them in
full. The Mrs. Doctor had learned the art of saying little, looking
wise, and shaking her head, as she felt the pulse of her patients.

These people had managed to scrape an acquaintance with Amos Todd, whom
the Professor declared to be the only patron of art in San Francisco
worth knowing, and to whom he gave some really valuable advice
concerning the purchase of certain paintings. Thus it happened that when
the busy millionaire, in seeking to provide a safe and congenial
amusement for the son whom he firmly believed to be an invalid,
conceived the idea of sending him around the world by way of China, he
also thought of the Sonntaggs as most suitable travelling companions for
him. Where else could he find such a combination of tutor and
physician, a man of the world to take his place as father, and a
cultivated woman to act as mother to his motherless boy?

When he proposed the plan to the Sonntaggs, they declared that they
could not think of giving up the prosperous business they had
established in San Francisco, even for the sake of obliging their dear
friend Mr. Amos Todd. With this the millionaire made them an offer of
such unheard-of munificence that, with pretended reluctance, they
finally accepted it, and he went on his way rejoicing.

The next evening the Sonntaggs dined at Amos Todd's house for the
purpose of making Alaric's acquaintance. The Professor patted him on the
shoulder, and, in a patronizing manner, hoped they should learn much and
enjoy much together. The Mrs. Doctor surveyed him critically, and held
his hand until the boy wondered if she would never let it go. Finally
she shook her head, sighed deeply, and, turning to his father, said:

"I understand the dear child's case thoroughly. What he needs is
intelligent treatment and motherly care. I can give him both, and
unhesitatingly promise to restore him to you at the end of a year, if
nothing occurs to prevent, strong, well, and an ornament to the name of
Todd."

Alaric found no difficulty in forming an opinion of the Sonntaggs, and
wondered if going to France with his father and sister would not be
preferable to travelling in their company. So occupied was he with this
question that he hardly ate a mouthful of the sumptuous dinner served in
honor of the guests--a fact that was noted with significant glances by
all at the table.

It was planned that very evening that the Pacific should be crossed in
one of the superb steamships sailing from Vancouver, in British
Columbia, and a despatch was sent off at once to engage staterooms. The
journey was to be begun, two days later, for that was the date on which
Amos Todd and his daughter were to start for France; and though the
_Empress_ would not sail from Vancouver for a week after that, the house
would be closed, and it was thought best for Alaric to travel up the
coast by easy stages.

During those two days of grace the poor lad's mind was in a ferment. He
had no desire to go to China or anywhere else outside of his own
country. Having travelled nearly all his life, he was so tired of it
that travelling now seemed to him one of the most unpleasant things a
boy could be compelled to undertake. He did not want to go to France, of
course, and decided that even China in company with the Sonntaggs would
be better than Europe.

Still, he tried to escape from going away at all, and asked his brother
John to let him stay with him and go to work in the bank; but John Todd
answered that he was too busy a man to have the care of an invalid, and
that their father's plan was by far the best. Then, as a last resort,
Alaric went to the park, hoping to meet Dave Carncross, and determined,
if he did, to lay the whole case before him, and ask his advice. Even
here fate seemed against him; for, from a strange boy of whom he made
inquiry, he learned that Carncross had left the city a day or two
before, though where he had gone the boy did not know.

So preparations for the impending journey went busily forward, and
Alaric, who felt very much like a helpless victim of misfortune, could
find no excuse for delaying them. Even in the preparations being made
for his own comfort he was given no active part. Everything that he was
supposed to need and did not already possess was procured for him. His
father presented him with a superb travelling-bag, fitted with all
possible toilet accessories in silver and cut glass, but the boy would
infinitely have preferred a baseball bat, and a chance to use it.

At length the day for starting arrived, and, with as great reluctance as
he had ever felt in his life, Alaric entered the carriage that was to
convey the Todds to the Oakland ferry. Crossing the bay, they found the
Sonntaggs awaiting them on the other side, where the whole party entered
Amos Todd's palatial private car that was attached to the Overland
Express. In this way they travelled together as far as Sacramento, where
Alaric bade his father and sister good-by. Then he and his newly
appointed guardians boarded the special car provided for them, and in
which they were to proceed by the famous Shasta route to the far North.

Up to this point the Sonntaggs had proved very attentive, and had
striven by every means to make themselves agreeable to their
fellow-travellers. From here on, however, the Professor spent most of
his time in smoking and sleeping, while his wife devoted herself to
reading novels, a great stack of which had been provided for the
journey. Alaric, thus left to his own devices, gazed drearily from the
car window, rebelling inwardly at the lonely grandeur with which he was
surrounded, and wishing with all his heart that he were poor enough to
be allowed to travel in one of the ordinary coaches, in which were
several boys of his own age, who seemed to be having a tantalizingly
good time. They were clad in flannels, knickerbockers, and heavy walking
shoes, and Alaric noted with satisfaction that they all wore gray Tam o'
Shanter caps such as he had procured at Esther Dale's suggestion, and
was now wearing for the first time.

They left the train at Sisson, and Alaric, standing on the platform of
his car, gathered from their conversation that they were about to climb
Mount Shasta, the superb rock-ribbed giant that lifted his snow-crowned
head more than 14,000 feet in the air a few miles from that point. What
wouldn't he give to be allowed to join the merry party and make the
adventurous trip with them? He had been familiar with mountains by sight
all his life, and had always longed to climb one, but had never been
given the opportunity.

It was small consolation to notice one of the boys draw the attention of
the others to him, and overhear him say: "Look at that chap travelling
in a special car like a young millionaire. I say, fellows, that must be
great fun, and I'd like to try it just for once, wouldn't you?"

The others agreed that they would, and then the group passed out of
hearing, while Alaric said to himself, "I only wish they could try
travelling all alone in a special car, just to find out how little fun
there is in it."

The following morning Portland, Oregon, was reached, and here the car
was side-tracked that its occupants might spend a day or two in the
city. The Sonntaggs seemed to have many acquaintances here, and for
these they held a reception in the car, gave a dinner at the Hotel
Portland, and ordered carriages in which to drive about, all at Amos
Todd's expense. In these diversions Alaric was at liberty to join or
not, as he pleased, and he generally preferred to remain behind or to
wander about by himself.

The same programme was repeated at Tacoma and Seattle in the State of
Washington, and at Vancouver in British Columbia. In the last-named
place Alaric's chief amusement lay in watching the lading of the great
white ship that was to bear him away, and the busy life of the port with
its queer medley of Yankees and Britishers, Indians and Chinamen,
tourists, sailors, and stevedores. The last named especially excited his
envious admiration--they were such big men, and so strong.

At length the morning of sailing arrived, and as the mighty steamship
moved majestically out of the harbor, and, leaving the brown waters of
Burrard Inlet behind, swept on into the open blue of the Gulf of
Georgia, the boy was overwhelmed with a great wave of homesickness.
Standing alone at the extreme after end of the promenade deck, he
watched the fading land with strained eyes, and felt like an outcast and
a wanderer on the face of the earth.

After a while the ship began to thread a bewildering maze of islands, in
which Professor Sonntagg made a slight effort to interest his moody
young charge; but finding this a difficult task, he quickly gave it up,
and joined some acquaintances in the smoking-room.

Alaric had not known that the _Empress_ was to make one stop before
taking her final departure from the coast. So when she was made fast to
the outer wharf at Victoria on the island of Vancouver, the largest city
in British Columbia, and its capital, he felt like one who receives an
unexpected reprieve from an unpleasant fate.

As it was announced that she would remain here two hours, the Sonntaggs,
according to their custom, at once engaged a carriage to take them to
the most interesting places in the city. This plan had been suggested by
Amos Todd himself, who had bidden them spare no expense or pains to show
his son all that was worth seeing in the various cities they might
visit; and that the boy generally declined to accompany them on these
excursions was surely not their fault--at least, they did not regard it
so.

The truth was that Alaric had taken a dislike to these pretentious
people from the very first, and it had grown so much stronger on closer
acquaintance that now he was willing to do almost anything to avoid
their company. Thus on this occasion he allowed them to drive off
without him, while he strolled alone to the head of the wharf, tossing
his beloved baseball, which he had carefully brought with him on this
journey, from hand to hand as he walked.

"Hello! Give us a catch," shouted a cheery voice. And, looking up,
Alaric saw a merry-faced squarely built lad of about his own age
standing in an expectant attitude a short distance from him. Although he
was roughly dressed, he had a bright, self-reliant look that was
particularly attractive to our young traveller, and without hesitation
he tossed him the ball. They passed it back and forth for a minute, and
then the stranger lad, saying, "Good-by; I must be getting along; wish I
could stop and get better acquainted, though," ran on, with a laugh, and
disappeared in the crowd.

[Illustration: ALARIC MAKES HIS FIRST DECISION.]

An hour later Alaric was nearly half a mile from the wharf, when the
steamer's hoarse whistle sounded a warning note that signified a speedy
departure. He turned and began to walk slowly in that direction, and a
few minutes later a carriage containing the Sonntaggs dashed by without
its occupants noticing him. At sight of them Alaric paused. A queer look
came into his face; it grew very pale, and then he deliberately sat down
on a log by the way-side. There came another blast of the ship's
whistle, and then the tall masts, which he could just see, began slowly
to move. The _Empress_, with the Sonntaggs on board, had started, and
one of her passengers was left behind.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

       *       *       *       *       *

BOBBY (_who heard his uncle say he lost his lawsuit_). "That's nothing:
why don't you ask papa for one of his old business suits?"




[Illustration: THE ARCTIC HARE.]

THE COURAGE AND ENDURANCE OF ARCTIC ANIMALS.

BY THE CHIEF OF THE GREELY EXPEDITION.


Among the many errors that enter into popular belief regarding the
arctic regions there are none more pronounced than some of those
relating to its animal life. In many of their ideas the general public
have been justified, for until the early part of this century even works
of scientific research were not wholly free from fables and fictions of
this character. Among these errors is one--_i.e._, that all arctic
animals migrate to the south with coming winter--which especially
pertains to the subject under consideration, for the fact that the
animals treated of in this article are permanent residents of the arctic
regions is one of the most convincing signs of their courage and
endurance.

It was not unnatural for early travellers to believe that all arctic
animals were migratory, and one need not go back farther than the
narratives of Parry to find this opinion advanced. Instinct and a desire
for self-preservation, it was said, impelled animals to pass to the
southward, where the rigors incident to winter life would be less
severe, and when spring came, with a similar instinct, they fled their
coming foes from the south to seek safe breeding-places in the north. We
now know that these animals abide in the north through the winter, but
most people do not know how bitter their struggle for existence is.

Consider for a moment the winter environment of arctic animals, so as to
fairly view the very adverse conditions under which, with a courage and
endurance scarcely equalled elsewhere, they manage to maintain life from
the passing of one summer to the coming of another. In order to speak
with truth and exactness, the writer dwells on the arctic regions best
known from personal observation--_i.e._, those portions of Greenland and
Grinnell Land beyond the 80th degree of north latitude. These countries
stretch not less than a thousand miles beyond the arctic circle, to
within four hundred miles of the North Pole, and are from two to three
hundred miles farther north than any human inhabitants.

