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Title: Harper's Round Table, August 27, 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 27, 1895" ***

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[Illustration: HARPER'S ROUND TABLE]

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

       *       *       *       *       *

PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, AUGUST 27, 1895. FIVE CENTS A COPY.

VOL. XVI.--NO. 826. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.

       *       *       *       *       *



[Illustration]

OAKLEIGH.

BY ELLEN DOUGLAS DELAND.


CHAPTER X.

Tony Bronson was the son of a man who had made a great deal of money in
a doubtful line of business by rather shady proceedings. In other words,
he was not strictly honest, and had amassed a large fortune in a manner
that would not bear investigation.

Of this Tony, of course, was ignorant; but he inherited from his father
a mean spirit and a determination to turn every circumstance to his own
account. He had been sent early to St. Asaph's School that he might
associate with the sons of gentlemen and become a gentleman himself, but
he had acquired only the outward veneering. His manners were most
courteous, his language carefully chosen, and he had sufficient wit to
enable him to readily adapt himself to his companions, but he had not
the instincts of a true gentleman. He was mean, he was something of a
coward, and he was very much of a bully.

Years ago, soon after the two boys first met at St. Asaph's, Neal
detected Tony in a cowardly, dishonorable action, and had openly accused
him of it. Tony never forgave him, but he bided his time. With an
unlimited amount of pocket-money of his own, he soon discovered that
Neal was running short. When a convenient opportunity came he offered to
lend him a small sum. Neal, after a moment's hesitation, weakly accepted
the money, assuring himself that it was only for a short time, and that
he could easily repay it, and then have no more to do with Bronson. It
saved him trouble.

Thus it had gone on. The time never came when Neal felt able to pay the
debt; on the other hand, he borrowed more, and now it had reached
alarming proportions. His monthly allowance, when it arrived, was gone
in a flash, for Neal had never been in the habit of denying himself. It
would have been hard for him to explain why he did not go frankly to his
sister, tell her the whole story, and ask for her help, except that he
was thoroughly ashamed of having placed himself in such straits and did
not want to acknowledge it.

Tony Bronson had become intimate with Tom Morgan at St. Asaph's, Tom not
being particular in his choice of friends. In that way he had come to
visit the Morgans in Brenton. His handsome face and apparently perfect
manner attracted many to him who could not see beneath the surface, and
his languid man-of-the-world air made an impression.

He cultivated this to the last degree. He was not naturally so lazy, but
he thought it effective.

When he said to Edith that he wished to tell her something about Neal
Gordon, she looked at him in still greater surprise.

"I want to ask your help, Miss Franklin. A girl can manage these things
so much better than a fellow. I like Gordon immensely, and I want to do
all I can to help him out of a scrape."

"Does he know that you are speaking to me about him?"

"No, of course not. The fact is--"

"Then I think, Mr. Bronson," interrupted Edith, gently, but with
decision, "that perhaps it would be better for us not to discuss him."

"But you quite misunderstand me, Miss Franklin. I am speaking only for
his own good. I can't bear to see a fellow going straight to the bad, as
I really am very much afraid he is, and not lift a finger to help him. I
thought if I told you that perhaps you might speak to his sister--"

Edith interrupted him again, with heightened color. "I can do nothing of
the sort. Nothing would induce me to speak to Mrs. Franklin on the
subject. I--I couldn't possibly."

Bronson looked at her compassionately.

"Ah, it is as I thought! You and Mrs. Franklin are not congenial. I am
so sorry."

Edith said nothing. She knew that he should not make such a remark to
her, a perfect stranger. She felt that he did not ring true. And yet she
could not bring herself to administer the reproof that Cynthia would
have given under like circumstances.

"I am afraid I have offended you," said Bronson, presently; "do forgive
me! And if you like I will say no more about the bad scrape Gordon is
in. I thought perhaps I could prevent a letter coming from the faculty,
but I see it's of no use. I'm awfully sorry for the fellow. You don't
really think you could do anything to influence his sister?"

At last Edith found her voice.

"I don't think I can. And if you don't mind I would rather not discuss
the Gordons--I mean, Mrs. Franklin and her brother."

"Certainly not, if you don't wish, and you won't repeat what I said, of
course. If we can't help him, of course we had better not let it get out
about Gordon any sooner than necessary. But holloa! What's this? The
carpet seems to be getting damp."

It undoubtedly was, and gave forth a most unpleasantly moist sound when
pressed. Upon investigation they found that the bottom of the canoe was
filled with water. They had sprung a leak.

