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Title: Harper's Round Table,  August 20, 1895
Author: Various
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

*** Start of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Harper's Round Table,  August 20, 1895" ***

This book is indexed by ISYS Web Indexing system to allow the reader find any word or number within the document.



[Illustration: HARPER'S ROUND TABLE]

Copyright, 1895, by HARPER & BROTHERS. All Rights Reserved.

       *       *       *       *       *

PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, AUGUST 20, 1895. FIVE CENTS A COPY.

VOL. XVI.--NO. 825. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.

       *       *       *       *       *



[Illustration]

BRADDY'S BROTHER.

BY JULIANA CONOVER.


[Illustration: Decorative I]

t was the ending of the ninth inning; the score stood 8 to 7 in
Princeton's favor, but Harvard had only one man out, and the bases were
full.

Was it any wonder that the Freshmen couldn't keep their seats, and that
the very air seemed to hold its breath while Bradfield, '98, twisted the
ball?

In the centre of the grand stand, where the orange and black was
thickest, but the enthusiasm more controlled, stood a boy, his whole
body quivering with nervous excitement, his eyes glued--as were all
others--to the pitcher's box.

"Come in, now! look out! lead off!" the Harvard coach was saying, as the
umpire's "one strike, two balls, two strikes, three balls," raised and
dashed again the hopes of Princeton. Then came a moment of horrible
nerve-destroying suspense, and then the umpire's calm and
judicial--"striker out."

Above the cheers, which literally tore the air, the shrill discordant
note of the boy's voice could be heard, yelling like mad for Princeton
and '98.

"Who is that little fellow?" said a girl, just behind him to her
companion. The boy turned like a flash.

"I'm Braddy's brother," he said, his chest still heaving, and his cheek
glowing. "He's struck out _seven_ men!"

The girl smiled, and an upper classman, who was next to him, patted him
on the back.

"It's a proud day for Braddy's brother," he said, "and for '98 and
Princeton, that is, if Harvard doesn't--" For a moment it looked as if
Harvard would, for the regular thud of the ball against the catcher's
glove was interrupted by the ominous crack of the bat, and the men on
bases ran for their lives on the bare chance of a hit, or possibly an
error.

But '98 was not going to let a hard-earned victory slip between her
fingers like that; the short-stop fielded the swift grounder
beautifully, and the runner was out at first.

There was a short cheer, then a long wordless, formless burst of triumph
swelling out from a hundred throats. The crowd swarmed on the diamond,
the Freshman nine was picked up and carried off the field, "Braddy"
riding on the crest of a dangerous-looking wave which was formed by a
seething, howling mob.

"Well," said the Senior, turning to his small neighbor, "how does
'Braddy's brother' feel now?"

But "Braddy's brother's" feelings were too deep for utterance; besides,
he was trying to remember just how many times the Princeton Freshmen had
won from Harvard in the last six years.

       *       *       *       *       *

"Hullo, Dave! Dave Hunter!" called Bradfield, as a small boy passed near
the group on the front campus. "Don't you want to take my brother off
for a little while, and show him the town?"

Dave came up blushing with pleasure at having the man who had just
pitched a winning game single him out.

"This is Dave Hunter, a special friend of mine, Bing," Braddy continued,
turning to the little chap who was lying stretched out on the grass
beside him, and who felt by this time as if he owned the whole campus
and all the college buildings, for hadn't he been in the athletic
club-house, the cage, and the 'gym.'? and wasn't he actually going to
eat at a Freshman club, and sleep up in a college room? It was the
greatest day of his life, his first taste of independence; and the glory
of being "Braddy's brother" seemed to him beyond compare.

"Don't keep him too long, Dave," said Bradfield, as the two boys started
off; "we'll have to get through dinner early if we want to hear the
Seniors sing."

Young Bingham Bradfield nodded and blushed and smiled all the way down
to the gate, as men in the different groups which they passed called
out:

"There goes 'Braddy's brother,'" or, "Hullo, little Brad," or, "What's
the matter with '98?" and one who knew him at home sang out,
"B-I-N-G-O--_Bingo_!" It was awfully exciting.

"They're going to have a fire to-night," Dave said, as they walked up
Nassau Street. "I heard some of the Freshmen say that they would begin
and collect the wood as soon as it was dark."

"Where do they get it?" asked Bingham.

"Oh, just take it," Dave answered, carelessly. "They take fences and
gates, and boards and barrels, and, oh, anything they can find. That
would be a dandy one," pointing to a half-broken-down rail fence which
divided an orchard from a newly opened road.

"It wouldn't let any cows or horses out, you see. They stole our barn
gate once, and the horses got loose on the front lawn and tore up all
the grass. We didn't mind, though," with true college spirit, "for we'd
beaten Yale."

"Yale Freshmen?" eagerly.

"No," with great scorn: "the 'Varsity. Nobody's much stuck on Freshmen
in Princeton," he continued, "except, of course, your brother. He's
great; he'll make the 'Varsity next year, sure."

Bingo's feelings were soothed. _He_ thought all the Freshmen "great,"
but was satisfied if others only appreciated Braddy.

They grew very chummy, the two boys, and Braddy's brother had learned a
great deal about college life by the time he was brought back to the
campus.

       *       *       *       *       *

It was in the middle of Senior singing, when the shadows from the tall
old elms were being swallowed up in the gathering darkness, and the
groups in white duck trousers scattered about the grass were beginning
to be indistinguishable, that slim figures were seen hurrying
mysteriously to and fro, and the peace of the evening was rudely broken
into by the preparations for a "Freshman fire."

The victory had already been celebrated on Old North steps, for had not
Bingo himself heard the Seniors sing, as an encore to a favorite solo,
these never-to-be-forgotten lines, composed for the occasion:

      "The Freshmen nine came from Harvard for to show
        How they played the game of ball;
      But found when Bradfield got in his finest curves
        They couldn't hit the ball at all.
      The game stood in our favor 8 to 7
        When they came to the bat once more.
      Their Captain said, ''Tis the ending of the 9th,
        We've got to tie the score.'
  _Chorus._--Then when he saw the bases full
              His sides with laughter shook.
                But when he heard the umpire shout
                'Two strikes'--then 'striker out!'
              He wore a worried look--
              He wore a worried look."

That brought even a finer glow to the boy's cheek than when the familiar
"Bingo! Bingo! Bingo!--'way down on the Bingo farm!" had drawn the
attention of his brother's friends to him, and made him feel for a
moment as though he were a college hero.

The singing had ceased with "Old Nassau," and the campus was alive now
with hurrying groups. The usual night cries filled the air: "Hullo,
Billy Appleton!" "Hullo, Benny Butler!" "Come over here!" "See you
later," etc., and the Freshmen were shouting and rushing wildly about.
"Where's Porter?" "Where's Tommy?" "Where's Dad?" was heard on all
sides. "'98 this way, '98 this way!"

"Stick to me, Bing," said Braddy, as he started over to his room in
Witherspoon; "stick close to me, or you'll surely get lost."

"We haven't half enough wood, Park," said a '98 man, coming up to the
class president, who was standing near Bradfield; "it won't make any
sort of a fire."

"Can't you get more? We must have a good one," answered Porter, "Get a
fence, or a house--any old thing will do. I've got to find Runt and
Bunny now, and see about a wagon for the nine. Will meet you later."

"Come on, Bingo," said Braddy.

He, Braddy, ought not to stay round and hear all the arrangements for a
celebration which was to be in his honor. The nine was supposed to keep
modestly out of the way, and know nothing whatever about it.

"Come on, Bing!"

But Bingo didn't "come on," he has business of his own to transact. The
Freshman fire, his first fire, _must_ be a success, and he knew where a
good fence was. Quick as thought he dropped behind his brother, and was
soon lost in the crowd, then he made a break for the street. At the
corner he met Dave Hunter.

"Hullo! where you going?"

It was a secret, but he told, and Dave, like "Ducky Daddies,"
"Cocky-locky," etc., in the old Grimm fairy-tale of _Henny-Penny_, said,
"Then I'll go too."

       *       *       *       *       *

It was a full hour later, and the Freshmen were crowding about the old
cannon, round which a pile of boards, fence rails, barrels, etc., were
stacked, all ready to light. The resources of the town had been about
exhausted, and the raiders were returned "bringing their sheaves with
them." Roman candles and fire-crackers still went off at intervals in
different parts of the campus, but they were only a side issue, the fire
was the real business of the evening. The college was there almost to a
man, and the cheering for and by '98 was "frequent and painful and
free," or would be to one whose nerves were below par; to a healthy
enthusiast it was soul-stirring and exhilarating.

Even the upper classmen added their thunder from well-trained iron lungs
when the old wagon containing the victorious nine came up, dragged by a
lot of wild, reckless, muscular Freshmen. Only true heroes could so
calmly have imperilled their lives, for these bold young spirits were
actually standing up and singing, as the wagon lurched and pitched and
wobbled over curbstones, and down into gutters, and up again. But
fortune favors the brave, and they reached the fire without a single
accident, and were halted at the cannon's mouth in the front row.
Everything was ready, yet there seemed to be some hitch. The crowd began
to get impatient.

"What's the matter?" they cried. "Why don't you light her up?"

"We're waiting for Braddy," came back the answer.

"Where is he?"

"Give it up."

"He's hunting his brother," said one. "He's down on the Bingo farm,"
cried another.

This was rather "fresh," but there was a general laugh, which turned
into a cheer as Braddy, wearing a worried look, pushed his way through
the crowd.

"I can't find the kid," he said, anxiously.

"Oh, he will turn up all right," said the others; "he's sure to come to
the fire. Brace up and light her, Jennings."

Just then there was a shout from behind, and the closely packed mass
opened up to let a fence come in, which two small flushed and panting
boys were dragging after them.

"Great Scott, it's Braddy's brother!" said the Senior who had sat next
to him at the game. "Where in the world did you get all that fence, and
how did you manage to drag it here?"

Bingo was far too breathless to answer, but Dave spoke up.

"A lot of fellows helped us," he said. "We brought it round a back way,
but Brad and I brought it through the campus alone."

"Give them a cheer, fellows," cried the Senior, "and start the fire."

"Here's to Braddy's brother," sang the Freshmen, as they threw the
lighted matches into the pile, "drink her down! Here's to Braddy's
brother, and--"

"Dave Hunter!" shouted Bingo, who had found his voice.

"--and Dave Hunter he's the other; drink her down, drink her down,
drink her down, down, down!" etc., ending up with a rousing
B-I-N-G-O--_Bingo_!

Then the fire began to crackle and sizzle and blaze up and roar, and the
Freshmen cheered and sang and shouted, and the bright light revealed
groups of girls with brothers and friends who had come to see the
celebration, and myriads of small boys who had come to see the fun.

It was a beautiful sight. The wood had been piled up in pyramid form,
and the flames rose red and yellow almost to the tops of the tall elms,
those still sentries of the campus. How it spluttered and hissed and
crashed and roared! and not even the Freshmen could drown the mighty
voice, which spoke in so many different tongues, though they did their
best; and as Braddy's brother, standing near the wagon which held the
nine, watched the shooting, dancing, devouring flames his heart thumped
so that it almost broke out of bounds, and he drew long, very long
breaths.

The fire had died down somewhat, the cheering was more spasmodic and
subdued, the time for speeches had come. Every one crowded closer, and
the wagon, not the burning pile, became the centre of attention.

"Speech! speech!" cried '98. "A speech, Braddy."

Bradfield was not only the pitcher, but the Captain of the Freshman
nine. So they forced him upon the high seat, and yelled for quiet.
Braddy looked down upon the densely packed mass, hushed for the moment
into something like stillness, and his nerve completely deserted him.
There he stood, fair and boyish, a target for all eyes, but he could not
say a word. He opened his mouth, he even gestured, but no sound came. It
was a case of pure stage-fright, and the awkwardness increased with
every second. "Fellows," he managed to stammer out--"fellows--"

But there he stopped. Suddenly the painful pause was broken by a high
excited voice. "Tell 'em Princeton's the biggest college in the world,
Tom, and that '98 can beat any Freshman nine in the country!"

It broke the spell. Long and loud were the cheers that followed this
outburst, and "Braddy's brother," covered with confusion, was hoisted by
a dozen hands into the wagon beside the nine. By the time that quiet had
once more been restored Tom Bradfield had recovered his "nerve," and his
speech on that memorable occasion will go down to posterity as one of
the best on record. All the speeches were good, _splendid_, Bingo
thought, for he heard, and understood, and thrilled with every word.
When the final sentence had been delivered, and '98 had once more
dragged the nine in triumph round the now visible cannon, and cheered
them hoarsely for the last time, and when the crowd had begun to
disperse, leaving the smouldering embers, and shouting and singing as
they went, Braddy turned to his brother with a smile and said,

"Well, Bing, ready for bed?"

And Bingo answered with a sigh, "I suppose a fellow has to go to bed
even after a Freshman fire."



"THE OLD-FASHIONED LAWYER."


Laura's cousins were coming to stay overnight, so she asked mamma if she
might not invite some other school friends, and some of brother Will's,
to spend the evening. And as these friends were pretty sure to come,
mother and daughter held a conference as how best to entertain them.

"Why not have games?"

"The very thing! What would I do without your help, mother dear," was
the impulsive answer.

"And the best game I know to start with would be The Old-fashioned
Lawyer. That will rub away all shyness, and all will feel as though they
were friends for a year."

Laura was delighted, and contentedly ran off to tell her brother. But
Will did not know the game, and Laura had to explain.

"We'll need an odd number of players. But that can be arranged by you or
I dropping out.

"The odd one must be Judge, to settle disputed points.

"The players must sit opposite each other in two rows, and the Lawyer is
to stand in the centre between the rows. The Judge can sit in the big
green chair, because it is high; for he must keep all the players in
full view.

"The game begins by the Lawyer putting a question to the person at
either end of one of the rows. But the one to answer is not the one
addressed. And there, Will, is where the fun comes in."

"Who is to answer?"

"The person at the extreme end of the opposite row. And should he not
correctly answer before the Lawyer counts five, he must change places
with the Lawyer. And the Lawyer begins to count slowly out loud as soon
as he asks the question."

"What if the person addressed replies.'"

"Then he must pay a forfeit.

"After the first question is answered, the Lawyer may address whomever
he pleases, but the party addressed must remain silent; it is the
opposite one who must answer. The Lawyer must of course ask questions
that are possible to answer. If he should take advantage, there's the
Judge to keep him in order."

"What kind of questions _would_ you ask?"

"Why, ordinary ones. Whether or not a person paints from nature? Who is
your favorite musician? Which do you prefer, rowing or sailing, tennis
or golf? All kinds of questions like that. I don't believe one of us
could tell the date of the first crusade, or who invented ink and when.

"And another thing, never look at the individual you intend next to
question. For both he and his opposite neighbor would then be prepared.
You must play very rapidly or it's no fun. And if any question or
discussion occurs, the Judge must decide."

"That will be right jolly, Laura. Do you think the folks will all
come?"



CORPORAL FRED.[1]

A Story of the Riots.

BY CAPTAIN CHARLES KING, U.S.A.


CHAPTER V.