Here arctic animals live and thrive in large numbers, under the
disadvantages of darkness, cold, the inland ice, snow, and limited
food-fields. The sun is totally absent for a period ranging from four to
five months, during which time the darkness is such that even at mid-day
first-class stars are clearly visible. With the passing sun comes the
winter cold, so extreme that quicksilver becomes and remains solid for
weeks at a time, and so prolonged that for successive months the
temperature never rises above zero. Indeed, for only six scant weeks
following midsummer does water remain unfrozen.

It should be borne in mind that the greater portion of these regions is
eternally covered with what is known as the inland ice or ice-cap, which
at irregular intervals covers and destroys the fertile meadows that
furnish vegetable food. So it is that in this age there remain
feeding-grounds for herbivorous animals only in such valleys as are yet
untouched by the advancing ice-sheet, or from which the changing
conditions of a thousand years have withdrawn the glaciers and restored
the hardy arctic plants.

At first sight it would seem that no animal could live a single winter
under the physical conditions just enumerated, the disadvantages of
which are, if anything, understated. In truth, not only do these animals
flourish, but it may be even said that the very severity of the climate
and the difficulties of existence are the primal causes which populated
these lands with races of selected mammals of unusual endurance,
strength, and courage. Here stern nature extends no favor to the weak,
slothful, or improvident, and only the best, the strongest, and the most
cunning survive in person or by descendants.

Of the smaller mammals the lemming and hare entered the very high
regions to escape their inveterate enemies, the ermine and the fox, who
in turn followed these--their main food supply. Wandering here and there
for pasturage, the musk-ox found the more northerly grounds less
infested with wolves, and not at all frequented by man, so that here, in
a measure unmolested, are now found the only known extensive herds of
musk cattle. The predatory wolf naturally followed the musk-ox, the fox,
and other smaller animals on which he subsists.

Let us now turn to the means and methods by which these animals succeed
in maintaining life, which, it has been made evident, can only be done
by the highest order of intelligence, courage, and endurance.

The smallest of these arctic animals is the lemming, which looks to one
not a naturalist like a thick, short-tailed mouse, some four inches
long, excluding his scant inch of tail. The lemming forms the principal
food of the ermine and fox, while in summer it is likewise pursued by
the robber gulls and the arctic owl. His color is not unlike that of the
mouse in the summer, but with advancing winter the tips of the
individual gray hairs gradually blanch and become pure white. Whenever
the wind blows, or the lemming's fur is rubbed, it presents in winter a
pepper-and-salt appearance, for the lower portion of the hairs always
retain the summer coloring. The little fellow feeds entirely on arctic
vegetation, but his principal and probably favorite food is the buds of
the purple (_oppositifolia_) saxifrage.

This plant is possibly the hardiest of all arctic vegetation, and early
in February, after weeks of cold which kept the mercury solid, specimens
covered scarcely by an inch of snow were found to be sending forth their
tender green shoots. But how does the lemming reach the snow-covered
plant? Farther to the south, in the Parry archipelago, Dr. Sutherland
observed that the snow near the lemming's burrows in the shingle was
marked by his tracks, and here and there he had been scratching to reach
the vegetation beneath. In one place the snow surface was broken over a
tuft of purple saxifrage, which was covered by half an inch of snow.
"What instinct," he adds, "could have led the creature to single out the
exact spot on which to bestow its toil?"

Farther north the problem changes with increasing darkness, and the
field-mouse meets it by building his house under the snow, in the centre
of a flourishing patch of saxifrage or dryas. The tiny animal shows
himself to be a nest-builder equal to some of our Southern birds.
Finding a valley favored with vegetation, whereon the drifting snow from
the adjacent hills has spread a protecting layer, the lemming proceeds
to sink a shaft to the ground. He drives tunnels hither and thither
until he has opened up a good pasture-ground, and then, gathering bits
of grass from the bare ground elsewhere, constructs in the most suitable
place a comfortable nest, which serves as his headquarters for the
winter and as a cozy birthplace for the babes. He knows well that he is
not safe from the ravenous ermine or the cunning fox, so be proceeds to
tunnel from his nest in an opposite direction to the entrance of the
burrow--a passage which ends in the open air at a considerable distance
from the original place of entrance. The dry arctic snow above the nest
packs with such closeness that any footfall thereon extends its
vibrations a long distance, so that unless the little lemming is asleep,
his acute senses give him warning of the stealthy coming of the ermine
or fox in his pursuit.

[Illustration: THE LEMMING INSTANTLY BACKED UP AGAINST A ROCK.]

In the open the lemming can easily escape if the friendly snow is at
hand, for his pure white fur makes it difficult for the eye to follow
the tiny animal on the surface of the new snow, while the rapidity with
which he burrows in it astonishes an observer, and usually discomforts a
pursuer. Now and then the mouse is caught napping, and doubtless he
meets often as sudden and untimely a fate as did one under my notice.
Hurrying along the ice-foot with one of the largest of our Eskimo dogs,
we started a lemming under our very feet. The animal instantly backed up
against a rock and uttered shrill cries of rage and defiance at the dog,
who jumped for the lemming, and I for the dog. As my hands were closing
around the dog's neck, he seized the unfortunate rodent, and actually
gulped him down without stopping to bite. As far as I could judge the
lemming must have gone into the dog's stomach in a living condition--a
process easy for the dog, who was daily accustomed to bolt pieces of
meat much larger than the animal he had swallowed.

There is no doubt that the lemming's characteristic rashness is as
fertile a source of danger as is the activity of his pursuers. Often
when escape is certain, a delay to show his courage proves fatal. If he
is quite a distance from his burrow or a snow-bank, his chance of escape
by direct flight is hopeless. When this is the case, he always dies with
his face to the foe. Backing up against a stone or any inequality of the
frozen ground he shows no sign of fear, boldly making little rushes
towards the enemy, and as suddenly retreating to his coign of vantage as
they fail to stop. All the while the air is vocal with a series of sharp
little squeaks that are most surprising to the observer. The diminutive
size of the animal and the small volume of sound are so disproportionate
to the evident courage with which he utters his notes of defiance, as
to make the lemming at bay a most amusing were it not a pathetic sight
for an observer. One cannot fail to feel an admiration for his courage,
not unmixed with pity for the helplessness of so tiny an animal.

It is probable that the arctic lemming shares with his Norwegian cousin
periodical frenzies of migration, so that the large number in Grinnell
Land in 1876 was followed by a great diminution in 1881-3 in the same
region. Whether the migration was towards Greenland is unknown, but it
is certain that in 1882 the lemming was found along the coast of
Greenland to the most northerly point ever reached by man. At this
extreme northern point two lemmings were caught, one being run down by
the ravenous, half-starved sledge dogs, the most fortunate dog
swallowing him whole to avoid having the lemming torn from his jaws.

The lemmings that were held in captivity gradually yielded to kind
treatment, but they showed always an irritable, uncertain temper, and
even in mildest moods tried their teeth gently and playfully, but with a
certain air that promised aggressive action if Mr. Lemming's rights were
not fully respected.

The naturalist in naming the common hare called it _timidus_ (timid),
which in popular opinion describes its most striking quality. If this
species lacks the elements of courage, it would be injustice to bring
this charge against his northern brother, for the polar hare is bold,
tenacious, and enduring to an astonishing degree. He thrives in the most
northern regions under apparently the most adverse conditions, for
within five hundred miles of the North Pole, at Lady Franklin Bay, a
hare, killed two weeks before the return of the sun, after a winter of
unparalleled severity, was in such excellent condition that it weighed
eleven pounds, against an average of nine pounds for his kind.

He keeps the field throughout the year, and, like the hare of the south,
does not regularly burrow. For the greater part of the year he lives in
a "form," or a depression in his pasture among the saxifrages, willows,
or lichens; occasionally one seeks a sheltered crevice or overhanging
rock.

Nature, indeed, provides him with a winter undergrowth of fur consisting
of the finest, fleeciest hair imaginable, resembling delicate down; but
even with this defence it seems astonishing that he can endure an almost
continuous exposure to temperatures that hold quicksilver as solid as
steel. In a manner the polar hare accommodates himself to the situation,
and if he does not, like the lemming, gather materials for a shelter, he
does at least learn to use snow as a protection against the worst of
weather. Possibly he would burrow like the rabbit if the frozen earth
was not like iron, for he does at times tunnel the snow, to which
uncheery quarters he resorts from his adjacent pasturage. These snow
excavations or burrows are infrequent, for while they add to the bodily
comfort of the hare, they render him more liable to fall a victim to the
fox or wolf, always in search of this arctic dainty.

One of these snow burrows is described by Colonel Feilden, the
naturalist of the Nares expedition in 1875, in 82° 27' N. Hunting the
hare, two weeks before the sun reappears at mid-day, February 24th, in a
temperature 56° below zero, Feilden continues: "I started a hare from
its burrow, a hole about four feet in length scratched horizontally in
the snow. I have no doubt but what the same burrow was regularly used,
as the snow was discolored by the feet of the animal and a quantity of
hair was sticking on the sides." All around the hole he had been
scratching up the snow and feeding on the saxifrage, nibbling off the
delicate green buds which were shooting out from the brown withered
plant of last year's growth.

Dr. Sutherland, some three hundred miles further to the south, says:
"The hares burrow in the snow. One burrow which I measured was eight
feet in length, in a southern exposure, but it was never more than five
or six inches beneath the surface. From the appearance of the snow which
must have been removed in the process of excavation, it was my
impression that the burrow had been opened during the winter. The hares
were so wary, standing on their hind legs and spinning away in this
upright posture, with watchful eyes on all our movements, that all our
efforts to shoot them were useless."

The skill, rapidity, and peculiar manner with which the hare travels
when closely pursued are worthy of attention. The first case noted was
by Sergeant Rice, one of my command, who shot and pursued a hare which
escaped him, although wounded. The animal would travel for a hundred
yards or more at a time on its hind legs alone, jumping a distance of
six to eight feet at each jump, when he would land upon his hind feet,
only to repeat the operation, never touching the ground with his fore
feet. Occasionally, for a change, he resorted to the usual method of
travel. Rice at first thought he was suffering from an optical delusion,
but as the actions were repeated he carefully examined the tracks, which
confirmed his eyesight, showing that only the hare's hind feet touched
the ground. Later the same method of travel fell under my own
observation, except that the hare did not follow it for any considerable
distance; probably it is resorted to only in dire distress.

Other instances could be cited of the tenacity to life and desperation
with which a wounded hare struggles, but the following experience of
Lieutenant Kislingbury, of my party, was probably the most striking that
fell within our experience.