"We had better get back as quickly as possible," said Edith, rather
relieved to have the conversation come to an end. "Is there a sponge
there? I can bail if it gets any worse."

But no sponge was to be found, and it rapidly grew worse; Edith's skirts
were damp and draggled. Presently there was an inch of water above the
carpet.

"We shall sink if this goes on," she said.

"Oh, I fancy not," returned Bronson, easily; "we haven't very far to
go."

But their progress was not rapid, and the pool in the canoe grew deeper.

"Perhaps you will lend me your cap," said Edith; "I can use it as a
dipper." He did so, and she bailed vigorously. "It must be a very large
leak. I suppose we got it on that rock in the rapids, and we scraped
again just before we tied up, which made it worse. If it were our boat I
would not care, but I think it is Neal's."

She was so occupied that she did not see Bronson smile. His smile was
not attractive, though his teeth were perfect.

Matters would have gone badly with them if they had not at this moment
met Jack and Kitty Morgan in the Franklins' canoe.

"What's the row?" called Jack.

"Nothing much," said Bronson. "We've sprung a little leak, that's all."

"A little leak! I should think so. My eye! Why, man, you must have a
regular hole for the water to come in like that. Where have you been,
anyhow? You had better put in here at this little beach and step over
into my boat."

"What's the matter with stepping over right where we are? No need of
going to shore."

Jack eyed him with curiosity and contempt. He looked so much like
Cynthia that Bronson felt withered. He did not care for Cynthia, for he
knew that she did not like him.

Jack did not speak at once, but paddled towards the bank. Then he said:

"You won't try stepping from one canoe to another in mid-stream if I
have anything to say about it."

The change was safely accomplished, and they proceeded down the river
towing the injured boat, the carpet and cushions having been transferred
with the passengers. Relieved of the weight it did not fill as rapidly,
and they at last reached the picnic-ground.

Bronson was mortified at coming back in such ignominious plight, but he
made the best of it.

"I am awfully sorry, Gordon, if it is your canoe. It must have been
pretty frail, though, to go to pieces at a mere scratch."

"She's the finest cedar canoe to be found in the city of Boston, and it
would take more than a mere scratch to do her up this way. From
appearances I should say you had pounded round on the rocks pretty
freely," growled Neal, who had turned the boat upside down, and was
examining it carefully.

Bronson stooped over him. For the moment they were alone.

"Of course I would feel worse about it if it were any one's but yours.
As it is, we'll just call ten off that fifty still owing. That will go
towards repairs. More than cover them, I should say."

Then he sauntered off, his hands in his pockets.

"What a cad the fellow is!" muttered Neal. "It would give me real
pleasure to knock him down."

"I heard him," said Cynthia. Her cheeks were red and her blue eyes had
grown very dark. "He is an odious, hateful creature, and I _de-spise_
him!"

Having delivered herself of this, Cynthia felt better.

They all went home soon afterwards, Edith leaving earlier in the
carriage with Mrs. Franklin, for her shoes and skirts were too wet for
her to wait for the slower movements of the canoes. It was an
unfortunate ending to the day, and Edith was uncomfortable also about
her conversation with Bronson. She knew that she ought not to have
listened to a word of it.

She wondered if it were really true that Neal was in difficulty. She
thought she must talk it over with Cynthia that night. Of course Cynthia
would stand up for Neal, that went without saying, but it was always a
relief to Edith to talk things over with her.

It was a rather silent drive home, and Mrs. Franklin sighed to herself
when Edith barely replied to her remarks. It seemed perfectly hopeless;
she and Edith would never grow any nearer to each other; but there was
nothing to be done.

That night, when the girls went to their room, Edith was spared the
necessity of opening the subject, for Cynthia began at once.

"What a perfectly hateful creature that Bronson is! I don't see how you
could go on the river with him, Edith. I think you got well paid for
it."

"I don't see why you dislike him so, Cynthia. You take such tremendous
prejudices. He is awfully handsome."

"Handsome! I don't admire that style. That
la-da-da-it-is-I-just-please-look-at-me kind doesn't go down with me."

Cynthia thrust her hands into imaginary pockets, leaned languidly
against the bedpost, and rolled her eyes.

"Er--Miss Franklin--carn't I persuade you to go out on the rivah?" she
said, with an exaggerated manner and accent, and a throaty voice.

Edith laughed. Cynthia was a capital mimic.

"I like a broad A, and, of course, I never would use anything else
myself, but his is broader than the Mississippi. It just shows it isn't
natural to him. To hear him talk about 'darmp grarss,' and he'd just
come from 'South_armp_ton.' He is a regular _sharm_ himself. I dare say
he was brought up to say 'ca'm' and 'pa'm' and 'hain't' and 'ain't.'"