For a mile after leaving its armory the regiment had marched through the
beautiful residence portion of the city, cheered and applauded to the
skies. Turning "column right," it had then threaded a narrow street,
shop-lined and less sympathetic, had tramped in cool disregard through
half a mile of railway property where, in groups of twenty or thirty,
strikers and sympathizers recoiled, but scowled and cursed them, yet
prudently refrained from further violence. Once in a while some street
arab let drive a stone, then dove under the nearest car, and scurried
away into hiding. Then came the lumber district, the swaying bridges
where they broke their cadenced stride, and crossed at route step. Then
in the gathering darkness the head of the column reached the outlying
wards. Square upon square, section on section of frame two-story houses,
the homes of citizens of only moderate means, and here, too, people
clustered on door-steps or ran to gather at street corners and murmur
God-speed and blessing, for less than a mile away now the western sky
was lighting up with the glare of conflagration, and the direful word
was going round that the mob was firing the freight-cars, and that,
despite the efforts of fearless and devoted firemen, the flames were
spreading to warehouses and factories along the line. Only a few minutes
after sundown the first summons had banged on the gongs of the engine
and truck houses of the west side. Then every fire-box for four miles
along the lines of the Great Western seemed to have been "pulled," and
in a wild confusion of alarms assistant chiefs were driving their
clanging buggies, followed by rushing hose-wagons and steamers, all over
the outlying wards, unreeling their hose only to have it slashed and
ruined by swarming rioters, and they themselves, the fire-fighters of
the people, men whose lives were devoted to duty, humanity, and mercy,
brutally clubbed and stoned by overpowering gangs of "toughs" bent on
mad riot and destruction. For hours from every direction the vicious,
the desperate, the unemployed of the great city had been swarming to the
scene, and the police force that, properly led and handled at the
outset, could easily have quelled the incipient tumult, was now as
powerless as the firemen. Oh, what if a prairie gale should rise and fan
these flames, as once, long years before, it swept before it an ocean of
fire that left only a ruined city in its wake!

Marching at route step now, but still in stern silence, the column
seemed to quicken its pace and push eagerly ahead. Open spaces between
the houses or one-storied cottages became more frequent. Fiercer and
wilder the flames seemed shooting on high. Over the low hoarse murmur of
the distant throng could now be heard occasional crackle of pistol
shots, followed by fierce yells. Out at the front, a hundred yards in
advance of the staff, an alert young officer, with a dozen picked men,
scoured the streets, the front yards, the crossings, sweeping the way
for the main column; and now as they came within six blocks of the
scene, the roar of the riot mingling with that of the mounting flames
drowned all other sounds about them. Women at squalid saloons and corner
groceries were laughing and jeering. Women at quiet homes were weeping
and wringing their hands. Somewhere up at the front, beyond the black
bulk of a row of warehouses, a sudden flash and glare lit up the
westward front of every house, and shone on scores of pallid faces. A
volume of flame, a burst of beams, sparks, and billowing smoke flung
high in air, and an instant later a dull roar and rumble shook the
windows close at hand, letting some loose sashes down with startling
clash and jangle. From the sidewalks arose stifled shrieks and louder
wailing. From the head of the column, where some horses shied in sudden
fright, came the firm, low-toned orders of the Colonel: "Forward the
first company! Clear that street ahead!" For, as if hurled back by the
explosion, a dense mass of rioters came flooding into the broad
thoroughfare, blocking it from curb to curb. Promptly at double time the
foremost company went dancing by, forming front into line as it cleared
the group of mounted officers, and then the Colonel turned in his
saddle, and looked back beyond his staff to a second rank of orderlies
and buglers, to where a pale young fellow, hatless, and with heavily
bandaged head, rode side by side with the signal sergeant, his dark eyes
fixed on the soldierly form of his commander.

"Corporal Wallace!" called the Colonel, and our wounded Fred urged his
horse to the commander's side. "You know all these buildings hereabouts.
Can you judge what they're blowing up?"

"That's near the shops, sir. They may have fired them."

"Which is Allen Street? The police officials are to meet us there."

"Second street ahead, sir; just this side of the crowd."

"What's that big plant off there to the northward?" asked the Colonel,
indicating a group of factorylike buildings whose walls and windows were
illumined by the glare of the flames in the freight-yards.

"The Amity Wagon-Works, sir, where Sercombe and I were discharged this
afternoon."

"Yes. I heard about that. Similar cases occurred in town. Never you
mind, my lad, there'll be employers enough for both of you when this
trouble's over, and troubles enough for the employers who discharged
you. Now ride close by me; we'll need guides here, and that's why you're
mounted. What an infernal row they're making yonder," he added, as
though to himself, as yells of rage and triumph mingling rose madly over
the hiss of the flames.

Already the advance company was nearing the crossing of the second
street. At the hydrant on one side stood a fire-engine blowing off its
useless steam. In a buggy, surrounded by a dozen helmeted police on
foot, sat an inspector of the department, alternately eying the flames
and the surging mob on one side, and on the other the dim column
swinging up the dusty street. Already dozens of excited men were
rushing, ducking, and darting along the sidewalks, speeding to their
fellows in the mob to say the soldiers were close at hand. The little
squad in advance had reached the crossing, when the official in the
buggy raised his hand, signalled halt, and, obedient to the time-honored
republican principle of the subordination of the military to the civil
power, the Lieutenant respected the order. The leading company marched
straight to the crossing, then, too, in its turn, as one man, halted
short at the command of its stalwart captain, and down came the musket
butts on the wooden pavement. The Colonel spurred forward, his Adjutant
and Corporal Fred following in his tracks. There was little of
gratification in the soldier's face as he recognized the official in the
buggy; but the laws of his State, which he had sworn to obey, as well as
the orders of the Governor and the officers appointed over him,
prevailed. The Governor's orders placed the troops at the disposal of
the Mayor. The Mayor ordered the Colonel to report to the Inspector of
Police. It was something unheard of in military tradition, but this was
no time to expostulate or object. The gentleman and soldier touched his
hat to the ex-ward politician. "Mr. Morrissey, I report with my regiment
for your instructions." And the long column behind him, battalion by
battalion, came to the halt.

Up the side street among some piles of lumber arose above the tumult, or
rather pierced its low, deep-throated roar, the shrill cries of a child
in mad excitement and distress. "Oh, let me go!" it wailed. "I must see
the Colonel! I want my brother! They're killing my father! Oh, don't
stop me! Fred! Fred!" it screamed, and in the grasp of a burly policeman
at the outskirts of a crowd of women and children a little hatless boy
could be seen madly struggling.

[Illustration: IN ANOTHER MOMENT HE HAD RAISED THE BOY IN HIS ARMS.]

"Ah, go home to your mother wid yer fairy stories," was the cajoling
answer, as the officer strove to thrust the youngster back among the
by-standers; but all in an instant a lithe young fellow in the uniform
of a corporal had sprung from his saddle and rushed to the scene. In
another moment he had raised the boy in his arms, and with his burden
clinging sobbing at his neck, Fred Wallace came bounding back down the
street.

"Hear him, Colonel, oh, hear him!" he cried. "He has come straight from
the shops. Jim, my brother, sent him to beg for help. They're mobbing
father."

"Sure they fired the shops good fifteen minutes ago. They're all in a
blaze," said an officer of police, in a tone of remonstrance. "There's
no use going there."

"Who sent the kid?" asked the Inspector, doubtfully. "How do you know
this isn't all a fake?"

"It's my brother," cried Fred, nearly mad with impatience and dread.
"Oh, for pity's sake, let us go, Colonel! Jim sent you himself, didn't
he, Billy?"

"Yes, yes," sobbed the little fellow, "and they were screaming and
bursting in the door."

"Who is he, anyhow?" went on the official, still bent on investigation,
when the Colonel sharply interposed.

"This is no time for talk. I believe the story. You can see--hear it's
true. I demand the right to drive back that mob, or the whole country
shall ring with the story of your refusal."

"My goodness, Colonel! I'm not to blame. I've got my orders just as you
have. I'm told to use force only as a last extremity, and not to fire at
all. You can't scatter that mob without firing."

"Can't I?" shouted the Colonel, eagerly grasping the implied permission.
"Out of the way there, you people!" he cried to some women and children
scurrying across the street. "Come up with the rest of that first
battalion!" rang his voice, clear and thrilling, over the throng.
"Mount, corporal, you must show us the way. The police will take care of
the little man. Forward. Company B! Tumble that crowd into the gutter!"

"Forward, double time!" ordered the Captain, as the Inspector whipped
his buggy out of the way, and the rifles bounded up to the right
shoulder. "March!" he added, an instant later, and straight up the broad
avenue, steady, solid, unswerving, went the long double ranks, the
Colonel and his little party trotting close behind, the senior Major,
with his three companies, following sturdily in their wake while the
Lieutenant-colonel, ordering the bugle signals "attention" and
"forward," prepared to support them with the rest of the column. Yelling
and jeering, but scattering right and left, the nearest rioters leaped
for the sidewalks, or turned and fled into the thicker mass ahead, less
able from its own solidity to move. "Port arms!" was the next command,
and down came the brown barrels across the broad blue chests. "Give 'em
the butt if they keep in the way," growled the burly Captain. "Steady
there in the Centre. Keep in line," he cautioned, as some eager fellows
strove to quicken the pace and lead in the anticipated charge, and so
tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp, in the quick cadence of the dancing feet,
sixty-six strong, the senior company led the ready column straight into
the heart of the mob, straight through the gates, where two foolhardy
fellows striving to lower them were flattened out by the whack of
musket-butts, and went down like stock-yard cattle under the blow of the
steel. Over the gleaming lines of tracks, in the glare of blazing rows
of freight-cars, right, and left, sweeping the cursing rioters like
chaff before them, reckless of flying missile or savage oath, through
the broad gates beyond the yards, with clearer ground ahead, they kept
their steady way, then slowed down to quick time, their triumphant
passage safely forced. Then, once outside the yards, leaving to their
comrades in the rear the easy duty of facing and standing off the raging
but impotent throng, the foremost company, led now by the Colonel, with
Corporal Fred in close attendance, broke once more into column of fours,
and plunged into a narrow street lighted by the flames shooting aloft
from the repair shops of the Great Western road. Ahead of them,
separated from the yards by the high picket-fence, was an open space
well nigh packed with rioting men, their savage faces ruddy in the
glare. The fence itself was blazing from the neighboring cars, and a
broad section almost opposite the shops had been hurled down by the mob.

"Back with you, Captain!" called the Colonel to his Adjutant. "Turn the
second battalion into the yards and up to that gap. We'll hem them on
two sides there! Close up! Close up!" he shouted to the rearward
companies. "Now, Captain Fulton, form line again the moment you clear
this lane." The Adjutant went clattering back full gallop. Another
minute, and the rush and roar of the crowd beyond the fence told that
the ready second was sweeping all before it down among the blazing cars.
Presently the long rows of drab felt hats could be seen dancing along in
the fire-light.

"Never fear, corporal, we'll be there in time," said the Colonel. "See,
the flames haven't reached half their length. Now, Fulton, right turn
and drive them north. Split 'em up! Give 'em--fits!" he added, with a
gulp, for he was a pious man, and opposed to the use of terms that come
"far more natural" at such a time. And the next thing Fred knew Captain
Fulton's men were again double-timing up another street, whirling the
crowd before them. "G," "H," and "L"--Fred's own company--were sweeping
the broad space in front of the shops from one side, and fairly pitching
the mob into the faces of their comrades of the second battalion as they
neared the gap. If there were broken noses, blackened eyes, battered
heads all through those suburban streets and lanes that grewsome night
it surely wasn't the fault of the Colonel's "boys," but a score of these
fellows, following the lead of the hatless corporal, who sprang from his
horse opposite the blazing entrance, bending low to avoid the stifling
smoke, pushed on across the little court-yard, past a wrecked and
dismantled wing whose roof was just crackling and bursting into fierce
flames.

Behind them, sure of protection now, a dozen linemen came dragging their
hose. A knot of ragged, raging "toughs," issuing from a narrow door,
burst away at sight of them--not so quick as to escape some resounding
thumps of those hated rifle-butts, and through this smoking portal
leaped Fred, closely followed by his comrades. The shooting flames
overhead and down the main building lit a pathway even through the
stifling clouds of smoke, and a moment more brought the foremost of the
party to a little room partitioned off. There on its accustomed peg hung
old Wallace's coat.

Here, there, and everywhere, overturned benches and chairs and scattered
tools, and scraping, struggling footprints on the dusty floor told of
some recent and desperate battle. Something warm and wet was sprinkled
all about the place, at touch of which Fred grew sick and faint; but not
another sign was there of old Wallace or of Jim, until from under a
blazing, half-finished car some fifty feet away the firemen dragged a
battered, bleeding form, and the younger brother threw himself by the
senseless elder's side, madly imploring him to say what had befallen
father.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Begun in HARPER'S ROUND TABLE No. 821.



HIS SCORCHING WAS NOT IN VAIN.

BY WILLIAM HEMMINGWAY.


Arthur Clark believed himself the victim of gross injustice. His bicycle
had brought him into disgrace. He had come home flushed with victory,
ready to be hailed as the uncrowned king of scorchers, and here he was
virtually a prisoner in his room, thither he had been sent directly
after a wretched supper of oatmeal porridge.

"I wouldn't mind it if I had been ordered not to go into the road race,"
he said to himself, for the fiftieth time, as he rolled impatiently in
his bed; "but just because I promised my father I wouldn't do any riding
that would exhaust me, he has packed me off to bed as if I were a mere
child. That's pretty rough on a fellow of fourteen. Anyhow, I beat all
the scorchers in our school, and that's something."

Arthur could not go to sleep. He twisted and squirmed from one side of
the bed to the other, listening to the solemn protests of the katydids
and the shrill chirping of the crickets. That industrious prompter,
conscience, began to annoy him shamelessly. Now that the first flush of
his resentment had died away, he thought that perhaps his father was
right after all. True, he had beaten all the other fellows easily; but
then, what if it had been a hard struggle? Wouldn't it have exhausted
him? It occurred to him that he had broken his word.

Arthur fell asleep very late. He usually slept so fast and so hard that
from bedtime until the rising bell seemed like one minute. But now he
tossed restlessly. His sleep was light. Suddenly he found himself
sitting bolt-upright in bed. He saw a streak of pale whitish light on
the floor and across his bed, and caught a glimpse of the moon. Oh, yes,
it was the moon that had awakened him. Queer that had never happened
before. He would go to sleep again. Then a rough, rather hoarse voice
startled him. It came from his father's room.

"You're comin' right down ter de bank, dat's wat you're goin' ter do,"
the voice said, "an' if ye don't open de safe ye'll be learned
how--see?"

"I shall not go one step. You may do your worst." It was his father's
voice now.

"Hurrah for you, father!" Arthur could hardly keep from shouting. Then
there was silence for a moment. He heard two sharp clicks that told of
the cocking of a revolver; then his mother's voice pleading with his
father to remember the children. Now there was the sound of a struggle.
The burglar won, although he feared to use his revolver least the noise
might summon help. Arthur understood it all. His father was the cashier
of the Traders' Bank. The burglar probably had an accomplice outside who
would help take his father to the bank and force him to open the safe.

Help must be got. The bank was in Plainfield, three miles away. If only
there were some way of telephoning to the police station! He knew that a
sergeant sat there all night. Men slept upstairs. But there was no
telephone. Now a thought came to him that almost made him shout for joy.
In ten seconds he had jumped into his sweater and knickerbockers, and
was lacing on his rubber-soled bicycling shoes. He did not wait for a
hat or stockings. He peered anxiously over the edge of the porch roof
into the backyard. No, there was no one watching there. Noiselessly the
boy lowered himself over the edge, and climbed down one of the pillars,
crushing the honeysuckle vine as he went. He found his bicycle leaning
against the house, where he had left it that afternoon after the race.