Kislingbury first shot a hare through one of its hind legs, and knocked
him over, but he immediately straightened himself up and commenced to
hop away, leaving the snow marked with his blood. He travelled so
rapidly that the Lieutenant followed him for more than a mile before he
was able to get another shot, when a ball was put through the hare's
stomach; still it proceeded, losing here and there pieces of its
entrails. For two miles further the animal was followed, when a third
ball broke both fore paws just as the animal was in the act of jumping
to reach a high rock. The force of the blow carried the animal over a
cliff, where it rolled down a steep decline for nearly two hundred feet,
and when picked up it still showed signs of life. It seemed to us to be
a most astonishing example of tenacity on the part of any animal, much
more of one usually thought to be timid and weak.

  A. W. GREELY.




LITTLE SCARECROW.

A SPANISH TRADITION.


Once upon a time there was a comely hen who lived comfortably in a
farm-yard, surrounded by her numerous family of chickens, noticeable
among which was a lame and deformed one. But this was precisely the one
which the mother loved most dearly; for that is always the way with
mothers. The lame chicken, that had been hatched from a very diminutive
egg, was, in fact, only half a chicken, and to look at him one might
have supposed that the sword of Solomon had executed on his person the
famous sentence pronounced on a certain occasion by that wise King. He
had only one eye, one wing, and one leg; yet for all that he put on more
airs than his father, who was the handsomest, the most valiant, and the
stateliest rooster in all the farm-yards for twenty leagues around. The
chicken thought himself the Phoenix of his race. If the other young
roosters made sport of him, he thought it was through envy, and if the
young hens did so, that it was because he took so little notice of them.

One day he said to his mother: "Mother, I have something to say to you.
The country bores me. I have made up my mind to go to the court; I want
to see the King and the Queen."

The poor mother trembled when she heard these words. "Son," she
exclaimed, "who can have put such nonsense in your head? Your father has
never left his native place, and he is the honor of his race. Where will
you find a yard like this? Where wholesomer or more abundant food, a
hen-house so sheltered and so near the station, or affection like that
of your family?"

"_Nego_," said Little Scarecrow in Latin, for he prided himself upon
his learning, "my brothers and sisters and my cousins are nothing but a
set of ignoramuses."

"But, my son," responded his mother, "have you never looked at yourself
in the glass? Don't you see that you have only one foot and one eye?"

"Since you take that tone," replied Little Scarecrow, "let me tell you
that you ought to drop dead with shame to see me in such a condition.
Pray who is to blame for it but yourself? But perhaps I may meet with
some skilful surgeon," he added, with his comb as red as fire, "who will
supply the members that I lack. So say no more, for I am going away."

When his mother saw that there was no way of dissuading him from his
purpose, she spoke as follows:

"Hear at least, my son, the prudent counsels of an affectionate mother.
Try to avoid passing by any church where there is an image of St. Peter;
the saint has little liking for cocks, and much less for their crowing.
Shun also certain men whom there are in the world called cooks. They are
our mortal enemies, and they would wring the necks of us all, if they
could, in the twinkling of an eye. And now go and ask your father for
his blessing."

Little Scarecrow approached his father, bent his head to kiss his
parent's foot, and asked him for his blessing. The venerable cock gave
it to him with more dignity than tenderness, for, owing to the bad
disposition of the chicken, his father had no love for him. His mother,
however, was so greatly affected that she was obliged to wipe her eyes
with a dry leaf.

Little Scarecrow started off at a trot after he had flapped his wing and
crowed thrice by way of farewell. Presently he came to the edge of a
Brook that was almost dry--for it was summer--whose slender current had
been stopped on its way by some branches. The Brook, as soon as it saw
the traveller, said to him:

"You see, friend, how weak I am. I can scarcely take a step, and I have
not strength enough to push aside those troublesome branches that
obstruct my way. Nor can I give a turn and avoid them, for that would
fatigue me too greatly. You can easily take me out of this difficulty by
removing them with your beak. In exchange, not only can you quench your
thirst in my current, but you may count upon my services when the waters
of heaven shall have restored my strength."

"I could, but I will not," responded the chicken. "Do I by chance look
like the servant of a shallow and miserable Brook?"

"One of these days, when you least expect it, you will remember me,"
murmured the Brook in a fainting voice.

"All that was wanting was that you should give yourself the air of a
great river," said Little Scarecrow, insolently. "Any one would suppose
that you had drawn a prize in the lottery or that you were counting to a
certainty on the waters of the deluge."

A little further on he met the Wind, who was lying stretched on the
ground, almost lifeless.

"Dear Little Scarecrow," said the Wind to him, "in this world we all
have need of one another. Approach and behold me. Do you see to what a
condition the heat of Summer has reduced me--me who am so strong and so
powerful; who raise up the waves, who lay low the fields, whose force
nothing can resist? This sultry day has killed me. I fell asleep,
intoxicated with the fragrance of the flowers that I was playing with,
and here I am now completely exhausted. If you would only raise me a
couple of inches from the ground and fan me with your wing, that would
give me strength enough to fly, and to go to my cavern where my mother
and my sisters, the Storms, are busy mending some old clouds which I
tore to pieces. There they will give me some soup, and I shall gather
new strength."

"Cavalier," responded the perverse chicken, "many a time you have
diverted yourself with me, pushing me from behind, and spreading my tail
out like a fan, for every one who saw me to laugh at me. No, friend, to
every pig comes his St. Martin's day, and so good-by to you for the
present, Sir Harlequin." So saying, he crowed thrice in a clear voice
and strutted haughtily away.

In the middle of a field covered with stubble, to which the harvesters
had set fire, a column of smoke was rising. Little Scarecrow drew near,
and saw a tiny spark which was fast dying out among the ashes.

"Beloved Little Scarecrow," said the Spark, when it saw him, "you have
come just in time to save my life. For want of nourishment, I am at the
point of death. I don't know where my cousin, the Wind, who always helps
me in these straits, can have hidden himself. Bring me a few straws to
revive me."

"What have I to do with your affairs?" answered the chicken. "Die if you
wish. For my part, I have no need of you."

"Who knows but you may yet have need of me," responded the Spark. "No
one can tell what he may one day be brought to."

"Hello!" said the perverse animal. "So you are still haranguing. Take
that, then." And so saying, he covered the Spark with ashes; after which
he began to crow, according to his custom, as if he had just performed
some great exploit.

Little Scarecrow arrived at the capital, and passing by a church, which
he was told was St. Peter's, he stood still before the door, and there
crowed himself hoarse, solely for the purpose of enraging the saint, and
having the pleasure of disobeying his mother.

As he approached the palace, which he desired to enter to see the King
and the Queen, the sentinel cried out to him, "Back!" He then went to
the rear of the palace, and entering by a back door, saw a very large
apartment where a great many people were coming in and going out. He
asked who they were, and was told that they were his Majesty's cooks.
Instead of running away, as his mother had warned him to do, he went in
with crest and tail erect; but one of the scullions caught him on the
instant and wrung his neck in the twinkling of an eye.

"Bring some water here and let us pluck this scarecrow," said the
scullion.

"Water, my dear Doña Cristalina," cried the chicken; "please don't scald
me! Mercy! Have compassion upon me!"

"Had you compassion upon me when I asked your help, perverse bird?"
answered the Water, boiling with rage and flooding the chicken from head
to foot, while the scullions left him without so much as a feather.

The cook then took Little Scarecrow and put him on the gridiron.

"Fire! brilliant Fire!" cried the unhappy bird, "you who are so powerful
and so resplendent, take pity upon my situation, repress your ardor,
quench your flames, and do not burn me."

"You impudent rogue!" responded the Fire, "how can you have the courage
to appeal to me, after having stifled me, because you thought, as you
said, that you would never need me? Come here and you shall see
something fine."

And, in fact, not content with browning the chicken, the fire burned him
until he was as black as a coal. When the cook saw the chicken in this
condition he took him by the foot and threw him out of the window. Then
the Wind took possession of him.

"Wind," cried Little Scarecrow, "my dear, my venerated Wind, you who
rule over everything, and who obey no one, powerful among the powerful,
have compassion upon me; leave me at rest on this heap."

"Leave you!" roared the Wind, seizing him in a gust and whirling him
about in the air like a top. "Never!"

The Wind deposited Little Scarecrow on the top of a belfry. St. Peter
extended his hand and fastened him firmly to it. From that time to this
he has remained there, black, thin, and bare, beaten by the rain and
pushed about by the Wind, whose sport he forever is. He is no longer
called Little Scarecrow, but Weather-Cock; but there he is, expiating
his errors and his sins, his disobedience, his pride, and his
perversity.

       *       *       *       *       *

A MARINE SIMILE.

  The fish are ships that swim the sea
    In sunshine and in gales;
  Their tails the trusty rudders are,
    Their fins the spreading sails.




[Illustration]

FROM CHUM TO CHUM.

BY GASTON V. DRAKE.

V.--FROM JACK TO BOB.


  OLD MAN OF THE OUT HOUSE.

[Illustration]

     DEAR BOB,--Your two letters from the steamer got here yesterday.
     Sandboys says your polite Pirate was stuffing you about that money
     in Venezuela, and he thinks you'll get your money back when oysters
     climb trees and not before, and I sort of agree with him. That
     story about jumping overboard and getting washed back don't seem to
     me ought to be told to people that love truth. Anyhow Sandboys
     didn't like it, and he told me to tell you to tell your old Pirate
     that he can do his own Grand Viziering when he gets to his Island
     Kingdom and save his ten dollars a week--there's more money in
     carrying ice-water up and down stairs here, Sandboys says, and he's
     going to stick to it.

     I'm pretty lonesome for you this summer, though there's a half a
     dozen pretty good fellows here; one of 'em's named Billie Tompkins
     and he lives out in Chicago. He says there's no place like Chicago
     in this world for fun. It's situated right out in the prairies and
     he's got a sand-yacht that he goes sailing about in every spring. I
     never heard of a sand-yacht before and neither did Sandboys, but
     Billie Tompkins described it to us and I should think it would be a
     pretty good thing to have. It has wheels, and is built just like a
     cat-boat with a mast and a rudder, but no keel. He says that he's
     sailed over pretty much all of Illinois with it and had lots of
     adventures with Indians and kiyoots. Of course you know what
     kiyoots are, they're prairie wolves and they're very dangerous to
     people that need sleep because they howl all night. He's had lots
     of trouble with them, but the Indians have bothered him worse than
     anything, frequently chasing him for miles just to get his scalp.
     One of 'em caught him once, when he was out sailing one day in
     March. He had a little seal-skin cap on fortunately, and the Indian
     ran away with that thinking sure he'd caught his head of hair. Ever
     since that time he's worn seal-skin caps for sailing. The most
     exciting time he ever had though was last spring. He'd gone out for
     an afternoon's cruise and had got about forty miles out on the
     prairie. He was sailing along beautifully before the wind when he
     saw a black speck off on the horizon coming towards him like
     lightning. He didn't know what it was at first but as it alarmed
     him just a little he took a tack off to the East, and then he knew
     that the object was bearing down for him for it changed its course
     just as he had and came on in hot pursuit. In about five minutes he
     saw that it was an Indian on horseback and he began to get sorry
     that he'd disobeyed his father and come so far out. You see his
     father isn't a millionaire and was rather put out about his losing
     that seal-skin hat, and he'd told him to keep away from where the
     Indians were. It's pretty tough to be placed where you're bound to
     get hurt whatever happens, and Billie got pretty anxious
     contemplating--how's that for a word?--getting scalped or spanked.
     He steered his yacht right about, so's she'd fly before the wind,
     which was his only chance, but it was too late. The Indian was
     close enough to lasso him. Suddenly the pursuer's rope shot out,
     but by some mistake in the aim didn't catch Billie, but got the
     mast right in the noose. The horse stopped short, braced himself
     and the Indian began to grin, expecting to see the boat capsize,
     but he forgot that the boat had a speed of a hundred miles an hour
     on and weighed three times as much as the horse in the bargain. He
     found out in a minute though, for the rope snapped taut, yanked the
     horse out from under the Indian, threw the Indian over on his own
     neck and broke it, and went sailing over the prairie with the poor,
     kicking horse in tow. Billie stopped the yacht as quick as he could
     for the horse's sake, though it couldn't hurt him much towing him
     through the soft sand. The horse got on his legs again, as meek as
     you please. Billie fastened him to the rudder post and went back to
     where the Indian was and found he was deader than a door-nail, and,
     strangely enough, hanging from his girdle was the identical
     seal-skin cap that had been scalped off Billie's head two years
     before.