"Cynthia, what a goose you are!"

"Well, I can't bear him, and neither can Neal. Jack doesn't like him
either."

"There, that is just it. You are so influenced by Neal and Jack. Tony
Bronson spoke very nicely of Neal, as if he were a true friend of his."

"Pooh! Much friend he!"

"Well, he did, Cynthia, and that is just what I want to talk over with
you. Neal must be in some terrible scrape."

"Has that Bronson been telling you about that?" cried Cynthia,
indignantly.

"Oh, then it is really true! I thought it must be."

"No, it isn't--at least, not what Bronson told you. I am just certain
that whatever he told you wasn't true," said Cynthia, who felt that she
had said more than she should. "I shouldn't think you would have
discussed Neal with him. Neal is one of our family."

"I didn't," said Edith, somewhat curtly, "though I don't exactly see why
you should speak of Neal Gordon as one of our family. I told Mr. Bronson
I preferred not to talk about him. But he spoke so nicely of Neal, and
said he wanted to help him, and he was afraid the faculty would write
about him, and he wanted to get him out of the scrape if he could."

"Oh, the hypocrite! But what is the scrape? Did he say?"

"No, I wouldn't let him. But it is absurd to call him a hypocrite,
Cynthia. I shall never believe it unless you tell me why you think so."

"I can't do that, but I _know_ he is," said Cynthia, stoutly. "You have
just got to take my word for it, for I can't explain."

The girls talked far into the night, but Edith was not convinced. She
felt that there was something at the bottom of it all, for Cynthia could
not deny it. After all, she was sorry. Edith liked Neal, a Gordon though
he was. But she did not doubt that he was in a difficulty of some kind.

The summer was over and the glorious autumn leaves dropped from the
trees, leaving the branches bare and ready for the coming of snow. One
could see the course of the river plainly now from Oakleigh windows.
Beautiful October was swallowed up by chill November, and the wind grew
biting. One was glad of the long evenings, when the curtains could be
drawn and the lamps lighted early to shut out the gray skies and dreary
landscape.

Neal was back at St. Asaph's, and the winter work had begun. Cynthia and
Jack went every day to Boston, and Edith also went in three times a week
for lessons. She objected to this on the plea of expense, much as she
desired a thorough education. She greatly feared her step-mother had
brought it about. But her father reprimanded her sharply when she said
something of this, and insisted that she should do as he desired.

The poultry had already begun to bring in a little money, for Jack sold
a few "broilers" to his mother at market prices, though she usually
added a few cents more a pound.

"They are so delicious, Jack," said she; "better than I could get
anywhere else, and worth the money."

He kept his accounts most carefully, and it was pleasant to write down a
few figures on the page for receipts, which thus far had presented an
appalling blank.

In due time came a present to Edith from Aunt Betsey: a package
containing an old-fashioned camel's-hair scarf that had belonged to
"Grandmother Trinkett," and, scattered among its folds, five ten-dollar
gold pieces.

Government had proved worthy of the old lady's trust, for the money had
come safely; but then she had actually addressed the package clearly and
correctly.

Edith, of course, was much pleased, and notwithstanding her aunt's
suggestion that she should place it in the savings-bank, she determined
to expend the money in a handsome winter suit and hat. She dearly loved
nice clothes.

Cynthia looked somewhat scornfully at the new garments.

"If Aunt Betsey sends me fifty dollars, you won't catch me spending it
on finery," she informed her family. "I have other things to do with
_my_ money."

She did not know how truly she spoke, nor what would be the result of
her manner of spending Aunt Betsey's present.

The fall slipped quickly by, and the Christmas holidays drew near. Neal
was coming to Oakleigh, and many things were planned for the
entertainment of the young people.

Cynthia went about fairly bursting with excitement and secrets. This was
her best-loved time of the whole year, and she was making the most of
it.

The 25th of December fell on a Wednesday this year, and Neal came down
from St. Asaph's on Monday, to be in good season for the festivities of
Christmas Eve. Plenty of snow had fallen, and all kinds of jolly times
were looked for.

Outside the scene was wintry indeed, and the white walls of Oakleigh
looked cold and dreary in the sitting of snow which lay so thickly over
river, meadow, and hill, but in the house there was plenty of life and
cheery warmth. Great fires burned briskly in all the chimneys, and the
rooms were bright and cozy with warm-looking carpets and curtains and
comfortable furniture. There had been a good deal done to the house,
both outside and in, since the coming of Mrs. Franklin. Edith still
maintained to herself that she did not like it, but every one else
thought matters vastly improved.