He picked up the wheel and walked on tiptoe across the grass at the rear
of the house. He threaded his way between the rows of corn-stalks in the
kitchen-garden. He made a long circuit, and at last came out in the
road. Then he mounted his bicycle and wheeled away at a pace that would
have astonished his friends. Going down hill he was very cautious. He
back pedalled. There must be no falling; therefore no coasting. Again on
the level road, he shot forward like a racer. He knew that if the
burglars got his father into the bank they would try to make him open
the safe in which $70,000 had been deposited that day. His father would
resist, he knew. He remembered what had happened to other bank cashiers
who resisted. The thought choked him. He bent over his handle bar, and
the wheels seemed to fly. The pale, sinking moon, the silent road that
stretched its white length before him, the tall trees, mysterious in
their own dark shadows, the grass shining with dew, all made a picture
that he never forgot. Above all, a scene stood out that he could not
shut from his mind, try as he might--his father in the hands of the two
ruffians, resolutely defying them in face of awful danger.

The sergeant nodding in his chair in the police station at one o'clock
in the morning was startled by the vision of a bareheaded, white-faced
boy.

"Hurry!" the boy exclaimed. "The Traders' Bank! Robbers!" In less than a
minute the sergeant and two of his men were on their way to the bank.
Arthur followed them closely. He hid with them in the dark vestibule of
the bank. It seemed to the boy as if years passed before he at last
heard footsteps in the silent street. Then the minutes were hours long.
At last the two robbers and their victim arrived at the outer door. They
pushed him in and told him to be lively about unlocking that door. At
that instant the policemen jumped forward and presented their pistols at
the heads of the burglars. They made no resistance. They were too
surprised. Arthur and his father walked home side by side, Arthur
pushing his bicycle by the handle bar. For a long time they had nothing
to say to each other, for each was busy with his thoughts.

"Arthur," said his father at length, "I'm glad there is a scorcher in
the family, but I--"

"Yes, sir," interrupted the boy, eagerly; "but I want to tell you I'm
sorry I went into the road race to-day."

"Perhaps I was too hasty," said Mr. Clark. "But the bicycle has done one
good thing. It has shown me that my son is as quick-witted as he is
brave."



GREAT MEN'S SONS.

THE SON OF CHARLEMAGNE.

BY ELBRIDGE S. BROOKS.


[Illustration: Decorative I]

n the summer days of the year 781 an odd sort of a procession marched
through France.

There were fluttering standards and melodious trumpets; there were
gallant knights, and grave men in robes and gowns, and noble ladies, and
a long train of servants; there were spearmen and bowmen and horsemen in
martial array; and the central figure of all this parade and pomp was a
very small boy of but three years old.

Strangest of all was this small boy's dress. He was but little more than
a baby, and yet he rode upon a stately war-horse housed in purple and
gold. He was clad in complete armor of polished steel; on his head he
wore a casque of steel and gold, surmounted with a tiny golden crown; in
his small hand he bore a truncheon, and about his neck was slung a
cross-handled sword of steel and gold.

A stalwart knight rode at the little boy's bridle-rein, his protecting
arm holding the small rider firmly in the saddle; the royal banner
fluttered ahead, and at the boy's right hand rode his governor and
guardian, Count William, called the snub-nosed--well, because it was.

[Illustration: "HEAVEN BLESS HIS LITTLE GRACE."]

From castle and cottage, from town and hamlet, came thronging men and
women, boys and girls, with smile and cheer and shout of hearty welcome:
"Heaven bless his little Grace! God guard our little King! Long live
King Louis!"

For this very small boy of three was indeed a King entering his
dominion. He had been crowned by the Pope at Rome King of Aquitaine.
Then, from his father's splendid palace in Aachen, or what is now the
German city of Aix-la-Chapelle, he had started with his glittering
escort to take possession of his kingdom in southwestern France. Over
the first part of the route he was carried in his cradle; but when he
left the city of Orleans, and, crossing the Loire, set foot within his
own dominions, this cradle-travelling, so the old chronicle tells us,
"beseemed him no longer." He was a King, and this was his kingdom;
therefore like a King he must make his royal progress. So upon this
little three-year-old was put a suit of shining armor, made expressly
for him, with sword and truncheon "equally proportioned"; they set him
on horseback, and thus royally attended he entered Aquitaine, and
marched on to his own royal palace at Toulouse. He must have looked
"awfully cunning"--this three-year-old in armor--but just think how
tired the poor little fellow must have been.

Aquitaine was that large section of southwestern France that stretched
from the river Loire to the Pyrenees, and from the Bay of Biscay
eastward to the banks of the Rhone. It had been brought under subjection
by the conquering monarch whose short-lived empire embraced all of
Europe from Rome to Copenhagen, and from the English Channel to the Iron
Gates of the Danube, and who, parcelling out his dominion among his
boys, had set over the principality of Aquitaine as King his little
three-year-old Louis, forever famous as the son of Charlemagne.

Here, in his palace at Toulouse, did Louis rule as King of Aquitaine for
thirty-two years, subject only to his renowned father, Charles the
Emperor, called Carolus Magnus, or Charlemagne. This mighty man, "the
greatest of Germans"--great in stature, in aim, in energy, and in
authority--looked sharply after the small boy he had made King of
Aquitaine. He had the lad carefully and thoroughly educated, and Louis
grew to be an intelligent, bright-faced, clear-eyed, sturdy, and strong
young man, but he was sober and sedate, skilled in the Scriptures and
learned in Latin and Greek, unsuited to the rough war days in which he
lived, more a scholar than a soldier, and more a priest than a prince.

So the years slipped by. Then trouble came to the great Emperor. One by
one the sons of Charlemagne sickened and died--those brave and stalwart
boys upon whom the father had relied as the stay and help of his old
age, his successors in his plan of empire. At last only Louis the Clerk
was left.

Hludwig Fromme he was called by his subjects of Aquitaine--that is,
Louis the Kind; and thus, though wrongly rendered, the name of this good
and peace-loving son of Charlemagne has come down to us as Louis the
Pious, or Louis le Debonair.

Nowadays we are apt to think of debonair as meaning gay, careless,
fashionable, and "dudish"; but Louis, the son of Charlemagne, was
anything but this. He was kind, courteous, loving, gentle, and true; but
he was also strict, dutiful, and just. He was strong of limb and stout
of arm; none could bend bow better nor couch lance truer than he; but he
never cared for sport nor the rough "horse-play" of his day; he seldom
laughed aloud: he was grave, prudent, and wise, "slow to anger, swift to
pity, liberal in both giving and forgiving."

He won the loyalty of his subjects of Aquitaine by love and not by
tyranny; he kept at bay the pagan Moors of Spain, and, under wise
counsellors, sought to govern his kingdom justly and well.

But when his brothers died, and he, the youngest of the three, was
summoned to his father's side, he left his palace by the Garonne, in
pleasant Toulouse, and hastened to Aix-la-Chapelle, his father's
capital.

It was the year 813. An assembly of the nobles of the empire met the
great King in his capital, and promised to recognize King Louis of
Aquitaine as heir to the throne of Charlemagne. Then in the great church
that he had built at Aix-la-Chapelle the old monarch, dressed in
magnificent robes (which he never liked and would but rarely put on),
stood before the vast assembly of princes and nobles of Germany, leaning
upon the shoulder of his sturdily built and kindly looking son.

The sounds of prayer and song that opened the ceremony were stilled, and
then the old Emperor, facing his son, told him that the lords and barons
of the empire had sanctioned his appointment as associate and heir.

"You will reign in my stead," he said. "Fear God, my son, and follow His
law. Govern the Church with care, and defend it from its enemies.
Preserve the empire; show kindness to your relations; honor the clergy
as your fathers, and love the people as your children. Force the proud
and the evil ones to take the paths of virtue; be the friend of the
faithful and the helper of the poor. Choose your ministers wisely; take
from no man his property unjustly, and keep yourself pure and above
reproach in the eyes of God and man."

Then Charlemagne bade Louis take up the iron crown of Rome and the
empire that lay upon the altar, and place it upon his head. "Wear it
worthily, O King, my son," the father said, "as a gift from God, your
father, and the nation."

And when the son of Charlemagne had thus crowned himself Emperor,
turning to the great assembly the old man said: "Behold, I present to
you your sovereign and your lord. Salute him, all people, as Emperor and
Augustus!"

A mighty shout of loyalty and welcome filled the crowded church, and
thus was the son of Charlemagne crowned as his great father's associate
and successor. And when, in the year 814, Charlemagne, still a sturdy
old man, suddenly fell sick of a fever, and died in his palace at
Aix-la-Chapelle, at the age of seventy-one, Louis ascended the throne of
what was called the Holy Roman Empire as its sole and sovereign lord.

He came to his vast power with high hopes and lofty aims. The solemn
words of his father upon his coronation day lived in his memory, and he
determined to rule in peace, in justice, in wisdom, and in love. He
would abstain from war; he would lift his people higher; he would make
his court learned, refined, and pure; he would be father and friend to
all his people, and make his realm rejoice. Louis, called the Pious and
the Kind-hearted, should rather have been called Louis the
Well-intentioned.

But alas for good intentions if strength of will be wanting! Louis lived
in harsh and brutal days, and men could appreciate neither his gentle
manners nor his worthy aims. He had neither his father's strength of
mind nor firmness of will, nor had he what is called magnetism--the
power to compel men to do as one elects. His noble aims were speedily
brought to naught; his high purpose was swiftly overthrown; his
ambitious sons opposed him, quarrelled with him, defied him, assailed
and dethroned him; and after a stormy reign of twenty-six years, during
which he many times wished to give up his crown and become a monk, Louis
the Well-intentioned died, in the summer of the year 840, on one of the
little islands in the river Rhine, a discrowned, defeated, and sorrowing
King, conquered by his sons.

The great empire his father had left him was speedily broken asunder,
and from its remains, after long years of disorder and of blood, came at
last the nations of France and Germany--the outgrowth of that vast
heritage of power which the son of Charlemagne had received from his
mighty father, but had neither wit nor will enough to govern or hold
unbroken.

A noble man in many ways was Louis, the son of Charlemagne. But he lived
in advance of his times, for stormy seas demand a strong hand at the
helm, and great matters require the head to plan and the will to do. In
all of these requirements for royalty was Louis deficient; and while
history accords him praise for honesty of purpose, gentleness of heart,
good intentions, and lofty aims, it still writes him down as an
unsuccessful ruler, because a weak-willed son could not uphold the
heritage of a father who indeed was great.



OAKLEIGH.

BY ELLEN DOUGLAS DELAND


CHAPTER IX.

The last excitement of the summer before school began was a river
picnic, given by Gertrude Morgan. A note was brought to Edith one
afternoon which ran thus:

     "MY DEAREST EDITH,--Will you, Cynthia, Jack, and Neal Gordon join
     us on the river to-morrow? My cousins, Tom and Kitty Morgan, are
     here, and another fellow, awfully nice, that Tom brought with him,
     and we want to do something to entertain them. This is such
     perfect weather for the river. We will come up from Brenton early,
     and reach Oakleigh before noon. You can join us in your boats, and
     we will go higher up above the rapids for dinner. If you will
     bring your chafing-dish and your alcohol lamp for the coffee it is
     all I ask. On the whole, you need not bring the lamp. We will
     build a fire. But the chafing-dish would be nice. _Do_ come!
     _Don't fail._ _Au revoir_ until to-morrow at about twelve.
     Devotedly,

  "GERTRUDE.

     "P.S.--I am sure you will lose your heart to Tom's friend. I
     have!"

The next day, shortly before noon, the Franklins were awaiting their
friends on the Oakleigh boat-landing. They had two canoes, one that the
family had owned for a year or two, and another that Mrs. Franklin had
given her brother on his birthday.

Baskets were packed in the boats, containing the chafing-dish, some
sandwiches, and delicious cake that Mrs. Franklin had had made as her
contribution to the picnic, and a large box of candy which Neal had
bought.

It was a glorious day. The September sun shone brightly, and a trifle
warmly, on the dancing river. The gay foliage along the banks--for the
autumn tints had come early this year--was reflected in the clear water,
and a gentle wind stirred the white birches. An army of crows had
encamped near by, and the woods rang with their cawing as they carried
on an important debate among themselves.

Presently around the curve came the advance guard of the picnic, a canoe
containing Dennis Morgan and his cousin Kitty, while closely following
them was another, paddled by Tom Morgan, in which sat Gertrude and a
stranger.

They all waved their hats and handkerchiefs, and when they came within
speaking distance Gertrude shouted:

"Isn't it fun? Such a perfect day, and more fellows than girls! You know
my cousins, don't you, except Neal? Kitty and Tom, let me present Mr.
Gordon, and this is Mr. Bronson. The Misses Edith and Cynthia Franklin,
Mr. Tony Bronson. There, now, did I do it correctly? Did I mention the
ladies' names first, and then the gentlemen's? I picked up a book on
etiquette in a shop the other day, and it said you must."

Every one laughed, and no one noticed but Cynthia that Neal's face
darkened when he heard Bronson's name and saw him for the first time. Of
course, she knew at once who he was.

"There ought to be a grand change of partners," continued the lively
Gertrude, "but it's too much trouble. However, Tom, you had better get
out and take one of the Oakleigh canoes, and an Oakleigh girl and Jack
can get in here--unless Mr. Bronson would rather be the one to change."

This was said with a coquettish glance at Bronson, who in a low voice
hastened to assure her that he was more than satisfied with his present
position.

He was a handsome fellow of about seventeen, tall and of somewhat slight
build, with very regular features. His eyes were his weak point. They
were of a pale greenish-blue, and were too close together.

His greeting to Neal was most cordial. "Holloa, old fellow!" he said;
"this is a piece of luck. Miss Morgan told me you were stopping here, so
I was prepared for the pleasure."

[Illustration: THE START FROM OAKLEIGH.]

"As if he hadn't known it before," muttered Neal to Cynthia, as he
helped her into the canoe, and they pushed off. "He sent that letter
here and he got mine from here. He's a hypocritical ass."

"Look out, Neal!" cautioned Cynthia; "you know how sound carries on the
water." And she was quite sure from the expression on Bronson's face
that he had heard.

There was some discussion as to where their destination should be.

"Let's go as high as we can," said Gertrude. "Above Charles River
village."

"But there is the 'carry,'" objected her brother.

"What of that? We've often carried before."

"Not with an average of one fellow to a boat. No; I say we stop the
other side of the small rapids. If any one wants to explore above there
on his own account he can do so."

It was finally settled thus, and the party set forth. It was a pretty
sight. The cedar canoes, with gay carpets and cushions, and freight of
girls and boys in white boating costumes, gave the needed touch of life
to the peaceful Charles River. So Mrs. Franklin thought when she came
down to see them off.

"I have not been invited," she said, "but I really think I must drive up
this afternoon and see your encampment."

"Oh, do, Mrs. Franklin!" cried Gertrude, enthusiastically. "We would
just love to have you come, and we ought to have a chaperon, though we
_are_ all brothers and sisters and cousins! She is the most perfect
creature," she added to Bronson, as they moved off. "You know she is the
Franklins' step-mother. Isn't she a dear, Jack?"

Jack, who was paddling, acquiesced. Bronson sat at ease in the bow. He
was always lazy. Neal, though averse to hard work which was work only,
was ready for anything in the way of athletics. He was now an
accomplished paddler, and had already far outstripped the others.

Their destination was some two or three miles up the river. The water
was low, and Cynthia kept a sharp look-out for rocks.