     [Illustration]

     He sailed home in triumph, having made a horse and recovered his
     cap as well, and his father forgave him for not having minded, and
     when the horse was sold later on for fifty dollars he gave Billie
     five dollars of it all for himself.

     Sandboys says that was a wonderful adventure and I sort of feel
     that way myself. He says if Billie keeps on having adventures like
     that there's no reason why he shouldn't grow up to be as successful
     a man as your Pirate, but he thinks Billie ought to stick by
     Chicago and not go seeking his fortune anywhere else because there
     isn't another city in the world where a thing like that could
     happen, which I guess is true. It certainly couldn't happen
     anywhere around Boston, because even if they had a prairie and
     Indians you couldn't steer a yacht through the fearful crowds of
     bicyclers they have there, without having a collision.

     Speaking of bicyclers there's a fellow here that's going to coast
     down Mt. Washington next week and he's awfully proud of himself,
     which he needn't be. It would be much harder work to go up Mt.
     Washington on a bicycle, Sandboys says, and he ought to know,
     because he's done both, and last year he came down all the way on
     one roller skate without touching his other foot once. If you see
     your Pirate ask him what he thinks of that.

     Barring Billie and Sandboys everything's pretty slow here. We've
     only changed the boots in the hall once, and the new head waiter
     has got eyes like a ferret so's no one can sneak an apple or a
     banana out of the dining room without its getting in the bill. We
     boys are going to hold a Mass Meeting this week to see what can be
     done about this. It isn't any fun eating fruit at the table, and
     what's the good of nuts and raisins if you can't carry 'em off in
     your pockets? If you see any live Dukes tell me about 'em.

  Always yours,
  JACK.




[Illustration: 3. The Finish. 2. The Stride. 1. The Start.

From instantaneous Photographs of T. E. Burke, Champion Quarter-miler of
the World.]

[Illustration: Boardman. Lakin. Crane. Kilpatrick. Hollister. Kingsley.

Start of Half-mile Race at the Inter-collegiate Games, 1895.

RUNNING THE MIDDLE DISTANCES.]




[Illustration: INTERSCHOLASTIC SPORT]


The middle distances are the hardest events for an athlete to work at
without the assistance of a trainer; but this fact should not discourage
the beginner, because there is a vast amount of preliminary work that he
can do which will put him into such condition that when he does at last
come under the care of a coach he will be able to make rapid progress
toward proficiency. The term "middle distances" is usually applied to
the quarter and half mile races only, for these have become recognized
as the standards by amateur associations and clubs. The quarter-mile is
sometimes set down on the card as a 440-yard dash--for it is practically
a dash from start to finish, as run nowadays--and the half-mile is
frequently called the 880-yard run. It is becoming more usual, however,
to look upon these events as fractions of a mile.

The preparatory work for the quarter should begin at the close of winter
with walks of from two to three miles across country, ending up with a
half-mile jog and a good rub-down. This sort of exercise should be taken
every day for three weeks, in order to harden the muscles and get the
body into regular habits of physical exercise. Let us presume that at
the end of this time the weather has moderated sufficiently to permit of
out-door work in light running costume. This should consist of running
at an easy gait distances longer and shorter than a quarter-mile on
alternate days. For instance, on Monday, run 220 and 300 yards a couple
of times, with a rest in between; on Tuesday run 600 yards or half a
mile; on Wednesday run the short distances again; and keep on doing this
for a month or more. Occasionally--say once a week--try a 100 yards for
speed, and about every tenth day take a trial quarter on time.

The most important of all things in running the middle distances is that
the athlete should become a judge of pace. He must know just how fast he
is going. It takes time, of course, to acquire this knowledge, but the
good men in the events know just how rapidly they are travelling around
the track, and can tell to a fifth of a second what their gait has been
for any fraction of the course. That is why these events are the hardest
to run. The best way to acquire this knowledge of gait is to get some
one to hold a watch on you every time you run. When you have not a
trainer, however, this is not always possible. But there is no reason
why you should not hold the watch yourself. And it is well to keep a
record of your speed as it increases.

Frequent runs of 150 and 300 yards on time will serve to show how your
speed is getting along, and the distances being short, this will enable
you to judge of pace so that you can tell very closely how you are
travelling over the various portions of your distance. As I have said,
the quarter as now run is a sprint from start to finish, and the best
thing to do in competition is to jump into the lead at once and head the
field all the way if you can. As in the 100 and 220, no heed should be
given to the other competitors, and, above all things, never look back.

There is little more to be said in the way of instruction for this
event, for it is one that must be worked over according to the powers
and capabilities of each individual. The general training after the
first four or five months is about the same as for the sprints, which
was described in this Department last week. As for the start, it is
optional with the individual whether he shall stand or crouch. Burke,
the world's champion quarter-miler, who is represented in the series
above, uses the standing start, but many others get off from the
crouching position. The second picture of the series gives a good idea
of the pace and the general position of the body, both of which are
identical with sprinting form. The finish is somewhat different. There
is always plenty of space ahead after a quarter-mile race (which, of
course, has to be run on a curved track) for the runner to keep on going
as long as he wishes to, and thus he can pass the tape at top speed and
keep on as far as he likes. Many hundred-yard sprinters coming down a
short straight track lose a fraction of a second of their speed by
slowing up too soon.

The half-mile run requires even a greater judgment of gait than does the
quarter, and it is a much harder race to run, having now been developed
into such a speedy contest that a man should never attempt to enter any
other event in games where he runs a half-mile. Moreover, the athlete
who adopts the half-mile as his specialty should give up every other
event and train continuously and solely for that distance. He must get
himself into such shape that he can tell to a fraction of a second just
how fast he is going. This is learned only by having a watch going all
the time, and while training there ought to be some one on the track to
shout the time every furlong or so.

The preparatory work for this distance is similar to that of the
quarter--that is, there should be long and short work, over and under
the distance, on alternate days. A half-mile trial on time once in two
weeks is sufficient. The start and gait are the same as for the quarter.
In the illustration of the start of the half-mile race at the
Intercollegiates of 1895 it is plain to see that Kilpatrick is
determined to get the pole if he can, while Siebel and Kingsley, who
have inside positions, are determined to keep them even if they have to
take a sprinting start. Hollister, on the other hand, has apparently
made up his mind to let Kilpatrick set the pace, and then try to pass
him. This was wise of Hollister, because he knew Kilpatrick's habit is
to run a very fast first quarter, and he himself has been trained to
sprint hard at the finish. Thus he felt that if he could keep up with
Kilpatrick for the first three-eighths he could sprint past him at the
finish. Hollister won.

I give this illustration of the tactics of half-mile racing to show how
very much strategy has to come in in this event. You must know how your
opponents run, and you must distribute your energies over the race so as
to counteract as far as possible those of the other competitors. It
would have been unwise for Hollister to fight with Kilpatrick for the
lead in this case, because the latter could have run him off his feet.
That is Kilpatrick's style. But by letting Kilpatrick set the pace,
Hollister had an easier time of it in the first quarter, because he did
not have to give any thought whatever to his gait. When it came to the
stretch, all he had to do was to sprint. Nevertheless, the best general
rule for a novice is to jump to the lead and hold it if he can. When he
gets to be a first-class man he can devote more thought to the
individual work of his opponents. One of the best things for any one
working at the half-mile is to attend every meeting he can and watch the
work of other half-milers. In fact, it is well for every athlete to
follow big games, and study his own event in the work of others. Big
championship games should never be missed if it is a possible thing to
witness them.

In announcing the date of the New York I.S.A.A. spring games of May 9th,
some of the daily papers said that the events would be open to "all
preparatory schools of the United States." This was erroneous. The games
are open to members of the N.Y.I.S.A.A. only. It is evident that no team
could be chosen to represent the New York Association at the National
meeting if these games were open to outsiders who could come in, and, by
taking a number of firsts, make it necessary for the New-Yorkers to hold
another field meeting to find out who their own best men were.

Baseball prospects in the Long Island League are bright. The St. Paul
team, which won the championship last year, is almost the same again
this spring. Starrs, Goldsborough, Baker, Hall, and Mortimer are back
again in school. Adelphi has excellent material in Brooks, Graff,
Crampton, Corbett, Forney, Langdon, and Baucher; while almost all of the
High-School team of last year are on hand to play again this season.
Poly. Prep. has as good a pitcher as any school in the League, and
plenty of athletic material to pick from, and the Latin-School players
promise to develop a strong nine. Baseball practice in New York has not
begun in earnest yet, but it is probable that the average of the teams
will be stronger than they were last spring, as there seems to be a
renewal of interest in the national game, which has led a pretty
precarious existence here for the last two seasons.

The interscholastic contests that are being held from time to time in
the gymnasium of the New Manhattan Athletic Club are excellent things,
and will serve to develop a good many young athletes who would not
otherwise have a chance to show what there is in them. A strong
incentive to energetic effort is afforded in the way of a trophy for the
school that shall have earned the greatest number of points when the
series of games has ended. This prize will be of small intrinsic value,
but as a trophy it will be worth the having. These games will also
develop a better spirit among the lads who follow athletics, for they
are looked after by the N.M.A.C.'s new athletic manager, Mr. Cornish,
who is as strict an enforcer of the amateur laws and the amateur spirit
as can be found anywhere. Mr. Cornish can have a very strong influence
for good over this rising generation of athletes if he cares to. His
strongest hold upon the young men's confidence is that he knows his
business, and if he now compels them to walk the straightest of straight
lines, they will do so all the more cheerfully because they know that he
has the right of the question on his side, and intends to stand by his
principles.