"Hurray! hurray!" cried Jack, rushing into the house on Tuesday and
slamming down his books; "good-by to school for ten days! It was a mean
shame that we had to have school at all this week. Neal, you were in
luck. St. Asaph's must be mighty good fun, anyhow. By-the-way,"
continued he, holding his chilled hands to the fire, "I saw that Bronson
fellow in town to-day--the one that smashed your canoe."

"You did?" said Neal, glancing up from his book, while Cynthia gave an
exclamation of disgust.

"Yes," said Jack, "and he said the Morgans had asked him out here for
the holidays, so I guess we are in for another dose. It strikes me they
must be pretty hard up for company to want him."

Neal said nothing. Edith looked up from her work and watched him
sharply, but his face told little.

"Hateful thing!" exclaimed Cynthia. "I would like to pack my trunk and
take a train out of Brenton as he comes in on another."

"I can't see why you all dislike him so," observed Edith. "You detest
him, don't you, Neal?"

"Oh, Edith, do hush!" cried Cynthia. "Yes, of course he does; he's
hateful." But Neal still said nothing, and Edith got no satisfaction.

Christmas Eve closed in early. At about four o'clock it began to snow,
and the wind blew great drifts against the side of the house. Every one
said it was going to be an old-fashioned Christmas.

It was the custom in the Franklin household to look at the presents that
night. As Cynthia said, when arguing the point with some one who thought
it a shocking idea to see one's gifts before Christmas morning, it made
it so much more exciting to open their own packages, and to look at
their treasures by lamplight. Then in the morning they had the pleasure
of seeing them a second time, and of investigating their stockings,
which, of course, were hung ready for the coming of Santa Claus.

After supper Jack and Neal carried in the great clothes-basket which for
days had been the receptacle for packages of all sizes and kinds, those
that had come by post and those which the family themselves had
carefully tied up, until now it looked like Santa Claus's own pack.

Mrs. Franklin presided at the basket and read the names, and when the
colored ribbons were untied and the tempting-looking white parcels were
opened, there were shrieks and exclamations of delight, for every one
declared that this particular gift was just what he or she most desired.

Each one had a table covered with a white cloth, upon which to place his
treasures, and when all was done the "long parlor" at Oakleigh looked
like a fancy bazar, so many and varied were the articles displayed.

There was an odd-looking package addressed to Jack and Cynthia. It was
heavy and covered with postage-stamps in consequence, and proved to be a
large box stuffed with straw.

"What under the sun is it? Of course it's from Aunt Betsey," said Jack,
as he rooted down into the hay, scattering it in all directions. Out
came what appeared to be an egg tied up with old-fashioned plaid ribbon,
and an ancient-looking beaded purse. The purse was marked "Cynthia," so
Jack appropriated the egg, but with an exclamation of chagrin.

"She is sending coals to Newcastle," said he. "Aunt Betsey must have
thought it was Easter. But it is the queerest-feeling egg I ever came
across. It's as heavy as lead."

He shook it and held it up to the light.

"Ha, ha!" said he; "a good egg! I'd like to have the machine packed with
just such eggs."

Inside were ten five-dollar gold pieces, and Cynthia found the same in
her purse.

"I will put mine away for a 'safety' in the spring," said Jack, clinking
his gold with the air of a miser, and examining the empty egg-shells.
"Isn't Aunt Betsey a daisy and no mistake? Just see the way she's fixed
up this egg-shell; she cut it in half as neat as a pin. I don't see how
she ever did it."

"I wish I had an Aunt Betsey," remarked Neal; "those gold pieces would
come in pretty handy just now."

"Aunt Betsey is so fond of giving gold," said Cynthia. "She always says
it is real money, and bills are nothing but paper. I shall put mine away
for the present, until I think of something I want terribly much, and
then I will go grandly to Boston and buy it like a duchess. Goody
Two-shoes, but I feel rich!"

And she danced gayly up and down the room, waving her purse in the air.

Neal had very nice presents, but he was disappointed to find that there
was no money among them. He suspected, and correctly, that his sister
and her husband had thought it wiser not to give him any more at
present.

"Then I'm in for it," thought he. "I'll have to ask Hessie, and there'll
be no end of a row. Of course she will give it to me in the end, but it
would have been nicer all round if she had come out handsomely with a
Christmas check. Of course these skates are dandy, and so is the
dress-suit case and the nobby umbrella and the sleeve-buttons; but just
at present I would rather have the cash they all cost."