"Keep to the left here, Neal," she directed; "that ledge runs all across
the river."

"I bet those Brenton fellows will scrape going through here. Not one in
a hundred would take the left. I haven't scraped once since I had the
canoe. The bottom is as smooth as the day she came, and that is saying a
good deal when the river is as low as it is now."

They skirted a huge oak-tree which had fallen half across the river,
and, passing through some gentle rapids, reached the cleared shady spot
on the bank where they were to eat their luncheon. The others soon
arrived, and preparations were immediately begun for building a fire.
The boys explored the neighborhood for dry sticks, and a cheerful little
blaze was soon crackling away on the bank. Potatoes had been buried
beneath to roast in the ashes, and the coffee-pot, filled with water
from a neighboring spring, was placed above. Dennis Morgan, whose coffee
was far-famed and unrivalled, superintended this part of the work.

The girls unpacked the baskets, and spreading a table-cloth, arranged
the goodies most temptingly thereon.

"Edith, you must do the oysters on the chafing-dish," said Gertrude; "no
one does them like you."

"Oysters! Have you really got oysters? How perfect!" cried Cynthia, who,
laden with cups and saucers, was stumbling over some stray boughs at the
imminent risk of herself and the crockery.

"Let me help you, Miss Franklin," said Bronson, coming languidly
forward.

"Oh no, thanks!" returned Cynthia, tartly. "I would not trouble you for
the world. You have quite enough to do."

Dennis Morgan, who heard her, turned away to hide a laugh. Bronson had
been leaning against a tree most of the time with his hands in his
pockets.

"Come, now, don't be too hard on a fellow, Miss Franklin. I'll do
anything you ask. A fellow feels kind of out of place, don't you know,
with so many working."

"Really! Well, if you are truly anxious to make yourself useful, perhaps
you will get some ferns to decorate the table?"

"Certainly," said Bronson, looking about him in a helpless way: "will
these do?" and he broke off a large brake.

"No, of course not. The ones I want grow at quite a distance from here,
over in those woods there," pointing. "Please get some."

"Oh, Miss Franklin, so far? But you will go with me, of course."

"'Of course,' did I hear you say?" asked Cynthia, straightening herself
from her arrangement of the table and standing very erect, with a bottle
in one hand and an olive on the end of a fork in the other. "What can
you be thinking of? Of course _not_. _I_ am busy. But you have no time
to lose if you want to get them here before lunch is ready. It is a good
half-mile there and back."

"When Miss Franklin commands I have but to obey," said Bronson, with a
bow, though there was a disagreeable light in his steely eyes. "Who will
take pity on me and go with me? Miss Morgan, surely you will be so
good?"

Gertrude was much pleased at being singled out by the guest of the
occasion, and although she knew that the ferns which were growing in
profusion all about them would adorn the table just as well, she gave no
hint of it, for she was not averse to taking the walk with Bronson.

"Tell me about the Franklins," said he, as he took her red umbrella and
opened it. "Are they fond of their step-mother?"

"All but Edith, and she can't bear her, and I don't think she is
over-fond of Neal, either. Tell me something about him, Mr. Bronson. He
is a school-mate of yours, you say?"

"Oh, don't ask me! I think it's awfully bad form for one fellow to give
away another, don't you know. Of course, some fellows would, but I'm not
that kind."

Gertrude admired these sentiments extremely. She wished that Bronson
would hold the umbrella at an angle that would shield her a little more.
It was entirely over him, while she herself was in the sun, and it was
rather warm walking. However, it was a pleasure to have her umbrella
carried by such an elegant-looking individual, even though she derived
no benefit from it.

From his words and manner Gertrude gathered the idea that Bronson, if he
chose, could tell something very much against Neal Gordon, but his high
sense of honor held him back.

"What a lovely fellow he is!" thought Gertrude; then she said aloud, "Of
course I would not have you for the world. I have always fancied there
might be something, don't you know?"

Now Gertrude had really never fancied anything of the kind, and yet she
did not dream of being untruthful. It was an idea born of the moment.
Her vanity prompted her to agree with Bronson, who was apparently such a
very charming fellow.

"Oh, don't say that, Miss Morgan! I didn't mean to give you that idea.
You're so awfully clever, you have guessed what I never intended to say.
Don't ever tell what I said, will you? I wouldn't take away the fellow's
character for the world."

Gertrude blushed and promised, pleased to find herself in the position
of having a secret with Bronson. She told her cousin Kitty, afterwards,
that he really talked most confidentially with her.

When they returned, luncheon was ready. Cynthia took the ferns with a
cool "Thank you," looked at them critically and somewhat dubiously, and
laid them on the impromptu table.

"Terribly anty," she said, shaking a spray vigorously in the air. "Ugh!
look at the ants!"

"Perhaps those that grow over here would not have had any ants," said
Bronson, "but I am so much obliged to you for sending me for these, Miss
Franklin. I had such a charming walk. It quite repaid me, even though
you are so chary of your thanks."

"I'm so glad," returned Cynthia, "but not as glad as I am famished."

She left Bronson, and walking around to the farther side of the table,
sat down. Neal followed her, and presently they were all seated and
enjoying the dainty meal. Never was there such clear and fragrant
coffee, and the rich cream that the Franklins had brought made it "equal
to the nectar of Olympus," said Bronson; he was addicted to airy speech.

The oysters were done to a turn and seasoned to a nicety, and the
sandwiches melted in one's mouth. In the midst of the feast they heard
the sound of wheels on the bridge, and looking up, they saw Mrs.
Franklin, who was driving herself.

"You see I couldn't stay away," she called to them. "Jack, come tie Bess
for me, and then let me have a bite, if you have anything to spare."

Edith's face clouded. "Why did she have to come so soon?" she thought,
and her expression was not lost on Bronson.

"So this is the rich sister and step-mother," thought Bronson; "and the
eldest daughter doesn't like her coming. Now, I don't exactly see why
Gordon can't settle the balance if she has such a pile. But I'll lie low
and work him easily."

He watched his opportunity, and after luncheon he followed Neal to the
river-bank, where he was getting a pail of water for dish-washing
purposes.

"I say, Gordon, old fellow, I haven't had a chance before to thank you
for sending me the fifty. You see I was in a confounded hole myself, and
there was no way out of it but to ask you. I hated to dun you. As for
the rest, there's no hurry about that whatever."

Neal looked at him. His brown eyes could be very searching when occasion
required. Bronson stooped, and picking up a flat stone from the little
beach on which they were standing, he tossed it across the river.

"Five skips," said he, lightly, as he turned away.

"Hold on a minute," said Neal. "Your offer is very kind, but you may be
pretty sure that I'll pay you as soon as I can. I've no wish to be under
obligations to you any longer than is necessary."

"As you like," returned Bronson, with a shrug. "I only thought it might
ease your mind to know that there's no actual hurry. Ah, Miss Franklin,"
as Cynthia drew near, "can't I persuade you to go out on the river with
me?"

"I am afraid not. I should think that you hadn't paddled a great deal,
as I noticed that you took your ease coming up."

"Miss Franklin, I never should have imagined that you were timid on the
water. How little one can tell!"

"I am not a bit timid, but I don't care to be upset."

"Upset!" laughed Bronson. "Why, I've been upset a dozen times. In such a
shallow ditch as this it wouldn't make much difference, as long as we're
suitably dressed."

Cynthia looked at him slowly, criticisingly, scornfully. Then she said:

"I should think bathing clothes were the only things suitable for
upsetting. And the Charles River isn't a ditch. Of course you didn't
know, and we can pardon the ignorant a good deal."

Bronson turned away and left them.

"That last was a scorcher," chuckled Neal, who had been listening
attentively. "If there is one thing Bronson hates above another, it is
to be thought not to 'know it all,' and he caught on to what you meant."

Cynthia, however, felt a little remorseful. She was quite sure that she
had been rude. Bronson was a stranger, and should have been treated with
the politeness due to such. But then he was Neil's enemy, and Cynthia
could never be anything but loyal to Neal. Thus she soothed her
conscience.

When luncheon had been cleared away and the baskets packed to go home,
Bronson asked Edith if she would go out with him on the river.

"Just for a little paddle, Miss Franklin," he said. "Do come!"

Cynthia heard him, and she frowned and shook her head vigorously at her
sister, hoping that she would not go, but Edith had no intention of
declining the invitation. She said yes, with one of her prettiest
smiles, and accompanied Bronson to the place where the canoes were drawn
up on the bank.

"I suppose it doesn't make any difference which one I take," he said,
and, either by accident or design, he singled out Neal's boat and put it
into the water. Edith stepped in, and then watched Bronson's movements
with some trepidation. He did not seem to know much about the management
of a canoe, and they rocked alarmingly with his short, uncertain
strokes.

"I'll soon get the hang of it," he said, reassuringly. "I have never
been much on a river, but it's easy enough."

Cynthia walked along the bank, watching them.

"I hope you've got a life-preserver, Edith! Mr. Bronson says he is in
the habit of upsetting--likes it, in fact--and I'm dreadfully afraid for
you. You know you can't swim, and Mr. Bronson will never be able to save
you _as well as_ himself. _Do_ be careful of my sister, Mr. Bronson. The
ditch is rather deep just there. Oh, look at him wiggle!" she added to
Neal, who had followed her.

"And the fellow has taken my canoe!" growled Neal.

"Poor Neal! You boasted too soon. You'll never again be able to say
there isn't a scratch on the bottom."

"I only hope I shall ever see the boat again. He'll probably smash her
all to smithereens."

"I suppose it makes no difference if Edith is 'smashed to smithereens,'
only the canoe," remarked Cynthia, demurely.

In the mean time Edith was having an exciting voyage. Bronson paddled
slowly and unevenly up the river until he found himself in the rapids,
which were much swifter and more dangerous than those they had passed
through on the way from Oakleigh. The canoe scraped and creaked over the
rocks. The only wonder was that a hole was not stove at once in the
bottom.

They were in the midst now of the rushing water. Suddenly the boat
lodged for a moment on a rock, and swayed to and fro. Down to the very
water's edge went first one side and then the other. A half-inch more
and they would have capsized.

Edith sat perfectly silent, scarcely daring to breathe. Bronson, never
before so quick in his movements, righted the craft, and with a vigorous
push of the paddle got off the dangerous rock.

"I--I think it would be rather pleasanter to tie up," faltered Edith.

"So do I. Wish you had said so before. Not that I mind exploring, but
it's hot work such a day as this."

They found a shady bank and drew up under the bushes. Edith gave a sigh
of relief.

"Do you mind if I smoke?" asked Bronson, getting out a silver
cigarette-case with a _blasé_ air.

"Oh, not at all."

"That's nice. Now we can be comfortable. I am so glad you came with me
this afternoon, for I want to talk to you, Miss Franklin. I want in talk
freely to you about something."

Edith's face expressed her astonishment.

"You look surprised," he continued, "but you will not be when I tell you
what it is. You are the only person whom I can rely on to manage the
matter well and to help me. It is connected with Neal Gordon."

[TO BE CONTINUED.]



AN EXPLANATION.


MAMMA. "Why do you come in every minute for something to eat, Herbert?"

HERBERT. "Because, mamma, I am so small that I cannot eat enough to last
me over an hour."



ON THE EARTH AND IN THE SKY.

THE EARTH YESTERDAY, TO-DAY, TO-MORROW.

BY N. S. SHALER,

PROFESSOR OF GEOLOGY AT HARVARD UNIVERSITY.


From ancient days men have been seeking to learn the history of the
earth; how it came to be set in the orderly array of the heavenly
bodies; how it has step by step come forth from the ancient chaos to the
existing perfection; how and to what end it is to go forward in ages
beyond our own. In this century many thousands of able men have been
engaged in these inquiries.

[Illustration: A RING THROWN FROM THE SUN FORMING A SEPARATE PLANET.]

The studies of astronomers have made it evident that in the olden days,
indeed before days began, at a time which is to be reckoned as many
hundred million years ago, the sun and the other bodies of the solar
system, including our earth, the kindred planets and their satellites,
were parts of a great mass of vapor or star dust, which extended
throughout the spaces in which these spheres now swing about the sun. As
time went on this nebulous mass, just like many such masses which the
telescope reveals in the distant heavens, drew together, because its
particles were impelled by gravitation towards the central point, and as
it contracted it began to revolve, much as our earth and the other
spheres as well now turn on their axes. Thus turning, it divided into
successively formed rings, each of which in time broke up, the matter of
the ring gathering into a separate planet. At first this planet, like
the original mass, was gaslike, and when separated from the sun it began
to gather in on itself, in most cases forming rings, which in time were
to alter into the lesser spheres--the moons. The earth and all the
planets lying further away from the sun have these little bodies about
them, but in one case, as if to show the stages of creation, the
unbroken ring remains, forming the magnificent circles which girdle
Saturn. When, in the history of these wonderful processes of growth
which have taken place in our solar system, our earth parted from the
shrinking sun, the separate life of the sphere began. In the course of
ages it set off the mass of the moon, and after that process was
effected by further shrinking, it was reduced from a body several
hundred thousand miles in diameter to a relatively small sphere. Such
are the steps which led to the birth of our planet.

As the earth's matter gathered into a smaller bulk, its heat was greatly
increased, so that for a time it was a hot, shining star like the sun.
Gradually, however, it parted with so much of its heat that it, as we
may say, froze over or became covered with a solid crust which soon
became cool enough to permit the waters hitherto in the state of steam
to descend upon the surface of the sphere. With this descent of the
waters, which led to the formation of the seas, another stage of great
importance in the history of the earth began. In the earlier ages the
heat of the earth, which came from within its mass, was so great that
the temperature coming from the sun was of no consequence, but when the
earth acquired a crust of cold rocks, a new period began, that in which
the solar heat was thereafter to be the source of most of the movements
that occurred in this limited world. Thenceforward to the present day,
and yet on through the ages, the sun and earth are linked together in
their actions in a marvellously entangled way.

When the sun's heat began effectively to work on the earth in the manner
which we now behold, the winds began to blow, the ocean waters under
their influence to circulate currents, and the moisture to rise into the
air to be carried to and fro and to fall as rain. It seems likely that
these movements of air and water, which we know to be due to the action
of the sun's heat, took place at first upon the surface which was
everywhere covered by the ocean, a vast continuous sea through which the
lands had not yet pierced, and in which living creatures had not begun
to dwell. This universal field of waters could not have long continued,
and this for the reason that certain changes in the earth itself brought
about the creation of broad folds on the sea-bottom, which grew upward
until dry lands rose above the level of the waters. The way in which
this process took place can in general be easily understood.

After the earth had cooled to the point where its outer parts were what
we term cold, and the whole of its mass approximately solid, it remained
as it does to-day, exceedingly hot in its central portions, and
therefore kept on slowly cooling. What we call the outer or crust part,
because it had already become cool, had little heat to lose. The greater
portion of the temperature, which crept away into the frigid places of
the heavens, where the thermometer is always some hundred degrees below
the freezing-point, came from the interior of the sphere. Because of
this cooling in the deeper parts of the earth the mass shrunk in its
interior portion, while the outer part, losing less heat, because it had
less to lose, did not contract to anything like the same extent. Thus it
came about that this crust portion which forms the surface, and that
which is below to the depth of many miles, were forced to wrinkle in
order to fit the diminished centre. The action may be compared, in a
way, to what takes place when in an apple or other similar fruit or
vegetable with a distinct skin the water dries out of the interior
parts. The skin wrinkles, because it has little water to lose. Let us
conceive that the heat which keeps the particles of matter apart in our
earth answers to the water which separates the solid portions of the
fruit, and the likeness becomes clear.