Readers of this Department will remember that I urged the New York
Athletic Club almost a year ago to show some interest in the sports of
the rising generation, to cultivate the young men, and to encourage
their efforts. I cited the Boston Athletic Association as an example,
and spoke of how that organization holds meetings for scholastic
contests, and helps the younger men with advice and suggestion. In fact,
the meetings of the Boston Inter-scholastic Association's committees are
held in the B.A.A. Club-house. The New York A.C., however, did nothing
as an organization to advance the interests and promote the welfare of
the boy athletes. Some of its members as individuals have done a great
deal for the young men, but most of their work has been in the nature
of acting as officials at meetings conducted by the schools.

The New Manhattan Athletic Club, however, after having stagnated in a
mire of unclean sportsmanship, finally gets an injection of new and
healthy blood, and realizes that from the boys of to-day are to be drawn
the athletes of to-morrow. The Club thereupon sets out to do all it can
to promote and encourage scholastic sports. It offers the services of
its gymnasium and of its athletic instructors, it organizes a large
in-door meeting and shoulders the entire financial and executive
responsibility, and does everything, in fact, that a club can do under
the circumstances.

Of course all this is done with the ultimate object of making the
N.M.A.C. a successful and prosperous organization. But with all this aim
there is a great deal more unselfishness about the movement than
selfishness. The Club is not by any means trying to secure control of
scholastic sports. I feel confident of this from what I know of the men
in control. What the club is trying to do is to help the young men
interested in sport by relieving them, as far as possible, from the
business part of athletics, and thus to make sport purer; and after this
has been successfully accomplished, the N.M.A.C. will be very glad to
see all these honest young sportsmen competing as members of its
organization--an organization which, I hope, will stand for cleanliness
in sport just as prominently as at one time it stood for the very
opposite.

The gymnasium work of the Trinity School has developed a new game there.
The sport was originated and first played in New Orleans, I believe, and
is called "The Newcomb." The boys of Trinity School were perhaps the
first to play it in this section of the country, and they have found it
to be exceedingly interesting. The game is on the order of basket-ball,
which was spoken of in this Department last week. A line is drawn in the
centre of the gymnasium; then another line is drawn on either side of
this, and about eight feet from it. These are called the "base-lines."
The distance may vary, it depending on the size of the room. Two sides
are chosen by captains, the number playing depending upon the available
space and number of boys present. Twelve or fifteen on a side is a good
number. The teams then take their positions between the base-line and
wall, so that they face each other, and are separated by the distance
between the two base-lines. A basket-ball or football may be used. The
referee, standing out of the way, throws the ball to one of the sides.
The object of the boy who catches it is to throw it toward his opponent
so that it will touch the floor behind the base-line. If he succeeds in
doing this it counts as three points for his side.

The player on the side to which the ball is thrown must try to keep it
from touching the floor, and if he succeeds in doing so he must
immediately throw it back to his opponent's side. This passing to and
fro is kept up until a touch-down is made. If the ball is thrown and
touches the floor between the base-lines, one point is scored against
the side making the throw. The principal rules are that the ball may be
thrown with one or both hands, but the person must not throw it while he
is down or on his knees. He must not run with the ball, and he must not
step over the base-lines. Breaking any of the above rules counts as a
foul, and one point is given in each case to the side not at fault. The
length of game is decided upon by the captains of the teams and the
referee before play is started, and the side having the most points at
the end of the allotted time is the winner. Two halves of twenty-five
minutes each, with a ten minutes' rest, are usually played.

At the annual in-door games of the Hotchkiss School, at Lakeville,
Connecticut, four of the school records were broken--R. B. Hixon
established a new school record in the fence vault of 6 ft. 11 in.;
C. D. Noyes in the high kick of 9 ft. 1 in.; H. H. Wells in the standing
broad jump of 10 ft. 3-3/4 in., and J. P. Goodwin in the running high
jump of 5 ft. 5 in. The first two records are most creditable for
scholastic athletes, and are better, unless I am mistaken, than the Yale
records for the corresponding events. Hotchkiss School made such a
strong showing at the annual games of the Connecticut H.-S.A.A. at
Hartford last spring that they must be counted as dangerous opponents at
any future meeting. They are unfortunately at too great a distance from
New York to send representatives to the N.M.A.C. meet.

  THE GRADUATE.




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[Illustration]

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Two

Beauties.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

THE DELONG HOOK AND EYE AND THE CUPID HAIR PIN. The one will not unhook
of itself, the other will not slip out of the hair.

Both made by

Richardson & DeLong Bros.,

Philadelphia.




[Illustration: Thompson's Eye Water]




[Illustration: BICYCLING]

     This Department is conducted in the interest of Bicyclers, and the
     Editor will be pleased to answer any question on the subject. Our
     maps and tours contain much valuable data kindly supplied from the
     official maps and road-books of the League of American Wheelmen.
     Recognizing the value of the work being done by the L.A.W., the
     Editor will be pleased to furnish subscribers with membership
     blanks and information so far as possible.


Before we take up the maps again a word should be said concerning the
purchase of a wheel for the ensuing year. Just at this time every
bicyclist is longing for a $100 '96 wheel, and looking with disgust on
his '95 or '94 machine, which has served him many a time, and carried
him over many a good mile. Of course the '96 is better than the same
make of '95. That is required of manufacturers if they wish to keep up
with the best things of the time. There are certain improvements this
year in bearings and tubes, in increasing the easy running of one, and
strengthening without adding to the weight of the other; but in spite of
those improvements, this year for the first time there have been no
great changes in wheels. If you have a '95 wheel, therefore, which has
run about a 1000 miles, two courses are open to you. You may be able to
get $50 for it, and by putting another $50 with that, buy a new one; or
you can spend ten or fifteen dollars on the '95 wheel and have a bicycle
practically as good as can be obtained for ordinary use. If you are
riding bicycle-races, or going in for long-distance records and
thousand-mile tours, it will unquestionably pay you to get what you can
for the old machine, and buy a new one of the highest price. On the
other hand, if you seldom do more than ten to twenty miles a day once or
twice a week, or if you use it for riding to and from the railroad
station each day, or for going to and returning from school, the one you
have already used a year, if it has been well cared for, will meet every
requirement as fully as the new bicycle could. Indeed, a '95 or '96
bicycle of good make ought to keep in good condition with such use for
three or four years without requiring more than five or ten dollars a
year. There are cases to-day of '92 and '93 wheels which run as well as
many '95 bicycles, and which have had constant use for three or four
years. Naturally they are heavier, and the running gear is not as
perfect as in the later wheels, but this year the improvements are so
insignificant, compared with those of past years, that '96 and '95
wheels are not different in important details. In a place like New York
city, or Chicago, or Philadelphia, or Boston, one can pick up a good
wheel for half price which will be sure to last him a year without
expense or annoyance. Somebody with a superfluity of money is willing to
let his wheel go at any price in order to have an excuse for buying a
new one; and such a man usually gives a bicycle a minimum amount of use.

In purchasing such a second-hand bicycle several important points should
be noted. In the first place, and most important of all, take the
bearings of front, back, and sprocket wheels apart and see if the balls
are worn. Put them in place and note if they "rattle round" more than
they should. Here is the first place where a bicycle begins to lose its
usefulness. If the bearings are worn, either from use or lack of care in
keeping dirt out, the wheel will never again run easily. Next look
closely at the pedals, not only at the bearings in them, but at the
condition of them generally. They get a large amount of wear and tear,
and they strike obstacles which come in the way of the bicyclist more
often than any other part of the wheel. From this they are apt to be
imperceptibly bent in one place or another, which will account for an
otherwise inexplicable difficulty in sending the wheel ahead. Then look
at the tires carefully. If they have had several punctures you might as
well pay out the money at once to get new ones as to spend it in
piecemeal, at great inconvenience to your riding because of frequent
punctures. Sometimes, too, the rubber is not of the best grade, and in a
year will become dried and likely to crack. Sometimes the owner has not
been careful to keep the tires well filled with air, and the rim of the
wheel cuts partly through them, making them likely to burst at that
point. Aside from these three important points, with the addition of
sprocket chain and spokes, the faults of a wheel will show themselves.




[Illustration: THE PUDDING STICK]

     This Department is conducted in the interest of Girls and Young
     Women, and the Editor will be pleased to answer any question on the
     subject so far as possible. Correspondents should address Editor.


The quality of one's voice in conversation has much to do with the
pleasure listeners find in their part of the exercise. "A low voice,"
says Shakespeare, "is an excellent thing in woman." I agree with him,
adding on my part the adjective "clear." A low mumbling voice is not
agreeable, but when a voice has pleasant modulations, is low-toned,
sweet, and distinct, it is as delightful to hear it in speech as in
song.

One sometimes meets a charming girl who has a beautiful complexion,
bright eyes, a pleasant manner, and a merry laugh. But, alas! her
shrill, screaming voice, or her nasal tones, or her harsh discordant way
of speaking, neutralizes her other advantages. With my eyes shut, simply
by hearing a girl's voice in another room, or in a public conveyance
where she sits at my back and I cannot even glance at her, I can tell
whether a young girl is well or ill bred; almost I can state positively
whether she belongs to the better-educated or the untaught classes in
our land. Her voice tells the whole story. It is a surer indication than
anything else about her of the people she has lived among, the care that
has been taken in her upbringing, and the sort of character, refined or
coarse, which she bears.

There are little mannerisms of speech which belong to certain parts of
the country, and which are caught up unconsciously by young people, so
that when they go away from home those who meet them have little
difficulty in deciding from what point they started. For instance, if a
young girl drops her final g's, and says mornin', evenin', greetin',
meetin', comin', and goin', I know where _she_ comes from. I have
visited in a place or two where the sweet-voiced people nearly all cut
off their final g's. And if she rolls her r's, and says the words that
have r in them with a _burr_, I recall a journey I made one summer, and
I remember numbers of nice girls who all paid r the compliment of
twisting it lovingly around their tongues as they used it. A girl who
says daown for down and caow for cow labels herself as plainly as if she
labelled a trunk, and so does a girl whose vowel sounds are all matters
of conscience to that degree that she speaks as if she were mentally
spelling her words.

We ought to try to pronounce correctly. There are changes in
pronunciation from time to time, but the dictionaries and the usage of
well-educated persons will guide us, if we care about the matter and
take pains to be right. But if we happen to hear some old-fashioned lady
or gentleman pronounce a word in a by-gone manner, we shall, of course,
be too polite to take notice, nor will we, as rude people have been
known to do, repeat the same word in our own turn, with a different
accent. I cannot too strongly urge my girls to be polite in all
circumstances. Politeness is merely consideration for others, real
unselfishness.

Kathie asks me to give her my views about flirting. My dear child, I
haven't any. I cannot imagine school-girls flirting, if by this is meant
interchanging looks and smiles in a silly way with strangers. No well
brought up girl ever does this; and when a girl allows herself to
infringe on the code of behavior which holds her aloof from strangers,
she shows herself to be either very ignorant or very stupid.