He said something of this afterwards to Cynthia.

"Bronson is screwing me for all he's worth," said he. "I'll have to get
the money somehow, and fifty dollars is no joke. Of course, I'm not
going to take off the ten he so kindly offered for the canoe; I'd like
to see myself! If Hessie doesn't see matters in the same light I'll have
to do something desperate. But, of course, she will give it to me."

"Neal," said Cynthia, impulsively, "if mamma doesn't give you the money
you must borrow it of me. There is that fifty dollars Aunt Betsey has
given me. You can have it just as well as not."

"Cynthia, you're a brick, and no mistake," said Neal, looking at her
affectionately, "but you know I wouldn't take your money for the world.
You must think me a low-down sort of fellow if you think I would."

"How absurd! It is a great deal better to owe it to me instead of to a
stranger like Bronson, or any one else. I'm sure I think of you just as
if you were my brother, and Jack wouldn't mind taking it. You can pay it
back when you get your own money."

"Yes, nine years from now," said Neal. "No, indeed, Cynth, I'll have to
be pretty hard up before I borrow of a girl."

"I think you are too bad," said Cynthia, almost crying. "I don't see the
difference between a girl and anybody else. I don't need the money; I
don't know what to buy with it. I would just love to have you take it.
It would be lovely to think my money had paid your debts, and then you
could start all fresh. Please, Neal, say you will if mamma does not give
it to you."

But Neal would not promise.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]



A MILITARY BICYCLE CORPS' OUTING.


[Illustration: WATCHING THE EVENING POT BOIL.]

The bicycle corps of a military academy near Chicago recently made a
journey on wheels from that city to Springfield and back again, camping
at night wherever darkness overtook them, foraging among the neighboring
farm-houses for their subsistence, and conducting themselves on the
whole as if they were actually in the field on active service. A guard
was posted as soon as camp was pitched in the evening, and sentries kept
watch throughout the night, keeping away all intruders, and seeing to
it that none of the cadets ran the lines to visit a near-by village, or
to milk some unprotected cow in a neighboring farm-yard. The boys did
their own cooking, which at times was marvellous to look upon, and
fearful to digest; but they all lived through the experience, and got
back to the school in the best of health and condition. A week was
occupied in making the trip, and the experience and general knowledge of
bicycling which the cadets acquired in that time was such as they
doubtless could never have obtained in any other way. There were
seventeen in the party, including the Major commanding, who was one of
the instructors at the academy, and each wheelman carried about thirty
pounds of baggage, consisting of a change of under-clothing, a blanket,
a shelter tent, arms, and cooking utensils. The incidents of the journey
were many, and the element of adventure was not lacking.

Of course there were a number of accidents to the machines, one of the
most serious occurring about the fourth or fifth day out when about
eighty miles from Springfield. It was a creeping tire, and no amount of
cement or tire-tape could be made to stop it. A total of eight valves
was torn off in that one day, which, with the delay caused by punctures
from thorn-hedges, cost a great loss of time. When within ten miles of
Springfield, with a heavy thunder-storm coming up behind them, the tires
of two wheels got badly punctured, and a halt had to be called. It was
thought that repairs could be quickly effected, but this proved not to
be the case, and the main body was thereupon ordered to push on, while
the disabled riders were left to complete their patching, with orders to
catch up as soon as possible. But night and the storm came on rapidly,
and under these unfavorable circumstances the cadets were unable to
locate the punctures. They therefore determined to camp for the night,
and having found shelter behind a hay-stack, they put up their shelter
tents over their wheels and slept comfortably in the storm all night.
The next morning repairs were effected, and by fast riding the
stragglers overtook their companions.

The foraging was a source of about as much fun to the boys as the
cooking. The first evening of the trip the foragers brought back to camp
among other things a bag of oatmeal. A special order was given to the
guard that night to notify the three-o'clock detail to put the oatmeal
on the fire to cook slowly at 3.30 A.M. The guard obeyed his
instructions as far as they went, but, not being a cook, and having
received no further orders, he did not look at the oatmeal again, with
the result that this particular breakfast dish was not much of a
success. But sleeping in the open air sharpens the appetite, and burnt
as it was, the oatmeal was entirely consumed. On another occasion--this
time it was for luncheon--foragers were, as usual, detailed to supply
the commissariat. All who had been sent out returned to camp within a
reasonable time, except two, and it was soon deemed expedient by the
Major to send a corporal's guard in search of these. The guard remaining
absent very much longer than seemed necessary, the Major himself mounted
his wheel and started to gather in the delinquents. He found them,
corporal's guard and all, comfortably seated behind a hay-stack eating
pork and beans and cold chicken, and drinking fragrant hot coffee from a
generous earthen pot. The farmers all along the route were most generous
to the bicyclists. In a number of cases they absolutely refused to
accept any pay for provisions furnished. At a place near Bloomington the
country people were notably hospitable. One man brought to the camp
seven dozen eggs, another six spring chickens, and another a pail of
milk, while one thoughtful mother sent all the pies she had in the
house. Then the good natives sat around on the grass and watched the
boys cook and eat.