When the great wrinkles of the earth's crust were high enough to bring
their surfaces in part above the level of the ocean, another important
stage in the history of the sphere was begun. Before that time, the
water which the sun's heat had lifted into the air, and sent back to the
earth in the form of rain, had fallen into the ocean whence it came
without in any way affecting the solid parts of the crust. But now a
portion of it came down on what we call the dry land, making the
beginning of the rivers and the lakes, and in its course to the sea
wearing away the rocks over which it flowed, conveying the débris to the
oceans, where it served to build layers of rocks upon the bottom, which
with the further upward growth of the continent might in turn rise above
the sea. Thus we may fairly reckon the appearance of the land above the
seas as the third great event in the history of the earth.

After the earth had cooled down so that the waters had something like
their present temperature, and probably after the lands had appeared,
came the fourth and, on many accounts, the most interesting episode in
the history of the planet. This was the beginning of what we call life,
those little temporary gatherings of the earth's substance which take
shape in the form of animals and plants. As yet we do not know, we are
not likely indeed ever to know, just when or how this change from the
earlier stage in which the earth knew no living creatures to that in
which they were to abound in seas and on land. All that has been found
out concerning the matter leads us to believe that the first steps led
to the creation of very simple species--jellylike forms having but few
of the qualities which we commonly associate with living beings. But the
first steps taken in the immemorable ages, the others followed in quick
succession, so that the earliest fossil remains which we find in rocks
formed on the sea-bottom, a hundred million or more years ago, show that
the earth was richly peopled with a lowly life.

Probably at some time after the lands had risen above the sea, and had
begun to yield their waste in the form of mud, sand, and pebbles, to
provide strata on the sea-bottoms, volcanoes began to break forth on the
sea-bottom and along the margins of the continents. These strange
outbursts, mainly of steam, but often accompanied by molten rock, appear
to owe their formation to the accumulation of beds on the bottom of the
ocean, which as they are formed are to a great extent filled with water.
Accumulated to a thickness of many miles, the water in the lower part of
these strata gradually becomes exceedingly heated. In the end it breaks
forth in steam, having a temperature quite as hot as molten iron, so
that it may melt ordinary rocks.

The beginning of volcanic action on the earth was in a way important,
though the event is less noteworthy than any of those which have been
previously remarked, for tremendous as a volcanic eruption may be (that
of Kratakoa in 1883 shook a large part of the earth's surface, perturbed
all its atmosphere, and sent its dust to every part of the world), they,
after all, are not leading features in the earth's history, but rather
incidents. It is otherwise with the last great physical event in the
history of the earth, which we shall now have to consider.

As the earth became divided, so that there were a number of continents
and oceans, its climate became diversified. This was in part
accomplished by the changes in the course of the ocean currents, such as
our Gulf Stream; in part it may have been by slight variation in the
sun's heat. However brought about, from very ancient days to the present
time large portions of the earth's surface have occasionally had
climatal conditions which cause the rainfall to descend in the form of
snow, the snow falling in such quantities that it did not melt away in
the summer season. This condition now exists about either pole, and to a
certain extent on the high mountains, even those of tropical lands.

From time to time, owing to the variable adjustments of climate, these
periods of excessive snow have endured for ages, in which the glacial
sheet has extended in either hemisphere far towards the equator. In our
present day the earth is just escaping from the last of these wonderful
ice epochs. At a time so recent that it may be called a geological
yesterday the greater part of Europe and of North America was buried
beneath accumulations of snow, or rather of ice formed from it, the
sheets having in places the depth of a mile or more, and, according to
their strange nature, moving slowly over the surface, crushing and
grinding the rocks as they went, until the ice either reached the sea,
where it would float off as icebergs, or a place on the land where it
was far enough south to be melted away.

[Illustration: THE ICE SHEET WAS DEEP ENOUGH TO FLOW OVER THE TOP OF
MOUNT WASHINGTON.]

On the surface of North America the ice sheet, the remnant of which
still covers Greenland, expelled all life from the region of Canada and
the United States from a line a little to the east of the Rocky
Mountains, and in general north of the Ohio and the Mississippi rivers
to the sea-coast. It was deep enough to flow over the top of Mount
Washington in New Hampshire, and a primitive man (for there were such in
those days) might possibly have journeyed over all the realm without
discerning the least trace of the earth's rock surface, for even the
higher mountains were buried.

We do not yet know how many of these glacial periods there have been, or
whether they occur at the same time in both the northern and southern
hemispheres, but it is clear that they have been of frequent occurrence.
In the intervals between the ice epochs warm conditions appear to have
prevailed even up to the pole of the hemisphere, which was shortly
afterwards to experience the dreadful winter of an ice-time. Thus, at a
period which in its geological sense was not long before the last
glacial epoch, the Greenland district bore a forest much like that which
now exists in parts of the Southern States of this country. It seems
probable from the history of the past that the next revolution in our
northern hemisphere will dissipate the ice about the arctic pole, and
make a wide realm now uninhabitable to man fit for his use.

The foregoing little sketch of a few of the great events of the earth's
history does not take into account the greatest of them all, the coming
of man. But the conditions which surround the appearance of this flower
of the earth are as yet so imperfectly known that they cannot well be
considered.



HINTS TO YOUNG BOTANISTS.

BY CAROLINE A. CREEVY.

ROOTS.


When we are about to do a thing thoroughly and systematically we often
say we will "begin at the root of the matter." That is because the root
of a plant is supposed to be the first thing in its life. It is indeed
the foundation, the substructure of a plant, but not strictly the first
thing that starts to grow. The little stem feels the first quiver of
life, and the root follows. You can see the little stem, or _caulicle_
in fat seeds like squash and melon, beans and pease. Split a squash
seed, and between the two fat sides the caulicle lies cozily tucked,
like a tiny tail or handle. Plant a squash seed in the earth. The
caulicle, fed by the two fat sides, pushes its way upward into the air,
making a stem with leaves, and finally a big vine, while from its lower
end the root develops and pushes itself as fast as possible into the
earth.

The roots of some plants are small. I think most weeds make pretty large
and strong roots, which are hard to pull up. But when a tree has grown
to its full size its roots are almost as large as its branches. I once
saw a fine old maple-tree cut down, and its roots dug up to make room
for a cellar. I was surprised to see what a big hole the roots made. Two
men dug for several days before they had the roots all up.

The work for the roots to do is to drink water. The upper half of the
plant is very thirsty, and calls constantly for water. The roots push
and dig into the moist soil, drink in water, and pass it up by a sort of
pumping process. Only think, drinking and pumping! That is what roots
do. And so if the earth is dry, and the roots can find nothing to drink,
the plant will die. But after a shower see how glad the leaves seem, and
how stiff and straight they stand, because the roots are sucking up
great draughts of water.

To protect roots in their hard burrowing work a little cap of hard cells
is fitted over their tips. Little hairs grow all over them, whose
purpose is to help absorb moisture.

Some thick and fleshy roots are good to eat. They form many of our best
vegetables. Beets, turnips, parsnips, and carrots are such roots. They
belong to biennial or two-year plants. The first year they store up food
in their roots; the second year draw upon this food, and produce flowers
and fruit. They are named from their shapes. _Fusiform_, like radishes,
when thicker in the middle, tapering at both ends. Carrots are
_conical_, thicker at the top. Turnips bulge out in the middle, and are
_napiform_. When clustered like a dahlia the roots are _fascicled_. All
are _taproots_, or main roots. Besides these _primary_ roots there are
_secondary_. You may have noticed secondary roots springing from the
joints of a corn-stalk above ground. The wonderful banyan-tree sends
down roots from its branches, making new trees, until one tree is the
mother of a colony.

There are plants which take their nourishment from the air alone, and
not from the soil. They need roots as hold-fasts, not as drinking-cups.
Some lovely orchids grow in that way. Those leathery patches which you
have seen on old fence-rails and rocks are lichens. They have roots for
attachment only, and such are called _aerial_ roots.

Then there are _climbing_ rootlets. Look at the poison-ivy, but do not
touch it, and you will see it climbing over tree-trunks and fence-posts
by means of rootlets. The trumpet-creeper will show you the same thing.
These rootlets are very strong, as you will find if you try to pull, as
I did once, a trumpet-creeper out of a grape-vine.

A large class of plants are beggars and thieves. This is a hard thing to
say of them, but, what would you call them when they press their roots
into the bark of other plants and suck their sap, which is the same to
the plant as life-blood? Why can't they dig in the soil for themselves?
Some of these plants wear fine clothes, and look innocent enough. There
is the beautiful yellow fox-glove. Many times I have seen it, tall and
showy on hill-sides and in woods. But they were root-parasites, that is,
fastened by their roots on the roots of other plants, sucking juices
dishonestly. The delicate purple gerardia sometimes does the same thing.
So, you see, appearances are deceptive, and in plants, as well as
people, you cannot always tell character from the outside.



[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.

It does not surprise me to find a number of bright girls asking for
directions about the entrance to the difficult road of authorship. It is
quite common for young people to think that nothing on earth can be so
delightful as to write songs and stories, and have them published for
the world to read. The fact, dear girls, that many of you overlook, is
that no trade or profession or business is ever learned without time,
study, and effort--what I might call the serving of an apprenticeship.
Very few authors succeed at the beginning, although there is a contrary
impression. Even those who seem at once to achieve eminence have really
been getting ready for their work all their lives. You can see what I
mean if you will read Miss Alcott's _Life and Letters_, or Mrs.
Burnett's story of _The One I Knew the Best of All_, or, better than
either, a charming little essay by Robert Louis Stevenson, in which he
describes the books he read as a boy, and the pains he took to cultivate
a good and clear style.

It is perfectly right for any reader of the ROUND TABLE to wish to
become an author. In days to come the youthful Knights and Ladies for
whom Kirk Munroe, Ellen Douglas Deland, W. J. Henderson, Captain Charles
King, and your friend of the Pudding Stick are now writing, will be
grown men and women, and some of them will be furnishing the literature
of the next generation. I cannot say too strongly to all my
correspondents, who are interested in this subject, be patient, be
fearless, be thorough. Do not be in haste to send some busy editor the
story which you have just written. Never send anything to an editor
until you have written it four or five times over, and are satisfied
that it is the very best thing that you can do, and that it is expressed
in the briefest possible compass. A very good school for aspiring young
authors is found in the beautiful little amateur papers which many young
people publish for circulation among their friends. The several school
and college literary papers are also excellent fields for beginners in
journalism. Among the rising authors of the day I know a half-dozen
whose first laurels were gained in school and college magazines.

I would like to suggest that some of you who belong to Round Table
Chapters should try the plan of having a little paper in connection with
your Chapter. You could easily appoint one member of the Chapter the
editor, then different girls and boys could furnish contributions. In
every neighborhood there are a great many interesting things happening
from day to day, so that your local column might be very spicy and
entertaining. You could give your paper an attractive name, and should
any of the members possess a typewriter you could have as many copies
made each week as you have subscribers. Perhaps somebody among your
friends has a little hand-press on which the little paper could be
printed. Subscribers would be willing to pay two or three cents for a
number of the paper, and thus you could have a little fund over expenses
for the charities of the Chapter. Wouldn't that be charming? I cannot
enter into all the little details of such an enterprise, but if any of
you shall adopt this suggestion I hope to hear all about it, and to know
whether you think that it pays. I once knew a family in which a little
home paper was kept up for years, each brother and sister in turn acting
as editor, and different members of the household copying out the
matter. They had a serial story, which ran on in the most exciting way
for a long time, and on Saturday evenings father, mother, children, and
friends always assembled to read and listen to the new number. This
paper was called _The Busy Bee_.

A few sentences ago I said, let me know if you think it pays. Speaking
of payment, do not make the mistake of supposing that I principally mean
payment in dollars and cents. The money one earns by writing is the
smallest part of the pleasure it gives. Several girls inquire of me what
price they ought to put on their poems and stories, and what sort of
letter they should send with a contribution when addressing an editor.
All that is really necessary in the case is to write your full name and
post-office address plainly at the top of your opening page, in the
right-hand corner. In brackets at the other side you may, if you choose,
write "offered at usual rates." Be sure always to write only on one side
of your paper, to send a folded and never a rolled manuscript, to have
it typewritten, if you can; if not, to have your writing very legible,
and to send an envelope addressed to yourself, and enough stamps to pay
return postage should your manuscript be declined. The stamps may be
loose, or may be attached to the envelope, as you prefer. As a rule the
first contributions of young people are worth very little money, and it
is not good form to set a price on what you write unless you are an
author of assured reputation. You must remember that publishers pay for
work according to its market value, just as we pay for sugar and soap,
and calico and note-paper, chairs, and tables, or anything else we buy.
When you go to a shop you always try to get good value for the money you
give in return for goods. It is the same with articles and poems which
are offered to the press. Hundreds and thousands of people are writing,
and you must expect to face difficulties and have a struggle before you
find your place, even if you are very well prepared for it.

I would like the Chapters of the ROUND TABLE which have paid me the
honor of naming themselves for me to write me a letter through their
secretaries. I have a reason for asking this favor. I would also like to
receive copies of amateur papers, published by young people who read the
ROUND TABLE.

[Illustration: Signature]



ON BOARD THE ARK.

BY ALBERT LEE.


CHAPTER III.

Tommy often wondered afterwards why it was that he did not feel
frightened when he found himself so close to this great congress of wild
animals. But at the time he did not feel in the least alarmed, and he
and the ex-Pirate sat together for some time under the oak planning as
to what they had better do. Perhaps Tommy felt no fear, because all the
animals seemed to be on such good terms with one another, and so gave
evidence that they would not harm any one else. The little boy noticed
the Lion and the Lamb lying down together; the Fox was playing tag with
the Geese ("Fox and Geese, I suppose," thought Tommy); the Red Wolf was
strolling about, arm in arm, with a bearded Goat and his kids; and half
a dozen Mice were having all sorts of fun with an old Tom Cat who wanted
to sleep.

"I guess the only thing for us to do," remarked the ex-Pirate at last,
"is to just walk over and go aboard. There's no use sitting here any
longer. We have not any umbrellas, and it is liable to begin to rain at
any moment. Let's try our luck."

"Perhaps it would be best for us to walk around to the other side,"
suggested Tommy. "There doesn't seem to be so many animals there."

His companion approved of this, and they started off together, making a
circuit which soon brought them to the other side of the huge
house-boat. There were scarcely any beasts in sight, and so they boldly
approached the great craft which towered high up above their heads. When
they had come quite close, the ex-Pirate's keen eye caught sight of a
small port-hole near the stern, and after calling Tommy's attention to
it they decided to try to get in that way. The port-hole was very
narrow, and it was with the greatest difficulty that the two managed to
squeeze through. But they succeeded, nevertheless, and found themselves
in a sort of dark chamber where there was a ladder that led to the upper
regions of the Ark.

"We're all right now," said the ex-Pirate. "Do you think this will be
too much for you?"

"What?" asked Tommy, who did not quite understand.

"The ladder."

"Not a bit. Why?"

"It's more than you."

"How do you mean?" asked the little boy, now somewhat puzzled.

"You are a lad, aren't you?" said the ex-Pirate.

"Yes."

"Well, this is a ladder."

There was not anything that Tommy could very well answer to any such
statement; but then he had long since given up any idea of following the
peculiar arguments and reasonings of the ex-Pirate. Yet in order to show
him that, even if the ladder was more than he, he was certainly equal to
climbing it, he seized the rungs and clambered up. It ended at a
trap-door which, when lifted, opened into a very large room that
appeared to occupy the entire length of the Ark.