When you are travelling, or are in any place where a stranger performs a
kind and obliging act, acknowledge the courtesy by a simple bow and a
thank you. The man who rises and gives you a seat in a car is entitled
to this acknowledgment, and so is any one who, at any time, shows you
politeness. But you must not enter into conversation with strangers, nor
make new acquaintances in public.

[Illustration: Signature]




[Illustration: THE CAMERA CLUB]

     Any question in regard to photograph matters will be willingly
     answered by the Editor of this column, and we should be glad to
     hear from any of our club who can make helpful suggestions.


Owing to the number of questions received and replies given, we are
compelled to omit this Department this week.

     E. G., of Worthington, Ohio, asks what is the best kind of water to
     use in photography, and what is done with the different solutions
     after they have been used. The best kind of water is distilled
     water, but as this cannot always be obtained, amateurs get along
     without it. Water which has been filtered through blotting paper is
     free enough from sediment to make it all right for ordinary
     purposes such as developing, toning, etc. In washing pictures after
     toning, or in washing negatives in running water, it is a good idea
     to tie a flannel bag to the faucet, as this catches all sediment,
     and prevents gritty particles settling in the soft film.
     Photographers who use a great deal of material usually save their
     solutions and separate the gold, but amateurs do not find it of
     enough value to pay, as the quantity used is so small. Toning
     solutions are usually thrown away after the gold is exhausted.
     Developers can be used over several times if fresh is added to keep
     up the strength. Hypo after being used for a batch of pictures
     should be thrown away, for dirty hypo will stain negatives, and as
     it costs but little it is better to have it fresh, and thus ensure
     good results.

     SIR KNIGHT LOUIS A. DYAR, OF WINONA, MINN., asks why pictures taken
     with a camera that makes a picture 3-1/2 x 3-1/2 are not allowed in
     prize competitions; how to make platinotype prints; if sepia prints
     are considered artistic; if it is possible for one to take a good
     instantaneous out-of-door figure study; and if a camera is not
     perfect, if the manufacturers would repair it. The reason why
     pictures made with a camera smaller than a 4 x 5 are usually
     excluded from prize competitions is because the small cameras do
     not admit of so much scope in the pictures, and while many artistic
     "bits" are taken with the small camera, they cannot really enter
     into competition with pictures taken with a larger camera, which
     requires more care and skill in making. Prints made in sepia tints
     are considered quite artistic for some pictures. Sepia tints would
     not be appropriate for snow pictures or for marines, but for some
     landscapes sepia tones are better than black or gray. It is
     possible to take a good instantaneous figure study out of doors,
     but the contrast between the lights and shadows is apt to be too
     strong if the picture is taken in the sunlight. With a quick plate
     and lens one may make a good instantaneous with the subject placed
     in the shadow of a building. If a camera is found to be defective
     it should be taken to the dealer from whom it was purchased, who
     will return it to the manufacturers and have the defect remedied.

     SIR KNIGHT LESLIE T. REDMAN, LEXINGTON, MASSACHUSETTS, says that
     the film from his negatives has a tendency to rise from the glass,
     and wishes some remedy. This is what is called "frilling," and is
     usually caused by the solutions being used at too high a
     temperature. A little alum in the fixing bath will harden the film.
     The following is a good formula: Hypo, 16 oz.; water, 64 oz.;
     pulverized alum, 1 oz. Mix thoroughly till the hypo and alum are
     dissolved. Let it stand for twenty-four hours till the precipitate
     formed by the alum has settled at the bottom. Then either syphon
     off the clear liquid or turn it off carefully, so as not to disturb
     the sediment at the bottom. The negative should remain in the
     fixing bath five minutes after the silver has been removed.

     F. P., MOK HILL, CALIFORNIA, asks for a good formula for an
     intensifier. F. P. will find in No. 824 (August 13th) three
     formulas for intensifying a plate, and one in No. 839 (November
     26th) in answer to Sir Knight John H. Curtis. If not successful in
     their use, please write to the editor of the Camera Club.

     SIR KNIGHT ROBERT H. EWELL, sent, last May, directions for making
     spirit photographs. The publication has been withheld until the
     present time, as winter seems the best time for trying experiments,
     there being little of out-door work for the camera. Drape a sheet
     about a person, letting it fall below the feet. Take a picture of
     this person standing near or behind a chair with the arm extended,
     making a short exposure. Close the shutter, leaving the camera in
     same position, pose some one in the chair--the ghost having, of
     course, been removed--and take his picture. The first exposure for
     the spirit should be quite short, while that for the real
     photograph should be exposed as for any portrait. Develop the
     plate, and the negative should show the dim outline of the "ghost"
     standing by the person photographed. The editor has seen many
     amusing photographs made in this way.

     SIR KNIGHT TEEBOR ROLYAT, NEWARK, N.J., asks if the Night Hawk is a
     good camera for a beginner, and if it is suitable to take good
     pictures; what is the simplest and best solution for a beginner to
     use; and if it would spoil a plate when the sun is shining on the
     camera from the front. The Night Hawk is considered an excellent
     camera for beginners, and it will take good pictures if the owner
     will use care and judgment. Some of the pictures which won prizes
     in a recent contest were taken with an outfit costing less than
     twenty dollars. One must use that camera as the painter advised his
     pupils to mix paints--"With brains, sir!" A beginner would be more
     successful if he used one of the ready-prepared developers when
     first learning. They are prepared by expert chemists and accurately
     mixed. After a little experience in developing, one can then mix
     his own solutions. Many formulas have already been given, and
     others are to follow soon. Two formulas for developers are given in
     No. 844 (December 31). The sun shining into the camera and striking
     the plate would fog the plate, but if the lens is shaded so that
     the direct rays of the sun do not strike it, the camera may be
     pointed directly toward the sun.

       *       *       *       *       *

FALSE ECONOMY

is practised by people who buy inferior articles of food. The Gail
Borden Eagle Brand Condensed Milk is the best infant food. _Infant
Health_ is the title of a valuable pamphlet for mothers. Sent free by
New York Condensed Milk Co., New York.--[_Adv._]




ADVERTISEMENTS.




Arnold

Constable & Co

       *       *       *       *       *

SPRING IMPORTATIONS.

PARIS LINGERIE.

_Peignoirs, Matinées, Jupons, Chemises de Nuit._

Fancy Trimmed Waists,

_Organdie, Batiste, and Linon._

Silk Petticoats,

_Silk Waists._

       *       *       *       *       *

Children's Wear

_Hand-made Guimpes, School Frocks,_

_Fancy Lawn Dresses,_

_Piqué Coats, French Caps._

       *       *       *       *       *

Broadway & 19th st.

NEW YORK.




WALTER BAKER & CO., LIMITED

Established Dorchester, Mass., 1780.

Breakfast Cocoa

[Illustration]

Always ask for Walter Baker & Co.'s

Breakfast Cocoa

Made at

DORCHESTER, MASS.

It bears their Trade Mark

"La Belle Chocolatiere" on every can.

Beware of Imitations.




Postage Stamps, &c.




[Illustration]

STAMPS! 300 fine mixed Victoria, Cape of G. H., India, Japan, etc., with
fine Stamp Album, only =10c.= New 80-p. Price-list =free=. _Agents wanted_
at =50%= commission. STANDARD STAMP CO., 4 Nicholson Place, St. Louis, Mo.
Old U. S. and Confederate Stamps bought.




$117.50 WORTH OF STAMPS FREE

to agents selling stamps from my 50% approval sheets. Send at once for
circular and price-list giving full information.

C. W. Grevning, Morristown, N. J.




[Illustration]

100 all dif. Venezuela, Bolivia, etc., only 10c.; 200 all dif. Hayti,
Hawaii, etc., only 50c. Ag'ts w't'd at 50% com. List FREE! =C. A.
Stegmann=, 5941 Cote Brilliante Ave., St. Louis, Mo




=500= Mixed Australian, etc., 10c.; =105 varieties=, and =nice= album,
10c.; 15 unused, 10c.; 10 Africa, 10c.; 15 Asia, 10c. F. P. Vincent,
Chatham, N.Y.




FOREIGN STAMPS ON APPROVAL. Agents wanted at 50% com. Lists free. CHAS.
B. RAUB, New London, Conn.




125 dif. Gold Coast, Costa Rica, etc., 25c.; 40 U. S., 25c. Liberal com.
to agents. Large bargain list free. F. W. MILLER, 904 Olive St., St.
Louis, Mo.




STAMPS! 100 all dif. Barbados, etc. Only 10c. Ag'ts w't'd at 50% com.
List free. L. DOVER & CO., 1469 Hodiamont, St. Louis, Mo.




FINE APPROVAL SHEETS. Agents wanted at 50% com. P. S. Chapman, Box 151,
Bridgeport, Ct.




BOOKS OF STAMPS at 33-1/3% com. References required. =Model Stamp Co.=, W.
Superior, Wis.




=WANTED= Vol. I. HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, bound or unbound. H. WILLIAMS, 25
East 10th Street, New York.




[Illustration: THOMPSON'S EYE WATER]




[Illustration]

Harper's Catalogue,

Thoroughly revised, classified, and indexed, will be sent by mail to any
address on receipt of ten cents.




From a Naval "Veteran."


     On Wednesday, October 2d, I saw the new United States armored
     cruiser _Brooklyn_ launched in Cramps' ship-yard. There was a large
     crowd outside the gates when I arrived. The _Brooklyn_ rested on an
     inclined platform, which was well greased with tallow. She looked
     superb and gigantic as she rested there waiting for the time to
     come for her to take her first plunge. When the time did come the
     cheering of the spectators and the shrieks of the whistles were
     deafening. The launch was entirely successful from every point of
     view.

     The _Brooklyn_'s keel was laid in the summer of 1893, and she will
     be finished next February, when she promises to be superior to any
     cruiser afloat. After the launch I had a look at the United States
     war-vessels _Indiana_, _Massachusetts_, and _Iowa_, and the
     steamers _Curaçoa_ and _Comanche_. About two weeks later I again
     visited Cramps' and went on board the _Brooklyn_. All over her were
     men busy finishing her. I was also aboard the _Comanche_ and
     _Paris_. The _Indiana_ and _Curaçoa_ were no longer in the yard,
     and as the _Massachusetts_ was being repaired no one except the
     employés were permitted on her. I expect to see the _Iowa_
     launched. On Saturday, October 5th, accompanied by a younger
     brother and a friend, I visited the United States Navy-yard, which
     is situated on League Island in the Delaware River. We saw the
     monitors _Montauk_, _Canonicus_, _Mahopac_, _Manhattan_, _Lehigh_,
     _Catskill_, _Jason_, and _Nahant_, which lay in the arm of the
     Delaware that separates League Island from the mainland. For fully
     an hour we clambered all over the monitors, which had but one
     turret and two guns apiece, and we thought, as we left them, that
     the _Catskill_ was the best.