[Illustration: A QUIET CAMP BY THE WAY.]

Wherever it was possible to do so, camp was pitched near water. One of
the prettiest spots found was on the shore of the Kankakee River, near
Wilmington, where the corps brought up late one afternoon after a hot
and dusty ride. Tents were never before so quickly raised, and a minute
later the quiet stream was being churned into foam by the swimmers. At
Lincoln the camp was on State property, and the boys had the use of the
National Guard's swimming pool. But this was not the only courtesy they
received at the hands of the militia. At this same Camp Lincoln the
Adjutant-General's department had provided good-sized tents for the
bicyclists, with extra blankets, and a cooking-stove, on which hot
coffee was steaming when the corps arrived. Further on in the run the
same hospitality was shown. At Streator a good-natured merchant
distributed free soda-water checks to all, and as many as each wanted.
One lady invited the cadets into her house and gave them cake and
lemonade, and had all the girls of the neighborhood in to serve it. The
notes of the "Assembly Call" were mighty unwelcome sounds that
afternoon.

But besides the fun and the exercise and healthfulness of the journey, a
good deal of useful information was absorbed. On the run out from
Chicago the road followed the line of the new drainage canal, giving all
a good opportunity to witness the blasting and the working of the giant
machine shovels. At Springfield the corps visited the Legislature, then
in session, and the home of President Lincoln. They were also received
by the Governor. At Joliet they were taken through the penitentiary, and
among other souvenirs of the place, each one carried away a piece of
striped cloth from the tailor shops. These pieces did important duty
later in the journey, most of them returning to Chicago in the form of
patches to the well worn uniforms.

On the whole the trip proved most successful, and there is not much
those boys don't know to-day about the handling of bicycles.

[Illustration: THE BICYCLE CORPS AT DRESS PARADE.]



A PILOT'S STORY.


For a number of years I have been a traveller on the North River
ferry-boats running between New York and Jersey City. One of the
pleasures of these short trips has been in my interest and admiration
for the skilful way in which such huge, unwieldy boats are handled by
their pilots. The tides in the river are at times very strong, and
especially so near the ferry slips. To prevent mishaps it requires the
most careful manoeuvring, as a small error of judgment might send the
heavily laden boat crashing into the bulkheads. Such an accident would
endanger the lives of the people on board.

When the heavy gong sounds, and the rumble of the paddle-wheels stops,
and the boat glides silently over the water, it is then that the pilot
and his engineer are on the alert--one with his hand on the wheel,
moving it this way and that, and the other with his hand on the lever
bar, ready to back water or go ahead, according to his signals.

I remember a story that a pilot told me, of which he was the hero. He
did not tell it boastingly, but in a simple, quiet way, and not before a
great deal of persuasion was brought to bear upon him. We were standing
at the time on the lower deck of a ferry-boat belonging to the line upon
which he was then employed. Pointing to a grimy young bootblack who was
industriously polishing away, he said: "At one time I polished boots the
same as that youngster is doing there. I loved the boats and the crowds,
but more especially I loved to watch the pilot and the engineer at work.
To see the latter polishing and oiling his machinery as carefully as a
mother would dress a baby was my chief enjoyment. I dare say I knew
every part of the engine as well as he did, or at least I thought so,
and many a shine I let pass simply to see him work the boat in and out
of the slip. This curiosity, or rather interest, on my part stood me in
good stead at one time, as you will see. We were unusually crowded on
the trip when my stroke of good luck took place, both gangways running
past the engine-room being choked up with horses and wagons.

"Most of the drivers had gone forward, and I sat in my usual place on
the ledge at the engine-room door alone. Bang! the first bell sounded to
reduce her to half speed, and I glanced around to watch the engineer
shut off steam. He was sitting facing the engine in his arm-chair, his
chin in his hand, and his arm resting on the side of the chair. I was
surprised to see that he made no move, and, thinking he was asleep, I
ran in to shake him. By this time the pilot evidently thought something
was wrong, and the big bell sounded twice, meaning, as you probably
know, to stop the engine. I could not make the engineer move, and,
without hesitating, I stepped across to the engine, and grasping the
wheel, I shut off the steam and disconnected the eccentrics.