"Aha!" exclaimed the ex-Pirate. "This is where they have the
boxing-matches."

"Will they have any?" asked Tommy, eagerly, and his eyes opened very
wide.

"I don't know," returned the ex-Pirate, "but this is the spar-deck."

"How did you get here?" suddenly asked a familiar voice from behind
them, which so startled Tommy that he almost stepped into the open trap.
When he looked around he saw, to his great joy, that it was the Sheep.

"Oh, we just came," answered the ex-Pirate, quickly. "Things come and
things go, you know."

"Yes, I've heard that before," interrupted the Sheep. "But if Noah
catches you, he'll put you ashore."

"But we don't want to go ashore," said Tommy, who at seeing his old
friend the Sheep had entirely recovered from his momentary alarm.

"Well, I'm very busy now," continued the latter, "and the animals will
be coming in pretty soon. If you want to see them, you had better go up
to the other end of the Ark and sit on a rafter over the entrance. But
don't let the Bull see you. He's in a mighty bad humor. Good-by," and
the Sheep trotted off and disappeared almost as suddenly as he had come.

"Guess we'd better do that," said the ex-Pirate, meditatively. "We don't
want to get put out." So they walked to the other end of the big room,
being very careful to make as little noise as possible, and when they
came to the large arched entrance with the heavy bolted doors the
ex-Pirate helped Tommy climb up a post, and the two slid out on a
rafter, from which they could obtain a first-rate view of anything that
might happen. Just below where they sat, and directly opposite them, was
a window with a small counter in front of it and the words "Ticket
Office" painted over it. Below the counter, nearer the floor, was
another window, only smaller--"for the little animals, I suppose,"
thought Tommy. When their eyes had become accustomed to the
semi-obscurity of their surroundings they found that they were not the
only occupants of balcony seats. A few feet away from them sat a Gopher.
He wore a pink sun-bonnet, and looked somewhat timidly at the intruders.
As soon as the ex-Pirate saw him, he said: "What are you doing up here?
Why aren't you outside?"

[Illustration: "WHAT ARE YOU DOING UP HERE? WHY AREN'T YOU OUTSIDE?"]

"Lost my ticket," answered the Gopher, timorously.

"Lost your ticket?" repeated the ex-Pirate.

"Yes, sir," continued the little animal, meekly. "Not exactly lost it. I
put it in my mouth, and forgot, and swallowed it. I've got it inside."

"Oh," said the ex-Pirate. "Well, you'll get it back as soon as we
start."

"Please may I stay?" asked the Gopher.

"Why, certainly," replied the ex-Pirate, affably, waving his hand in a
grandiose way, just as if he had been the proprietor of the Ark;
whereupon the Gopher looked much pleased and relieved, and settled down
comfortably again at his end of the rafter.

Just then the shutter of the ticket window was thrown up with a loud
bang that made Tommy jump, and the Bull stuck his head out and peered up
and down the large room. He was a very fierce-looking Bull, and he wore
on his head a cap with the word "Purser" embroidered on it in gold
letters.

"All aboard!" he bellowed, in a voice that fairly made the timbers
tremble, and scared the Gopher half out of his wits. And then some one
from the outside opened the heavy doors and the animals began coming in.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]



[Illustration: INTERSCHOLASTIC SPORT]


The annual meet of the American Canoe Association, which is now in
progress on Lake Champlain, is decidedly the most important sporting
event of the year to canoe lovers. For the past week hundreds of
enthusiasts have been paddling and sailing and racing off Bluff Point,
and every known kind of canoe has been seen on the water. It is only
twenty-five years since canoeing as a sport found favor in this country,
but since then it has grown steadily, and now there are canoe clubs in
every State. Although the canoe, both as a paddling and a sailing craft,
is distinctly American in its origin, it is a fact, nevertheless, that
canoe cruising and the sport of canoe sailing were introduced from
England. About thirty years ago a Scotchman named John MacGregor built a
canoe, which he called the _Rob Roy_. It resembled an Esquimau kayak,
being low and narrow and decked all over, except for a narrow space in
the middle. It had a small lateen-sail, but the mode of propulsion used
most by MacGregor was his two-bladed paddle. In this queer little boat
he explored many of the waters of Great Britain, and cruised extensively
in Holland, Germany, Norway, and Sweden, meeting with many adventures,
an account of which he afterwards published under the title of _A
Thousand Miles in the Rob Roy Canoe_. He has also written several other
interesting accounts of other trips. The most delightful account ever
written of a canoe cruise, however, is Stevenson's _Inland Journey_. Any
young man who has the slightest inclination toward the sail and the
paddle will surely take them up with enthusiasm after reading these
books.

The choice of a craft is always difficult, especially to one who has had
little or no experience in canoeing. I told last week how an inexpensive
canoe might be built of canvas, but for cruising purposes a boat made of
wood is necessary. It is taken for granted that any one who can afford
the time for a cruise can also afford the money to purchase a suitable
craft for his journey. A good cedar canoe nowadays costs from $80 to
$150, but boats made of less-expensive woods may be had for as little as
$30. The building of these light canoes has become such a big business
that there are over fifty varieties made now where there were only half
a dozen fifteen years ago. But in spite of all the varieties there are
only about three classes--the racing-canoe, the paddling canoe, and the
cruising canoe--which use both sail and paddle.

[Illustration: BIRCH-BARK CANOES.]

Although Mr. Vaux, one of the most experienced of canoeists, said,
"There is no such thing as a best canoe," he did not mean that there was
no such thing as the best kind of canoe for certain purposes. He was
particularizing. He meant that it was impossible for any man to tell
another what particular make of canoe would suit his tastes best. It
really depends entirely on what you want to do with your boat. If you
wish to cruise in inland lakes and deep open rivers where there is
plenty of wind, but no very heavy seas, and where you will use sail and
paddle in about equal proportion, get a canoe of the "Nautilus" type.
But for narrow streams and running rapids I should recommend a
"Peterborough." The latter are of different sizes and varieties, and are
built at the Canadian town of Peterborough. They are modelled after the
Indian birch-bark canoe, and are made of basswood or cedar. They cost
from $30 to $50, according to finish, and are very serviceable. The
basswood boats are not so liable to leak as others.

[Illustration: SAILING BEFORE THE WIND.]

Another advantage of the "Peterborough" is that it will carry more
passengers and duffle than any other style of canoe, and can easily be
carried over land or around locks if you are travelling along a canal.
It is easy to paddle, sails fast before the wind, and is the best craft
in the world to shoot rapids. At night it can be drawn up on shore and
turned upside down, thus making a dry and comfortable shelter. The
"Nautilus" style of canoe is from twenty-eight to thirty inches wide and
about fifteen feet long. It is fitted with a centreboard, and is an
excellent cruising craft. It will carry one person comfortably, and two
at a pinch, and the air-tight compartments forward and aft make it a
life-boat, unsinkable. Beneath the decks and hatches there is plenty of
room for dry stowage. At night the owner of a "Nautilus" canoe can
either haul his craft ashore or anchor in deep water. In the latter
case, he hoists his canoe tent above his head, unfolds his mattress, and
sleeps comfortably in the cockpit. Personally, however, I prefer to land
and pitch camp.

[Illustration: IN CAMP.]

It is always advisable to select your camping-ground and be in camp
before sunset. Pull the canoe up out of water, take your duffle out, and
turn the boat upside down over it. Then make your fire; see that there
is no danger of its spreading, and that the breeze is blowing the sparks
away from your camp or your canoe. The fire well started, take a pail
and a glass jar and go to the nearest farm-house for milk and eggs. When
you get back, you will find that the fire has made a nice bed of coals
on which you can do your cooking. Never attempt to cook over a blaze. It
sometimes happens, however, that the ground is wet, or that a storm will
interfere with your fire. For such emergencies it is well to have an
alcohol lamp in your outfit, for on this you can boil enough water to
cook eggs and make a cup of coffee, and if you are an expert with a
chafing dish you can rival the best of city restaurants. But it is not
probable that you will have such a luxury as a chafing dish among your
equipments. You will probably have a saucepan instead--in fact it is
necessary that you should have a saucepan. And with a little practice
you can cook almost anything in the latter that you can in a chafing
dish. The other necessary cooking utensil is a coffee-pot. With that and
the saucepan and a small kettle you can live very comfortably. There are
a number of small books of convenient pocket size that will tell you all
you want to know about camp cooking. This is a good subject to study up
before starting on a cruise.

The supplies that a canoeist takes with him in his boat should consist
of a few pounds of sugar, a box of salt, three or four pounds of ground
coffee in a tin box with a close-fitting screw top, some bacon, a pound
of tea, a couple of jars of marmalade or jam, a tin of deviled ham, and
a pound or two of pilot-bread or hardtack. There will be lots of places
along the course of your cruise where you will be able to replenish
these stores should they run short, and at the villages you pass you can
secure fresh meat if you care for it or are skilful enough cook to
prepare it. Always have a line and some fish-hooks with you, for a
canoeist should be a good fisherman.

A mess-chest is a good thing to have if you are travelling in a
"Peterborough." This is a tin box three feet long, one foot high, and
about eighteen inches wide. Its top should have a cover of painted
canvas, with flaps that will come down over the edges. In this box your
provisions and a change of under-clothes may be kept perfectly dry.
Carry plenty of matches and a good lantern.

Your matches should be kept in a glass jar with a screw top--an old
preserve jar is just the thing. Then they cannot get damp.

[Illustration: CRUISING CANOE UNDER PADDLE.]

As to the cruise itself, it should be carefully planned beforehand.
Never start off with only a general idea of where you want to go. It is
a bad thing to trust to luck in canoeing. Plan your trip so that you
will start at the head of some river, or as near the head as you can
find good water, and cruise down. Don't attempt to cover too great a
distance in one day. Twenty-five miles a day is enough, and is more than
you will care to make if most of it has to be paddled. Further--never
hurry. Take plenty of time to fish, bathe, land, visit the country, and
eat your meals regularly. If you have only a certain number of days to
devote to your cruise, lay out the distance you must cover each day, and
try to stick to your schedule as closely as camping-grounds will allow.
Keep a record of your adventures in a log-book; this will prove not only
interesting but valuable in the future.

No one should ever think of taking a canoe cruise unless he can swim.
The canoeist gets too many upsets to risk venturing into deep water
unless he can take care of himself. It is a good thing to practise
upsetting in shallow water, so as to learn how to climb back into your
boat again. Having fallen into the stream or the lake, whichever it may
be, swim back to your canoe and seize the side nearest to you at the
middle with your left hand. Then reach across the cockpit to the
opposite gunwale with your right, and extend your body horizontally on
the surface of the water. By a quick motion you can easily draw yourself
across the cockpit and into the canoe again. It is well to keep your
paddle tied to a thwart with a stout string long enough not to interfere
with your work. Then it cannot float away when you upset.

[Illustration: A RACING CANOE.]

[Illustration: LEG-OF-MUTTON.]

The sails most commonly used on canoes are the leg-of-mutton sail and
the standing lug. On racing canoes you usually see the bat sails--but
racing canoes are mere machines that are not good things to have or to
imitate, and the better element among canoeing sportsmen to-day are
frowning them down. A leg-of-mutton sail requires a tall mast, which
some canoeists regard as a serious objection. The sail, however, runs to
such a small point aloft that there is really very little surface
exposed to the wind, and very little weight up there. It is the most
simple form of sail, too, and can be easily raised and lowered, or
reefed, and is, I believe, the safest kind of a sail for a canoe. It can
be used to very good advantage on a boat of the "Nautilus" type.

[Illustration: STANDING LUG.]

For a canoe of the "Peterborough" type the best kind of a sail is the
standing lug. It is very nearly square (and if you want to manufacture
one yourself you can make it square), and very good for running before
the wind. It is easily managed, and serves admirably as a tent or
awning when you are camping with your canoe turned up for shelter.

One of the greatest pleasures of canoeing is that the impressions you
get are so vivid and real. All the world seems so big and strong. Your
craft is so tiny that everything else appears to be very large. A breeze
that would be welcome to a yacht is a gale to a canoe, and what are
moderate waves to a sail-boat of ordinary size are heavy seas to a
"Peterborough." And then, in a canoe, you are your own captain and your
own crew. You can go as close in-shore as you wish, and the panorama
that passes by you is so near that you almost feel you can touch the
fields and hills, or pick up the cows from the pastures and put them
down again. And then the expense of canoeing is so moderate. You can
live on your voyages at the rate of about fifty cents a day. You carry
your house along with you; your only expenses are for provisions. I
should be glad to give more space to the subject, but while I believe
that a great many of the readers of these columns are interested in
canoes--or would be if they had ever tried one--I realize, too, that
there are others who are just as eager for bicycling and cat-boat
sailing and mountain climbing and hunting and fishing. And to them I
shall talk later. But if there is anything about canoes that any reader
of the ROUND TABLE desires to know, I shall be glad to reply to his
questions.

Football practice has begun in California. The school term opens in
August on the Coast, and the football men of the Academic Athletic
League are already on the gridiron. The Oakland High-School eleven
promises to be a strong one again this year in spite of losses by
graduation. Lynch will probably fill McConnell's place at tackle, and
Walton will no doubt play half-back. Russ, the clever half-miler, is
trying for quarter. He is not particularly apt at the game, and is too
good a track athlete to risk his legs in a scrimmage. If the O.H.-S.
Captain can find another man for the position, it will be best for the
general welfare of the school's sport to keep Russ on the cinder track.
Chickering will be on the end again, and Guppy is pretty sure to hold
the other flank.

Captain Anderson will keep his old position at full-back. He has speed,
endurance, and pluck; he runs low, uses good judgment, and plays hard
all the time.

His principal fault is that he runs too far out in circling the ends. It
is better football to make for a hole and to depend on your end rush to
hold the opposite end off. A down inside the end is better than a hard
run away around with the risk of being forced beyond the line. A
two-inch gain is better than a run across the field. What the team needs
most is a good punter and place kicker, and the ends ought to learn to
get down the field quicker on punts, and to follow the ball better than
they do now.

A great many letters come to this Department every week asking questions
and making suggestions. Most of them are signed by the writers, just as
any gentleman signs a business letter when writing to another, and these
can be answered in due time. Others come signed with initials merely, or
with _noms de plume_, and without addresses. Most of these writers
expect me to answer them through the columns of the Department. This is
not always possible or advisable. The subjects spoken of in the letters
may not be of sufficient general interest to deserve space here, yet
they may be of sufficient importance to warrant a personal reply. I
always endeavor to acknowledge in some way all the letters that come to
the Department, but I cannot promise to answer anonymous communications.

  THE GRADUATE.



[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.

The high prices for the Great Britain 4d., red or blue paper, garter
water-mark, quoted in the ROUND TABLE, No. 821, has stimulated the
readers of this Department to look over their collections, and several
think they have the rare varieties, but are not certain that they know
the difference between the three garter water-marks. Therefore, I give
fac-similes of all three--small, medium, and large garters. There is not
only a difference in size between the medium and the large, but also a
slight difference in the design. There must be many copies of these
stamps, as they were quite common for many years, and prices did not
advance much until about 1888. They are frequently found in old
Collections.

[Illustration: SMALL.]

[Illustration: MEDIUM.]

[Illustration: LARGE.]