     These monitors, as well as the ones we saw later, were in the civil
     war, and since then, up to the middle of last August, when they
     were ordered here, they have been lying in the James River, not far
     from Richmond, Va. Crossing the island we went on board the
     receiving-ship _Richmond_, where boys are "received" for the United
     States Navy and then sent to Newport, R. I., to be instructed before
     entering active service. We also saw the monitors _Miantonomoh_ and
     _Ajax_. The former has two turrets, each containing two great guns.
     Upon our giving him a "tip," a man showed us all over her, and
     explained how her men and officers "bunked," how she was
     ventilated, how her turrets were moved, how her guns were loaded
     and fired, etc. After a jaunt of an hour or more over the island,
     we wound up our visit with going on board the United States
     dynamite cruiser _Vesuvius_, which we inspected in every part.

     I am much interested in naval matters, and am collecting, besides
     stamps and autographs, pictures, scenes, etc, of the navies of the
     world. I like Mr. W. J. Henderson's stories, especially "The Old
     Sailor's Yarns," and _Afloat with the Flag_. Any one who is
     interested in naval matters, and who would like to enter the Naval
     Academy at Annapolis, I will give a sample of the style of entrance
     examinations, and also a few hints.

  SIR JOHN H. CAMPBELL, JUN., K.R.T.
  413 SCHOOL LANE, GERMANTOWN, PHILA., PA.

       *       *       *       *       *

Santa Barbara's Flower Festival.


     I do not think that you have heard much of the yearly flower
     carnival held in Santa Barbara. This city is noted for its large
     and beautiful flowers and foliage, and also for semi-tropical
     trees, such as palms, bananas, guavas, lemons, oranges, and
     loquats. The festival lasts about three or four days, and comes
     almost always in the middle of April. The one I am going to
     describe is that of last April. Unfortunately about a week before
     it the pavilion in which was to be the carnival ball was burned,
     and with it all the flags, bunting, and other decorations. This
     dampened the spirits of the people, but thanks to the help of some
     of the prominent citizens, money was soon raised for the
     decorations and a temporary pavilion was built.

     State Street, the main thoroughfare, was beautifully decorated, and
     several arches spanned it. Tribunes were erected for a block and a
     half, in which the people were to sit while the procession passed
     by. The carnival opened on Monday. The first feature was the riding
     at rings at the race-track. On Wednesday there was the flower show
     at the pavilion, followed in the evening by a concert. On Thursday
     the grand floral parade took place, and this was the gala day of
     the carnival. Floats, spring wagons, surreys, phaetons, carts, and
     horses were covered with flowers, and prizes were awarded to the
     best-decorated vehicles. Friday night a grand flower ball took
     place, opened by the French minuet in costume, and attended by a
     number of United States naval officers of the United States cruiser
     _Olympia_.

  SIR FREDRIC N.
  CALIFORNIA.

       *       *       *       *       *

A Bit about the Old Hall.


     We visited Independence Hall one day while in Philadelphia. It was
     most interesting. In one room were the portraits of all the men
     that signed the Declaration. On the floor were the chairs that the
     men sat in. In the hall there hung the great Liberty Bell "with
     many a chip and crack." In the west room was the arch that
     Washington walked under when in the house.

      In a case on the right of the door were a piece of Penn's elm, the
     paper England tried to make us use before the Revolution, and some
     old-fashioned money. On the left was the frame on which the Liberty
     Bell used to hang. Right near it was a case with Lafayette's
     epaulets In it, also a drum, a gun, a cannon-ball, and many other
     things. We went out wishing we had more time to spend. Shall I
     write again and tell you about our visit to Girard College?

  JULIAN BREITENSTEIN.
  TIDIOUTE, PA.

If you please.

       *       *       *       *       *

The World and the Ancients Again.


     Not long since the question was asked, "How the ancients knew there
     were poles without having some idea of the roundness of the earth."
     A phrase, _intonnere poli_, was quoted from Virgil which is
     certainly translated "The poles resound with thunder." As I
     interpret this it means the heavens thunder--the "heavens" being
     symbolized by the "poles" upon which they were supposed to revolve.
     According to the ancient idea the earth was a circular disk, above
     which was the "starry vault of heaven," of solid metal, and below
     which was the deep cave of Hades.

     Around the earth flowed the black waters of the River Ocean, and
     beyond this the heavens met the lower world in much the same manner
     as the one half of a hollow sphere joins the other. But the shape
     was not spherical, it was elliptical, and this peculiar mass
     whirled on an axis extending from the highest point of heaven down
     through the centre of the earth to the lowest point of Hades.
     Either extremity of this axis was a pole, hence the use of "poles"
     for "heavens," but whether this axis was an imaginary one or
     whether it is to be taken literally I have been unable to
     ascertain.

     The earth was thus completely enveloped by the upper and lower
     worlds, separated from them by strong horizontal pillars, and held
     in its place by Atlas; but notwithstanding the fact that an axis
     passed directly through it, the earth had no rotary motion; in
     other words, the earth was in the interior of a spinning mass.
     These are some of the most important facts, and I hope an answer to
     the question. In looking over the Grecian and Roman mythology a
     great many conflicting theories are noticed, and the ancient mind
     appears to have been most unstable and unsatisfied in regard to the
     idea of the construction and arrangement of the universe.

  PAUL A. SINSHEIMER.
  SAN LUIS OBISPO, CAL.

       *       *       *       *       *

Navajo Indians.


     I am going to try and tell the readers a little about the Navajo
     Indians, near whose reservation I live. The Navajos, as a rule, are
     not a tall race, although there is one living about two miles from
     town who is over six feet. His white friends call him "Lengthy."
     The squaw who went to the World's Fair as being the best Navajo
     blanket-maker of the tribe has two photographs, one of herself and
     another squaw, and one of the Government Building which was at the
     Fair, which she delights in showing to every one that goes to her
     hut. She talks about "much people" whom she saw while there.

     Some of the Indians are quite old, but as active as when young. One
     squaw has great-grandchildren who can do as much work in field or
     house as a man. Three years ago la grippe came among them; but few
     died, as they have a way of curing it which they will not reveal.
     One man died who had curly black hair which came to his knees--the
     only Indian ever known hereabouts to have curly hair. Between Fort
     Defiance and here, about nine miles, there is a large hill which
     was made by the Indians, who, as they went from one place to the
     other, would throw, as they passed this spot, a stone, stick, or
     handful of dirt on it, praying that they would accomplish their
     journey in safety.

     It is seldom that those who have been to school for a year or two
     live when they return to their tribe, because, after becoming used
     to our food, they cannot live on their own, it being very poor and
     insufficient. The Navajos live principally on corn, mutton, beans,
     melons, and green pease, in their season, which they raise
     themselves, besides tea, coffee, and sugar for those that can buy
     or beg it. They have a bread made of a mixture of flour, meat,
     water, and red pepper which has a very sharp taste. There are two
     silversmiths in the tribe, who make buttons, belts, rings, bridles,
     and bracelets out of silver money. One of them had his nose hurt on
     the point, and he immediately filled it with clay and put plaster
     over it, and now the skin has grown partly over it, giving him an
     odd appearance indeed.

     The clothing of the men usually consists of one or more calico
     shirts, cut and made by themselves, a pair of overalls, and
     moccasins, with a blanket tied around the waist, which is worn at
     all times, with a hat sometimes, and sometimes not. The squaw
     usually has four or five calico dresses, either made by herself or
     given to her by some white friend, with blanket and moccasins the
     same as the men. They make no money except a few dollars or cents
     now and then by doing small jobs, running errands, and selling
     their beautiful blankets for half what they are worth.

  MARY D. TARR, R.T.L.
  MANUELITO, N. M.

       *       *       *       *       *

Geographical Hiding-places.


1, Find meat in an English river. 2, Find a mineral paint in American
mountains. 3, Find a small steamer in a European country. 4, Find a
floor-covering in a country of South America. 5, Find a destructive
animal in a New York watering-place. 6, Find a kind of clay in an
Atlantic sound. 7, Find a carriage in a lake. 8, Find a small carpet in
an Asiatic island. 9, Find small talk in an Asiatic sea. 10, Find a
discoverer in a continent. 11, Find a part of the foot in a Virginia
city. 12, Find a useful fowl in a city of New York.

Answer.--1, T-_ham_-es. 2, C-_umber_-land. 3, Por-_tug_-al. 4,
U-_rug_-uay. 5, Sa-_rat_-oga. 6, Albe-_marl_-e. 7, Ni-_car_-agua. 8,
Su-_mat_-ra. 9, Kamt-_chat_-ka. 10, Am-_eric_-a. 11, W-_heel_-ing. 12,
Sc-_hen_-ectady.

       *       *       *       *       *

Blue-fishing off Nantucket.


     I have been to Nantucket two summers and have watched the fishing
     that is carried on there at all times of the year. In the summer
     the blue-fish are the ones most caught. They are taken in seines.
     The men who fish with these seines are called seiners. The
     blue-fish are caught at a place called Great Point, where the water
     is very shoal. Great Point is about twelve miles from the town of
     Nantucket, but it is a part of the island.

     A seiner starts from the town about 4 A.M. By law no net may be
     used in the harbor or within a mile of the shore. When a seiner
     sights a school of blue-fish he sends row boats out to surround the
     school. As the nets are hauled into the sail-boat the blue-fish are
     taken out and put in barrels. Sometimes one seiner gets as many as
     a thousand blue-fish. The fish are then sent to New Bedford, where
     they are loaded into "tank-ships." I have never seen a tank-ship in
     Nantucket.

  F. A. JUDSON.
  LANSINGBURG, N. Y.




[Illustration: STAMPS]

     This Department is conducted in the interest of stamp and coin
     collectors, and the Editor will be pleased to answer any question
     on these subjects so far as possible. Correspondents should address
     Editor Stamp Department.


Since "specialization" has become fashionable many stamps which have a
larger or smaller perforation, a different water-mark, or a decided
difference in shades of the same color, etc., have increased in value
enormously. For instance, the 4c. slate, Hong-Kong, perforated 14, is
worth 6c. used, or 8c. unused. The same stamp, perforated 12-1/2, is
worth $5 used, $50 unused, and hard to find even at those prices. The
cataloguing of all these minute varieties has resulted in lists which
simply bewilder the beginner, and in catalogues of 600 pages or more in
small type. These minute varieties are out of the reach of all except
the very rich collector. Some thirty-five dealers recognizing the needs
of the smaller collectors have united in issuing _The American Standard
Stamp-Catalogue_, which omits these "varieties," simply listing the
stamps in the regular colors, etc.; and I learn the demand for this
catalogue has been so great that the first edition was exhausted on the
day of publication.

     P. W. VARNEY.--This Department does not give dealers' names. The
     gold dollar, 1849, is worth $1.50.

     F. BRENGLE.--The capped 2's of the 1890 issue are sold by dealers
     at 10c. each. Immense quantities are on hand, as every one saved
     them.

     G. W. SCHAICK--U.S. stamps issued previous to 1861 can _not_ be
     used for postage. All others can.

     G. CARLISS.--The $1 and $2, present issue, can be bought cancelled
     at half face.

     W. HILLES.--See the ROUND TABLE for December 17, 1895, and January
     14, 1896, for values of U.S. coins. Circulated coins of the last
     seventy-five years have very little value beyond face.