"Of course the engine stopped, and the pilot, thinking everything was
all right, commenced to send down his signals. I was a little
frightened--more at the idea of my working the big engine than at making
any mistakes, for I knew exactly what to do. Well, we had some trouble
making the slip, and I had to back her out. I can tell you, working that
lever bar was no easy job. Then came the sharp tinkle for full speed,
and shortly I had her well out into the river. Then came the bells to
stop her, and again to reverse and go ahead under half speed.

"By that time I was very tired, but no longer nervous, and when we again
neared the slip and the welcome bell to stop the engine sounded, I was
very glad. The double signal to back water came, and I pushed the lever
bar up and down twice before I got my last signal to stop. When I heard
the rattle of the chains as they tied her in the slip I was worn out,
and it seems to me I must have fainted, for when I came to it was in the
presence of the pilot and some of the officers of the line. They told me
the engineer had died of heart-disease; and in recognition of my
services they placed me at school and gratified my ambition to become a
pilot, as you see."

  Hubert Earl.



CORPORAL FRED.[1]

A Story of the Riots.

BY CAPTAIN CHARLES KING, U.S.A.


CHAPTER VI.

Ten minutes later, while police and firemen, both protected by the First
Battalion, were devoting their energies to checking the flames that were
rapidly sweeping through the great repair shops, and the other two
battalions of the regiment were clearing the blazing freight-yards of
the last skulkers of the mob, the surgeon had established a temporary
field-hospital in the open enclosure between the main entrance and the
yards. Thither had been driven the two ambulances, conspicuous by the
red cross of Geneva. Here, feebly moaning, lay poor Jim, kicked and
clubbed into most unrecognizable pulp. Here beside him knelt Fred, still
praying for tidings of his father. Slinking away from the scene of their
recent triumph the rioters fled before the solid ranks of the troops,
only to regather, though in smaller force, and resume the work of
pillage and destruction farther along the line. And now the Colonel
began to appreciate the full effect of orders to serve under police
instruction. First he had to send Major Flint with his battalion to
report to Police Captain Murray a mile away in one direction. Then Major
Allen with the second was despatched far out to Prairie Grove. Ten
minutes more and a third detachment was demanded to assist Police
Sergeant Jaeger, now struggling with the strikers at the elevators along
the canal, and when ten o'clock came the Colonel with his staff, his
hospital, and something like a dozen officers and men, whose heads were
cut by stones and coupling-pins, had just one company left in his
immediate command. "B" had gone to the Prairie Avenue crossing, where a
mail-train was stalled, and "L," Fred's own, was posted at the storage
warehouse, half a mile northward. Fred himself still remained by his
brother's side, while police and firemen, lantern-bearing, were
searching through what was left of the long line of repair shops in vain
quest of the old foreman. With Fred, too, by this time were his mother
and sister Jessie. Poor little Billy, led home by sympathizing women,
had told his story, and the brave wife and mother, leaving to the elder
daughter the duty of caring for the house, had taken Jess and made her
way through the now scattering crowd, through the still blazing yards,
through the friendly lines of National Guardsmen, over the well-known
pathway to the shops, there to take her place by her stricken
first-born's side, tearfully, prayerfully waiting for tidings of the
husband and father, even while devotedly tending the son. By 10.15 the
flames about the buildings were extinguished, and the firemen turned
their attention to the blazing ruins in the yards. And now the searching
parties were raking through the burned-out sections of the shops in the
belief that there, and only there, could old Wallace be found. Time and
again, as some one came out from the grimy gateway, the sorrowing woman
lifted her white, piteous face in mute appeal. Jessie, weeping sorely,
was clasping Jim's blood-stained, nerveless hand. Fred had gone to join
the searchers. Far down the tracks toward Prairie Grove the glare of new
conflagrations reddened the skies. From up the yards near the warehouses
came stories of fresh gatherings of the mobs. The police thought more
soldiers should be sent there, and the Colonel said he had but one
company left. Out in front of the shops an elevated iron foot-bridge
crossed the freight-yards. It had been red hot in places until the
firemen turned their streams and cooled it off. Then Fred's friend, the
signal sergeant, with a couple of men, had mounted it, and sent their
night torches swinging. "Hurrah for Colton," said the Colonel. "That
boy's worth his weight in gold," for presently a bugler came running up
to report the sergeant had established communication with Prairie Grove,
and soon after with Captain Wagner's post far up the tracks. The first
message from below told of fresh fires and outbreaks, as was to be
expected. The first from above set the Colonel's eyes adancing.