The newest development in the collection of U.S. stamps is that of plate
numbers and stamps showing all or part of the imprint. Many English
stamps bear the plate numbers on the stamps themselves, but the U.S. has
never followed this example. Collectors who have a chance to look over
the stamps on sale at their post-office, should buy all the different
stamps they can find with the marginal imprint and plate numbers, and
lay them aside for future exchange. This is especially true of all the
stamps issued previous to 1890. Many of the smaller offices have stamps
of previous issues. Only the other day a collector bought of a local
postmaster complete sheets of several 1870 issues, and about a year ago
a sheet of 1868, 24c., was bought at face, and sold immediately for
$200.

S.S.S.S. These four initials stand for the "Society for the Suppression
of Speculative Stamps," which has just condemned the following issues as
not worthy of collection: Portugal "San Antonio" Centennial Stamps, the
4, 10, 20, 30, and 40c. surcharged on the one dollar stamp of North
Borneo and Labuan, and the various Chinese locals.

The annual meet of the American Philatelic Association is about to hold
its convention at Clayton, N.Y. It seems probable that Mr. Tiffany, of
St. Louis, will retire from the presidency, and Mr. Alvah Davison be
elected in his place. The society now numbers about 1200 members, but
lately has not occupied the commanding position it formerly held.

     J. O. P.--No premiums on the coins mentioned.

     CONSTANT READER.--It is the St. Anthony Jubilee issued by
     Portugal. It has little value, as these stamps were made for the
     purpose of selling to collectors primarily, and for postal use
     secondarily. I do not think Portugal will find it very profitable,
     as collectors are growing shy of philatelic trash.

     A. B. STERN, Asbury Park.--It is a medal or token, not a coin, and
     it has no money value.

     J. V. D.--Priest's Paid Despatch stamp is worth from $5 to $20,
     according to variety and condition. The 1818 half-dollar is sold
     by dealers for 75c.

     F. M. L.--Dealers quote the 1859 1c. at 5 to 10c.

     INTERESTED READER.--Your coin is either Austrian or Russian,
     probably the first. The value is about 10c.

     N. P. P.--There are four varieties of the 1807 and five varieties
     of the 1802 1c. worth from 20 to 75c. The "Army and Navy" is not a
     coin, but simply a medal or token. There are tens of thousands of
     varieties of these tokens issued from 1861 to 1865 during our
     civil war.

  PHILATUS.



ADVERTISEMENTS.



Highest of all in Leavening Power.--Latest U.S. Gov't Report.

[Illustration: Royal Baking Powder]



[Illustration: If afflicted with SORE EYES USE Dr. ISAAC THOMPSON'S EYE
WATER]



HARPERS NEW CATALOGUE

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



[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.


[Illustration: Copyright, 1895, by Harper & Brothers.]

This week we have divided the trip from Philadelphia to Atlantic City
into two parts, of thirty-one and thirty-five miles each. It is
perfectly possible for a good rider to go from Philadelphia to Atlantic
City in one day, but if he can take two days to it, the ride will be
pleasanter, he will see more of the country, and he can then take the
train back to Philadelphia instead of riding the return.

Leaving Philadelphia by Market Street, go east, across the ferry to
Camden, and thence proceeding by Federal Street turn into Haddon Avenue.
Upon reaching Line Street, keep to the left until the city line is
reached; then take the right fork. The rider passes through
Collingswood, Haddonfield, Greenland, to Kirkwood, a distance of ten
miles or more over a reasonably good road, though not of the best nor in
the best condition. Keep to the left in going out of Kirkwood, and be
careful of the railroad crossing, which is a bad one. After passing over
this crossing, turn to the right at the paint works, passing by Lakeside
Park to Gibbsboro, a distance of two miles. Here the grade is very good,
but the road is in a pretty bad condition, and the rider had better keep
to the side paths when outside of the town. From Gibbsboro to Berlin is
four miles over a gravel road not in any too good condition, and side
paths will again be a boon. The road is direct. It is also direct
through Wilton to Blue Anchor, a distance of eight miles. There will be
no difficulty in recognizing the road, it being very straight, and in
most cases showing by its size, as compared with branch roads, which is
the main road.

Running out of Blue Anchor, the rider takes the middle road of three
forks, and shortly after passing this main fork he arrives at another,
where, keeping to the left, he runs two miles into Winslow Junction.
Crossing the track, he will find the road to Rosedale, a distance of a
mile and a half, still gravel and not in the best of condition, but it
is perfectly easy to tell which is the correct road. At Rosedale the
tracks are crossed again at the station, and the run into and through
Hammonton is made, the road being pretty good if you keep to the side
paths. This makes in all about thirty or thirty-one miles, and the rider
can stop at Hammonton for the night, though there are very few good
accommodations, or even passable ones, to be found anywhere on the route
from Philadelphia to Atlantic City; but the lack of good accommodations
is really the one objection to making a two-days-trip of the Atlantic
City route.

A word should be said here as to riding long distances. Any one who
practises on a bicycle, _i. e._, any one who rides a certain number of
miles a day for a certain number of days, depending on the particular
make-up of the individual, will get himself into such a condition that
he can ride any reasonable distance; _i. e._, up to one hundred miles in
a day. It is not, therefore, a particularly desirable or
difficult-to-be-attained facility to ride long distances in a day. Some
men like to ride long distances fast; others like to ride a short
distance fast, and then stop and walk or make a detour; while still
others like to do a certain amount, say thirty or forty miles, taking a
whole day for it, at a slow gait.

     NOTE.--Map of New York city asphalted streets in No. 809. Map of
     route from New York to Tarrytown in No. 810. New York to Stamford,
     Connecticut, in No. 811. New York to Staten Island in No. 812. New
     Jersey from Hoboken to Pine Brook in No. 813. Brooklyn in No. 814.
     Brooklyn to Babylon in No. 815. Brooklyn to Northport in No. 816.
     Tarrytown to Poughkeepsie in No. 817. Poughkeepsie to Hudson in
     No. 818. Hudson to Albany in No. 819. Tottenville to Trenton in
     820. Trenton to Philadelphia in 821. Philadelphia in No. 822.
     Philadelphia-Wissahickon Route in No. 823. Philadelphia to West
     Chester in No. 824.



[Illustration: THE CAMERA CLUB]

     Any questions 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.


PAPERS FOR BEGINNERS, NO. 12.

PRINTING AND TONING.

There are so many brands of sensitive paper on the market, and they are
so cheap, fresh, evenly sensitized, and easy of manipulation, that it is
a waste of time and money for the amateur to attempt to prepare his own.
Even professional photographers are taking advantage of the prepared
papers, and buy the paper ready sensitized.

The gelatine papers have almost entirely taken the place of the albumen
paper, a paper which was always hard for the amateur to handle. The
gelatine paper prints quickly, tones easily, and many different tones
can be obtained in the same bath by removing pictures at a longer or
shorter time. The combined toning and fixing bath is very popular, but
the real gold tones can be obtained much better with a toning and fixing
bath prepared separately.

See that the glass side of the negative is perfectly clean. Place it in
the printing-frame, the glass side out, adjust a piece of sensitive
paper over the film side, fasten in the printing-frame, and expose to
the light till the picture is a little darker than required for a
finished print. As soon as it is dark enough, remove it from the frame,
and put it in a book, and put the book in a drawer. Do this with each
print till all are printed. Thin negatives must be printed in the shade,
but a good negative may be printed in direct sunlight.

For beginners who wish to use the combined toning and fixing bath, it is
better to buy it already prepared. A bottle of prepared developer, which
costs fifty cents, will tone from one hundred to one hundred and fifty
prints 4 x 5.

Place the prints one by one in the tray, taking care that no air-bubbles
form on the surface of the print. If not immediately broken they will
leave dark spots on the prints. As the prints tone very quickly they
must be kept in motion all the while. The best way to secure uniform
tones is to slip the bottom print out and place it face up on top of the
others, which should be face down in the tray. As soon as the last print
has been turned in this way, turn the whole batch face down and repeat
the operation. By handling the prints in this manner, the toning process
is seen at once, and as soon as a print has received the desired tone it
can be taken from the tray and placed in a dish of running water.

The prints should wash half an hour or more. The color obtained in the
bath will remain. It does not fade as does the albumen print on being
removed from the toning bath.

The gelatine prints should be toned at once after printing. Even if they
are kept in a perfectly dark place, the half tones and high lights
quickly discolor.

The separate toning baths are easily prepared. What is called the stock
solution is made as follows: 15 grs. chloride gold and sodium, 7-1/2 oz.
of water.

Dissolve and keep in a tightly corked bottle, marked "Gold Solution."
Chloride of gold and sodium comes already prepared in 15
grain-quantities, and costs thirty cents a bottle.

The other stock solution is a saturated solution of bicarbonate of soda.
A saturated solution is a solution which contains a little more of the
substance dissolved in it than it can hold in solution. This is shown by
a deposit on the bottom of the bottle.

To make the toning bath, take 3-1/2 oz. of water in the graduating glass
and add 1/2 oz. of the gold solution. Dip a piece of blue litmus paper
into the solution, and if it does not turn the paper red add a little
more of the gold solution until it does. Then add enough of the
bicarbonate of soda solution till it turns the litmus paper back to
blue. A few drops of the soda solution should be added at a time,
stirring the solution with a glass rod.

Mix the bath half an hour before wanted for use. Place the prints in
this bath without previous washing, and tone till the required color is
obtained. Rinse and place in a fixing bath composed of 1 oz. of
hyposulphite of soda and 8 oz. of water. Leave them in this fixing bath
five minutes, then wash for half an hour in running water.

In preparing stock solutions, label the bottles and write the formula
with direction for use on the label. This saves time and trouble.

In preparing chemical solutions one must be very exact, as a little more
or less of one ingredient sometimes produces chemical changes in the
solution, rendering it useless for the purpose for which it was
intended.

     Pauline asks how to fume paper. Fuming albumen paper makes it
     easier to print and tone. Freshly sensitized paper does not need
     fuming, but paper that has been prepared some time should be fumed
     before using. To do this pin the paper inside a box, a wooden
     soap-box is just the thing, and set it over a saucer of ammonia
     water. Cover the box with a blanket, and let it remain for fifteen
     minutes. Use at once.

       *       *       *       *       *

STARVED TO DEATH

in midst of plenty. Unfortunate, yet we hear of it. The Gail Borden
Eagle Brand Condensed Milk is undoubtedly the safest and best infant
food. _Infant Health_ is a valuable pamphlet for mothers. Send your
address to N. Y. Condensed Milk Co., N. Y.--[_Adv._]



ADVERTISEMENTS.



[Illustration: Columbia Bicycles ad]



Arnold

Constable & Co.

       *       *       *       *       *

Entire Stock of Misses' and Children's fine

WASH DRESSES

$5, $7, and $9 each.

Sizes from 4 to 14 years.

       *       *       *       *       *

Broadway & 19th st.

NEW YORK.



Postage Stamps, &c.



[Illustration]

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Hawaii, etc., only 50c. Ag'ts wanted at 50 per ct. com. List FREE!

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=100= all different, China, etc., 10c.; 5 Saxony, 10c.; 40 Spain, 40c.;
6 Tunis, 14c.; 10 U. S. Revenues, 10c. Agts. wtd., 50% com.; '95 list
free.

CRITTENDEN & BORGMAN CO., Detroit, Mich.



[Illustration: If afflicted with SORE EYES USE Dr. ISAAC THOMPSON'S EYE
WATER]



[Illustration]

Commit to Memory

the best things in Prose and Poetry, always including good Songs and
Hymns. It is surprising how little good work of this kind seems to be
done in the Schools, if one must judge from the small number of people
who can repeat, without mistake or omission, as many as =Three= good
songs or hymns.

Clear, Sharp, Definite,

and accurate Memory work is a most excellent thing, whether in School or
out of it, among all ages and all classes. But let that which is so
learned be worth learning and worth retaining. The Franklin Square Song
Collection presents a large number of

Old and New Songs

and Hymns, in great variety and very carefully selected, comprising
Sixteen Hundred in the Eight Numbers thus far issued, together with much
choice and profitable Reading Matter relating to Music and Musicians. In
the complete and varied

Table of Contents,

which is sent free on application to the Publishers, there are found
dozens of the best things in the World, which are well worth committing
to memory; and they who know most of such good things, and appreciate
and enjoy them most are really among the best educated people in any
country. They have the best result of Education. For above Contents,
with sample pages of Music, address

Harper & Brothers, New York.



The Order's Badges.


The Founders decided to have new badges and asked for designs for the
same. Old badges are still official, and those who have them need not
feel called upon to buy the new style. Designs were received from about
a score of members, but almost none of the suggestions were practicable.
An old Founder, who has excellent taste in such matters, suggests an
outline star; a centre the rose from the top of the King Arthur Table,
and the letters K. L. O. R. T., one on each of the star's five points.
The star is American, and the rose historic--a relic from the Order from
which we get our name.

There can be two styles of badges, one a silver stick-pin to cost about
ten cents, and the other a gold and enamel pin, same design, with pin
and catch, to cost about $1, and handsome enough to be worn as a scarf
or dress pin, instead of a pin of any other design. When so considered,
it is not a direct outlay for the Order, since nearly every person has
and wears a pin of some sort. The designs are not yet made, of course,
but they will be if the Table agrees to them. Founders need not write
unless they disapprove of the suggested designs. Badges will be prepared
at the earliest possible moment, and orders filled.



A Walk in the West Indies.


     The other day I took a walk among the mountains with others of our
     family. We started in the morning before the sun had time to gain
     his full heat, and walked along the bank of a river until we
     reached higher ground. From the top of one of the mountains we
     could see wide stretches of blue sea, and green sugar-cane fields,
     and the whole of Kingston lying in the broad valley far away and
     beyond us. We saw Port Royal and the old Spanish ship _Urgent_,
     lying at anchor in the harbor.

     All this we looked at as we rested, and it was the best sort of
     resting, too. Then we turned our backs on it, and walked in the
     opposite direction. Higher and higher we climbed, and I found a
     wild rose, a white one, growing by the path, and some
     butterfly-weed further on--a veritable breath of America. The path
     is only wide enough for mules and donkeys, and people single file.
     We met some negro women with fruits on their heads, and the ground
     was covered with mangoes, green and yellow, some with large bites
     in them, for all the negroes eat them. Parts of the river crossed
     our path, sometimes with occasional little waterfalls; and we
     drank, partly from thirst and partly from pure pleasure in
     drinking water so clear and sweet and cold.

     We passed a coffee-mill with big barbecues, and men spreading out
     the coffee on them with shovels. There seemed to be a great deal
     of it, but there are only a very few people here who have
     succeeded in making their "pile" by raising coffee. The big
     mill-wheel was silent; it is turned by water power, and was
     probably out of order. I never heard of anything Jamaican that
     wasn't the latter. It was deliciously cool up there, with a strong
     wind blowing, and occasional small patches of shade from
     thick-leaved mango-trees. There were plenty of banana-trees, but
     only a few palms. Palms grow better further down. The mountains
     were becoming misty already when we turned to go back. They
     generally do in the afternoon.

  GWENDOLEN HAWTHORNE.
  JORDEN TOWN, JAMAICA, B. W. I.



The Helping Hand.


Another memorial stone is promised for the School Building. It is to
bear the name of J. Paul Charlton, who was a Canadian Knight and a
Founder of our Order. His uncle sends $10 to the Fund, and says he will
provide the stone as soon as the size is given him. The stone will cost
$3 to $6. The Table will be glad to hear from others who may wish to
place memorial stones in the building. It is not necessary that the
person belonged in life to the Order. We hope most of the Chapters will
also give name stones.