     O. H. SAMPSON.--The coin is worth 5c., the "shin-plaster," 20c.

     W. G. WALDO.--The prices quoted are those asked by dealers. See
     answer to W. Hilles.

     R. A. HAYES.--U. S. stamps cut in two and used on letters have no
     postal value, and collectors do not care for them.

     F. C. SMALL.--There are literally millions of Roman coins in
     existence. Every little while some one digs up a whole boxful.
     Dealers sell many of these coins at 10c. each.

     L. HUBBARD.--The unused reprint of the 3c. 1869 U.S. is worth $15.
     The reprint is on a different paper. It is worth about the same
     used.

     E. C. WOOD.--A few of the 1875 reprints were used for postage, and
     they can be used for postage to-day. No rule can be given, but as a
     general thing, when the catalogue does not price a stamp in both
     used and unused condition, the inference is that so few copies are
     known that no definite market value has been established. Jefferson
     and Perry.

     S. MANNING.--Defaced coins are worth metal value only; possibly
     some such coins would be redeemed at face value at the Sub-Treasury
     in New York.

     R. H. MARTIN.--I shall always be glad to examine any rare stamps,
     but it is not worth the expense to send common or ordinary stamps.

     E. C. ALLEN.--Thank you for your courtesy, but I see all the new
     stamps as soon as they reach New York. Re-engraved stamps have all
     their lines deepened, and they lose the clear look of the
     originals.

     ORIGINAL SUBSCRIBER.--Your coin is of private mintage. The initials
     S.M.V. stand for "San Francisco Mint Value." The coin is worth
     bullion only ($5).

     A. B. TAYLOR.--The 3c. 1869, unused, is worth 25c. The 1875
     reprint, unused, on a different paper, is worth $15. Many of the
     1869 issue were faintly grilled, or escaped grilling entirely.

     G. WILSON.--The foreign coins are worth metal value only. The
     U. S. coin list was published in the ROUND TABLE for December 17,
     1895, and January 14, 1896.

     H. L. GRAND.--Scotland uses the stamps of Great Britain. The
     Columbian 1c. to 15c. can be bought for 45c. used, $1 unused.

     R. SANDS.--The Massachusetts coin can be bought for $2. The 5c.
     piece is worth face only, if it has been circulated.

     B. M.--The stamp you describe is one of the five or six varieties
     of U.S. Revenues, of which hundreds of millions were used, hence no
     value.

  PHILATUS.




[Illustration: IVORY SOAP]

    If art embroidery be soiled
  And washed with common soap, 'tis spoiled;
    But Ivory Soap preserves the hue
  As brilliant and as fresh as new.

Copyright, 1896, by The Procter & Gamble Co., Cin'ti.




PRINTING OUTFIT 10c.

[Illustration]

[Illustration: G. A. R. 25c.]

[Illustration: Brownies 10c.]

For printing cards, marking linen, books, etc. Contains everything shown
in cut. Type, Tweezers, Holder, Indelible Ink, Ink Pad, etc. Thoroughly
practical for business or household use and a most instructive
amusement. Sent with catalogue illustrating over 1000 Tricks and
Novelties, for 10c. in stamps to pay postage and packing on outfit and
catalogue. Same outfit with figures 15c. Large outfit for printing two
lines 25c.

=Brownie Rubber Stamps=--A set of 6 grotesque little people with ink pad;
price, postpaid, 10c.

G. A. R. series Rubber Stamps, 12 characters. Makes all kinds of
Battles, Encampments and other military pictures, 25c. postpaid. Address

ROBERT H. INGERSOLL & BRO.

Dep't No. 62,

65 Cortlandt St., New York.




BREAKFAST--SUPPER.

EPPS'S

GRATEFUL--COMFORTING.

COCOA

BOILING WATER OR MILK.




=A NEAT BOX=, containing 12 mineral specimens from Millard County, Utah,
including genuine gold and silver ore, copper, onyx, etc., postpaid to
any address for 25 cts. J. A. ROBINSON, Clear Lake, Utah.




PLAYS

Dialogues, Speakers for School, Club and Parlor. Catalogue free. =T. S.
Denison=, Publisher, Chicago Ill.




[Illustration: THOMPSON'S EYE WATER]




HOOPING

COUGH

CROUP

_Can be cured_

by using

ROCHE'S HERBAL

EMBROCATION

The celebrated and effectual English cure, without internal medicine. W.
EDWARD & SON, Props., London, Eng. Wholesale, E. FOUGERA & CO., New York




DOLL CLOTHES

Eleven Complete Patterns (all separate), for every article of Dolly's
clothing, with full directions for making, and one yard of fine lace,
all sent to any address for =only Ten Cents= (silver or stamps). Address

DOLL SUPPLY HOUSE, East 51st St., Bayonne, N. J.




=MAKE MONEY= by writing stories. Our Literary Bureau is the Open Door.
Stamp for samples and particulars. CURRENT EVENTS, Cleveland, O.




CARDS

FOR 1896. 50 Sample Styles AND LIST OF 400 PREMIUM ARTICLES FREE.
HAVERFIELD PUB. Co., Cadiz, Ohio.




POEMS BY MRS. SANGSTER

Little Knights and Ladies

     Verses for Young People. By MARGARET E. SANGSTER. Illustrated.
     16mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25.

On the Road Home:

     Poems. By MARGARET E. SANGSTER. Illustrated. 16mo, Cloth,
     Ornamental, $1.25.

Home Fairies and Heart Flowers.

     Twenty Studies of Children's Heads. With Floral Embellishments,
     Head and Tail Pieces, Initial Letters, etc., by FRANK FRENCH. With
     Poems by MARGARET E. SANGSTER. 4to, Cloth, $6.00. (_In a Box._)

       *       *       *       *       *

HARPER & BROTHERS, Publishers, New York




TOLD BY FLORENCE.


William J. Florence, the comedian, had a reputation for bright stories
and practical jokes. The following one is said to have been told by him
at a dinner one night, when the conversation turned on travelling
theatrical companies:

"Years ago," said Florence, "I was in a small company skipping from town
to town. We had met with extremely bad luck up to our landing in the
town of D----. There we found the lowest ebb of all, for when the
curtain rolled up there were just two persons in the audience, a young
girl in an orchestra chair, and a young man in the front row of the
balcony. We went on with the performance, however, possibly to warm
ourselves more than anything else. According to my part, I was helping
the heroine to escape the clutches of the villain, and in one of my
lines I said, 'Have you noticed that even the bright moon is rising to
light us on our way.' Before she had time to reply, the young man in the
balcony called out, 'I am not so certain about the young lady
downstairs, but I can see it all right.'"

       *       *       *       *       *

A LITTLE TOO ECONOMIC.

A gentleman residing in New York recently hired a colored boy for a
valet. The boy proved a valuable acquisition in everything except one,
and that was his practice of economy. He was forever endeavoring to save
money for his employer. One day he was sent to get some letters stamped
and to post them. Upon his return the gentleman asked him if he had
attended to it all right. The boy replied, "I's found a lot of gemmen
getting stamps, and as they didn't charge them anything to put the
letters in the slot, I saved you twenty cents, 'cause I slipped yours in
without stamps." That colored boy was too economic, and he was dispensed
with.

       *       *       *       *       *

An awkward man attempted to carve a turkey, and in so doing pushed it
from the platter to the floor.

"There, now, we've lost our dinner," wailed his wife.

"Oh no, we haven't; I've got my foot on it!"

       *       *       *       *       *

BOBBY. "Boo! hoo! hoo!" (_fingering a big bump on his forehead._) "They
do give things the most 'diculous names. I don't see what they call that
bicycle a safety for."

       *       *       *       *       *

CLASS IN NATURAL HISTORY.

TEACHER. "Johnny, what do we call a creature with two legs?"

JOHNNY. "A biped, ma'am."

TEACHER. "Name one."

JOHNNY. "A man, ma'am."

TEACHER. "Are there any feathered bipeds?"

JOHNNY. "Chickens and ostriches, ma'am."

TEACHER. "That's right. Willie, what is a quadruped?"

WILLIE. "A thing with four legs, ma'am."

TEACHER. "Name one."

WILLIE. "An elephant."

TEACHER. "Are there any feathered quadrupeds?"

WILLIE. "Yes, ma'am."

TEACHER. "What?"

WILLIE. "A feather-bed, ma'am."

       *       *       *       *       *

A "PUPIL OF THE CELEBRATED MASCAGNI."

Almost every boy and girl has heard of Pietro Mascagni, the composer of
_Cavalleria Rusticana_, made so famous in the world through its
beautiful intermezzo, and also through having the good fortune to be
sung by some of the most brilliant artists of the nineteenth century.
One day, when sitting in his study, an organ-grinder stopped below his
window, and began grinding out the intermezzo from the _Cavalleria_ so
rapidly that it could hardly be told from a jig. Mascagni jumped up in a
rage, and, rushing out, seized the handle of the organ, and played it
slowly, as it should be, explaining meanwhile that he was the author,
etc. This somewhat appeased the wrath of the organ-grinder, and before
Mascagni had finished, a broad smile illuminated his face. Shortly
afterwards Mascagni and some friends had the pleasure of passing the
same organ-grinder, and thereupon his organ was a large sign that read:
"Pupil of the Celebrated Mascagni."

       *       *       *       *       *

RAILROAD REPARTEE.

A very smart young man wishing to supply amusement for a group of young
ladies that accompanied him, accosted the conductor of a railroad train
as follows:

"My dear conductor, what--er--do you call an up train!"

"Why, a train that blows up, explodes, goes to smash--anything of that
sort."

"Ah, yes, to be sure. And--er--what do you call a down train?"

"Down train!--why, that's a train that goes down an embankment, or
through a trestle-work; has some sort of a fall, you know."

The young ladies were laughing heartily at these answers, which
embarrassed the young man, and desperately pointing to the train they
were about to board, he asked,

"And where might this train be going?"

"Oh," replied the conductor, "we never agree to answer those questions
beforehand."

       *       *       *       *       *

KIND-HEARTED PRESIDENT FAURE.

Felix Faure, President of the French Republic, has made the hearts of
many of the little girls of his country beat with joy. It is one of his
practices to devote at least two mornings a week to visiting hospitals.
His visits are not of the hasty order, but much the other way, as he
spends time passing through the different wards, especially among the
sick children. One of his favorite questions is to ask the little
unfortunates what he can do for them, and in the case of little girls
the answer is invariably _une poupée_ (a doll). Then with a kind-hearted
smile President Faure takes out his pad and pencil and writes down the
child's desire. The next morning usually finds several boxes of dolls at
the hospital, all of them very handsome. It is said that his generosity
has already cost him over one thousand dolls since he has occupied the
Presidential chair.




THE TRICK BEAR AND THE PUNCHING-BAG.

(_A Comedy in four Acts._)

[Illustration: 1.]

[Illustration: 2.]

[Illustration: 3.]

[Illustration: 4.]





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