What do you think of Mr Munroe's appeal? We agree with him that _every
member ought to be represented_ on the Honor Roll. Have you forwarded
your dime yet? Let us raise the balance of this Fund and crown our
efforts with success. Ten cents from _you_ will do it. We have received
since last report. Josephine Howard, 10 cents. A friend, $1. Kirk
Munroe, 10 cents. W. A. Charlton. Jun., $10. M. Le Roy Arnold, 25 cents.
Harry Harper Chapter, of Newtown, Conn., $10. A friend (K), $10. Mary
Barnes, $2. Total $33.45.



Note to Washington Members.


It is intended to have an entertainment in Washington, toward the end of
September, in aid of the School Fund, and all readers there are
cordially invited to attend. Due notice will be given of place and exact
date. Any who are willing to help at selling tickets are asked to send
word to Elizabeth W. Hyde, 1418 Euclid Place, N. W. The tickets will be
twenty-five cents, and the entertainment a most attractive one.



A Sparrow's Ride.


     In this city, and not far from our house, my father owns a large
     mill in which is a great deal of machinery. The other day a
     workman, busy beside a pulley that has spokes in it and a hollow
     cone for a rim, noticed an English sparrow fly rapidly toward him
     as if chased by an enemy and fleeing for its life. There was a
     flutter, and the sparrow suddenly disappeared. A workman near
     declared the bird had gone into the pulley. The first workman
     could not believe it, and so he did not stop the machinery.

     Three hours afterward, when shutting down for the night, out flew
     the sparrow. It was a bit uncertain with feet and wings, but
     presently recovered itself and departed. An estimate was made, and
     it was found that the sparrow had made nearly twenty thousand
     revolutions, and was still unharmed.

  JOHN B. KETCHAM.
  LANSING.



Help Wanted.


The Little Women chapter, of Upper Nyack, N. Y. is to hold a fair in aid
of the School Fund, and asks for contributions of fancy-work and money.
It also wants kitchen aprons, for they always sell. Send articles,
postage prepaid, to Sophie Moeller, president, Upper Nyack, N. Y., at
any time within three weeks. We ask the Table to help this Chapter.



Kinks.


No. 95.--IN A GARDEN.

Supply blanks by names of plants.

  A ---- -- ---- stood off apart,
    Clad in her ----, she cried:
  "How can I stanch my ---- -- ----
    Since my ---- -- ---- died?"

  Often she ---- at ---- -- ----
    To go to feed her ----;
  She also watered all the ----,
    And put ---- in their ----.

  She tried to keep a notions shop
    For sale of fancy goods.
  Like ---- -- ---- for a ----,
    ---- -- ---- too, and ---- -- ----.

  But nothing brought ---- or ---- -- ----,
    Till one ---- an ---- -- ----
  Gave ---- advice that gave ---- -- ----.
    This was his pleasant plan!

  Said he, "Your ---- shines, and ----
    Your ----, sweet as honey.
  There's ---- -- ---- -- ----, and I think
    You'd best try ----."

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 96--HOLLOW ST. ANDREW'S CROSS.

Upper left-hand diamond--1. In crystal. 2. A small fish. 3. Ventured. 4.
The eaves of a roof. 5. Existing. 6. To moisten. 7. In crystal.

Upper right-hand diamond.--1. In crystal. 2. A large wooden vessel. 3.
Pacifies. 4. Thunders. 5. Beneath. 6. To stitch. 7. In crystal.

Lower left-hand diamond--1. In crystal. 2. The end of a piece of lace.
3. Modified. 4 Fanatics. 5. Having the qualities of beer. 6. Arid. 7. In
crystal.

Lower right-hand diamond.--1. In crystal 2. Uncooked. 3. Committed to
memory. 4. Relating to the arch-fiend. 5. Winds. 6. An English prefix
meaning "separated". 7. In crystal.

  VINCENT V. M. BEEDE.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 97.

  First is a prima donna.
  Second is a city in Germany.
  Third the capital of New Jersey.
  Fourth are the celebrated falls of the United States.
  Fifth is one of the five great lake ports.
  Sixth is the president of the United States.
  Seventh is a country in Europe.
  Eighth is a well-known temperance lecturer.
  Ninth is a celebrated English novelist.
  Tenth is an American explorer.
  My whole counted down the centre is a celebrated American poet.

  LINDA MOHRMANN.



Answers to Kinks.


No. 92.

Name, Cromwell. 1. Craven, raven. 2 Rink, ink. 3 Olive, live. 4. Madder,
adder. 5 Waft, aft. 6. Event, vent. 7. Lace, ace. 8. Lair, air.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 93.

1. Anti-mony. 2. Si-mony. 3. Patri-mony. 4. Cere-mony. 5. Matri-mony. 6.
Ali-mony. 7. Scam-mony. 8. Parsi-mony. 9. Acri-mony. 10. Testi-mony. 11.
Har-mony.

       *       *       *       *       *

No 94.

  L I V E     D I N G
  I R O N     I D O L
  V O I D     N O D E
  E N D S I N G L E N
        I D O L
        N O S E
  D I N G L E E E L S
  I D E A     E D I T
  N E A T     L I M E
  G A T E     S T E P



Two Facts about Germantown.


It was in Germantown that the mariners' quadrant was invented by Thomas
Godfrey in 1730; and that Christopher Sower, Sr., printed the first
Bible in America, a copy of which, with Sower's imprint, could have been
seen at the Centennial Exhibition in Philadelphia in 1876.

  JOHN H. CAMPBELL, JUN.
  PHILADELPHIA.



Questions and Answers.


Charles Bellas, South Auburn, Neb., wants samples of amateur papers, and
George W. Buchanan, Searcy, Ark., wants to correspond with editors of
such papers. "O. E. S." wants us to offer prizes for music settings. We
will do so. A "member" asks all about chicken raising. He will find this
information in a long illustrated article in the ROUND TABLE, No. 806,
which he can order through any dealer. It is too soon to reprint it.
Estrella E. Ulrich, age sixteen, is a member who lives at Buckland's
Road, Onehunga, Auckland, New Zealand, and sends us a puzzle answer "too
late," as she says, "for the competition, but to let you see that
children born and brought up in this out-of-the-way corner of the world
know something about authors of England and America." If Lady Estrella's
excellent answer is a sample of what Auckland Ladies can do, we will
have to admit that New Zealanders are well informed on literary matters.
Will you give the Table a morsel about Auckland?

Annie Kidder: It is impossible to tell, at this distance of time, who
was the original of "Little Blue Jacket," the picture published by this
paper nearly nine years ago. It was from a photograph taken in London,
and we doubt if any record can now be found of it. We have none.



CHOCOLATE CREAMS.


The favorite candies illustrate the use of fondant both for the centre
of candies and for the outside, or "dipping," as candy-makers call it.
In the first place get everything in readiness. A fork, some sheets of
oiled paper--paper rubbed with olive oil--or waxed paper, a large bowl,
and three small saucepans or basins, your flavoring, the chocolate, and
your mass of fondant are what you will need. Take a half-pound of
fondant and work into it half a teaspoonful of vanilla drop by drop.
Then break off small bits and shape them into balls or pyramids. Stand
them on the papers so they will not touch each other, and let them
harden in a dry cool place--not the refrigerator--for two or three
hours. When the creams are ready to dip take half a pound of unsweetened
chocolate or cocoa and put it in the bowl, and place this in one of the
basins or saucepans into which boiling water has been poured. You can
add a trifle of boiling water to the chocolate to hasten its melting.
When it is melted add an equal amount of melted fondant, and stir
constantly till the mixture is like thick cream. To melt the fondant put
it into a saucepan, and set this into a second filled with hot water.
Never place the basin with the fondant in it directly on the stove. It
will scorch and burn in a twinkling. In melting fondant for dipping you
must never forget to stir it, because unless stirred it will go back
into clear syrup. Be very careful no water splashes into it. If when the
chocolate and fondant are mixed together they are too thick for a smooth
covering add a few drops of hot water, drop by drop, until it is as
desired. If you get the fondant too thin it is useless. When the mixture
is ready bring it to the table, saucepan and all. Drop into it one of
the balls, and take it up on a fork, and, shaking it a bit, turn it on
the oiled paper. This must be rapidly done, as the hot mixture will melt
the balls if they are in it too long. If the mixture for dipping gets
too stiff take it to the stove and let the water in the under basin heat
again, or replace the cold water with hot from the kettle, carefully
stirring the fondant every moment. If the chocolate runs off too much
and shows the white cream underneath, the dipping mixture was too hot.
Take it out of its basin of hot water and stir it, letting it cool a
little before beginning the dipping again. The method of dipping
candies, whatever may be their centres or their flavors, is the same, so
that once you can make chocolate creams, you can make any of the cream
candies.



GOOD HEALTH WORK.


Some conception of the constant danger to the public health of New York
may be had by reading the last quarterly report of the Board of Health.
The sanitary inspectors, who are kept more steadily at work now than
ever before since the organization of the Department of Health, in
addition to their other labor, destroyed 600,000 pounds of vegetables
unfit for food, 300,000 pounds of meat, 13,000 pounds of fish, and
50,000 pounds of confectionery, so called--the poisoned sugar stuff sold
to children at the penny shops all over town.



[Illustration]

Copyright, 1895, by The Procter & Gamble Co., Cin'ti.

Plenty of fresh air, an abundance of sleep, a careful diet and the daily
use of a good soap like the Ivory will purify the complexion as no
cosmetic can.



[Illustration]

EARN A TRICYCLE!

We wish to introduce our Teas, Spices, and Baking Powder. Sell 30 lbs.
and we will give you a Fairy Tricycle; sell 25 lbs. for a Solid Silver
Watch and Chain; 50 lbs. for a Gold Watch and Chain; 75 lbs. for a
Bicycle; 10 lbs. for a Beautiful Gold Ring. Express prepaid if cash is
sent for goods. Write for catalog and order sheet.

W. G. BAKER,

SPRINGFIELD, MASS.



=DEAFNESS & HEAD NOISES CURED= by my =INVISIBLE= Tubular Cushions. Have
helped more to good =HEAR=ing than all other devices combined. Whispers
=HEAR=d. Help ears as glasses do eyes. =F. Hiscox=, 853 B'dway, N.Y.
Book of proofs FREE



HARPERS PERIODICALS.

Per Year:

  HARPER'S MAGAZINE         _Postage Free_, $4.00
  HARPER'S WEEKLY                 "          4.00
  HARPER'S BAZAR                  "          4.00
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       *       *       *       *       *

_Booksellers and Postmasters usually receive subscriptions.
Subscriptions sent direct to the publishers should be accompanied by
Post-office Money Order or Draft._

       *       *       *       *       *

HARPER & BROTHERS, Franklin Square, N. Y.



[Illustration: If afflicted with SORE EYES USE Dr. ISAAC THOMPSON'S EYE
WATER]



Entertaining Books

BY

HOWARD PYLE.

       *       *       *       *       *

TWILIGHT LAND.

     Illustrated by the Author. 8vo, Half Leather, Ornamental, $2.50.

MEN OF IRON.

     Illustrated by the Author. 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $2.00.

THE WONDER CLOCK;

     Or, Four-and-Twenty Marvellous Tales: being One for each Hour of
     the Day. Illustrated by the Author. Embellished with Verses by
     KATHARINE PYLE. 4to, Cloth, Ornamental, $3.00.

PEPPER AND SALT;

     Or, Seasoning for Young Folk. Superbly Illustrated by the Author.
     4to, Cloth, Ornamental, $2.00.

THE ROSE OF PARADISE.

     Being a detailed Account of Certain Adventures that happened to
     Captain John Mackra, in Connection with the famous Pirate, Edward
     England, in the Year 1720, off the Island of Juanna, in the
     Mozambique Channel, writ by himself, and now for the first time
     published. Illustrated by the Author. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental,
     $1.25; Paper, 50 cents.

A MODERN ALADDIN;

     Or, the Wonderful Adventures of Oliver Munier. An Extravaganza in
     Four Acts. Illustrated by the Author. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental,
     $1.25.

       *       *       *       *       *

CHARLES CARLETON COFFIN'S

Fascinating Historical Works

       *       *       *       *       *

  ABRAHAM LINCOLN.
  THE BOYS OF 76.
  THE STORY OF LIBERTY.
  OLD TIMES IN THE COLONIES.
  BUILDING THE NATION.

_A History of the Rebellion in Four Volumes:_

  DRUM-BEAT OF THE NATION.
  MARCHING TO VICTORY.
  REDEEMING THE REPUBLIC.
  FREEDOM TRIUMPHANT.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Nine Volumes. Profusely Illustrated. Square 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental,
$3.00 each._

       *       *       *       *       *

HARPER & BROTHERS, Publishers, New York.



[Illustration]



THE MERRY OWLETS.


  There were three little owls that had slept all day
    In their downy nest in a dead tree's hollow;
  Said the first: "It's time to go out and play,
    I hear the good-night of the chimney-swallow!"
  "Oh no," said the second; "the sun is high.
  Who wants to be blind as a bat?--not I!"
  But the third said: "Rats! we have slept enough!
  Let's go, anyhow, and play blindman's-buff!"



SAMMY. "Who is the father of his country?"

JIMMIE. "George Washington."

SAMMY. "Correct. Who is his uncle?"

JIMMIE. "Why, I don't know."

SAMMY. "Uncle Sam."



MOTHER. "I really don't see how I'm going to make both ends meet."

BOBBY. "Why, mamma, you give me hold of one end, and you take the other,
and we'll stretch it."



WILLIAM PENN.


  Robbin and Dobbin, William Penn,
  He was one of the best of men.
  He was a Governor good and great
  Of Pennsylvania's early State.
  And he ruled by love, as a man should do,
  For he was a Quaker kind and true.
  Robbin and Dobbin, William Penn,
  He was one of the best of men.



A bee is a "busy bee," for it is said that in order to obtain enough
honey for a load it has to visit many hundreds of flowers. It averages
twenty trips a day, and from twenty to fifty pounds of honey are yearly
produced by the hive, according to its size. Statistics taken from
European countries place the number of beehives and their output of
honey yearly as follows:

Germany, 1,910,000 hives, with an output of 45,000,000 pounds; Spain,
1,690,000 hives, with an output of 42,000,000 pounds; Austria, 1,550,000
hives, with an output of 40,000,000 pounds; France has 950,000 hives,
producing 23,000,000 pounds; Holland, 240,000 hives, producing 6,000,000
pounds; Belgium with 200,000 hives produces 5,000,000 pounds, and Russia
with 110,000 hives produces 2,000,000 pounds.

Europe is estimated to yield from its beehives 40,000 tons of honey,
valued close on to $11,000,000, and its wax, 15,000 tons, valued at
$7,500,000.

This is a large and rich amount of sweets for the little busy bee to
bring to mankind yearly for nothing.



MOTHER. "Didn't I tell you to put the mince pie away this morning?"

JACK. "Yes, mamma, you did; but you didn't say where to put it, so I
stored it away in my stomach."



MOTHER. "Jack, what have you done with the money you saved up last
week?"

JOHNNY. "Papa told me to save for a rainy day; yesterday was the first
one we had, so I spent it."



A STUDY IN NATURAL HISTORY.


[Illustration]

"CAN WE CATCH THAT OLD CROW?"

"WELL, IF ONE OF US CAN'T DO IT, WE'LL SEE WHAT TWO CAN DO."

"HA, HA! WE'LL SHOW YOU WHAT TOUCAN DO!"





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