"Police report rioters gathering in force about the Amity Wagon-Works.
Twelve loaded cars on their tracks there. Think they mean mischief."

"Hullo!" cried the Colonel. "Where's Corporal Wallace?"

And poor, sad-faced Fred, just back from unsuccessful searching, and now
kneeling by his mother's side, promptly sprang to his feet and
approached his commander.

"What's in those cars at the Amity Works, corporal?

"New wagons, sir. Loaded yesterday and ought to have started last night,
but they couldn't get anything out."

"I can't bear to take you away from your mother, my lad, until we hear
of your father; but I feel sure, somehow, that he is safe, and the
doctors tell me your brother will recover, though he may be laid up some
time. It is more than likely we'll be called on for more duty presently,
and if we are"--and here he glanced keenly at the young fellow from
under the brim of his scouting hat.

"I'm ready, sir," said our corporal, grimly. "I'd welcome a chance," he
added, as he glanced back at the group about his brother's battered
form, at his mother's white face, and Jessie's weeping eyes; and just
then Jim feebly rolled his bandaged head from side to side, and his
swollen lips were seen to be striving to form some words. Eagerly the
mother bent her ear to catch them. All others ceased their low-toned
chat; all eyes seemed fastened on them--anxious mother and stricken son.
Only she to whom his earliest baby lispings were intelligible,
inexpressible music could understand his meaning now.

[Illustration: "DID FATHER--GET HOME SAFE?"]

"Did father--get home safe?"

Then Jessie's sobs broke forth afresh, and a young railway man, whose
bruises the surgeon had been dressing, could stand it no longer. He was
one of the striking trainmen, and knew Jim well.

"Mrs. Wallace," he cried, struggling to his feet and coming towards her,
"I'm a Brotherhood man and bound to them in every way, but I can't stand
this. I know what's happened, though I had no hand in it, as God's my
judge! The old man's safe, ma'am--safe and out of harm's way, though I
don't know where. Jim wrapped him in his own coat with our badge on it,
and run him out through the south gate when they burst in here. I saw
him. There were only a few fellows down there, and he got him out all
right, and made him promise to keep away. I saw the old man cross the
street into the lumber-yards, and gave Jim my word I wouldn't peach. I'm
no traitor to our fellows, but I couldn't see the old man hurt." (And
here his eyes wandered to where Jessie crouched beside her brother.) "I
tried to keep 'em off from Jim, but he would go back and brave them, and
there were men among them no one could influence after old Stoltz said
his say. I got these," he added, half in shame, "battling against our
own people, trying to save him, but they were far too many for both of
us. They were madlike, and most of them were black-guards we'd not be
seen with any other time. They downed him, and nearly kicked the life
out of him, because he wouldn't say which way the old man went or where
he'd hid him."

Then, at least, the old foreman was not in the ruins--might, indeed,
have escaped from the rioters. Yet Mrs. Wallace was not much comforted.
Again and again she implored Jim to say whether he had designated any
particular place as his father's refuge; but Jim had drifted off again
into the borderland between the other world and this. His ears were deaf
to her appeal. If father had been spared, she said, surely he would have
made his way home to reassure them. In vain Fred pointed out that to do
so he must again venture through the mile-long yard of rioters, firing
cars, and mad with glut and triumph. He would surely have been
recognized, and by that time every striking switchman and trainman knew
it was he who held the throttle of the first engine to essay to break
the morning's blockade--more than enough to ruin him. They might not
themselves use violence, but they or their women would point him out to
the bloodhounds in the mob--men who were ready for any deed of violence,
no matter how brutal or cowardly, and the brave old fellow would have
met the martyr's fate at their hands.

"He never would have gone and left poor Jim to go back and face them all
alone," cried Mrs. Wallace, breaking down at last; and then Fred had to
tell her that Jim was himself a leader in the strike, a personal friend
of Steinman, and completely influenced by him. Neither father nor Jim
believed that they would assault one of their own Brotherhood, the man
whose contributions had exceeded those of any other, and whose heart had
been hot for action days before. They did not realize that men are
turned to tigers at the touch of blood or riot, and that for lack of
other material--just as the mob of Paris guillotined their own leaders
when gentler blood was all expended--so would these mad dogs turn for
victims upon their kind.

"Go you and search," said Inspector Morrissey to two of his bluecoats.
"You know every hiding-place about here. Find him, or trace of him quick
as you can."

And the wearied officers turned away. They had had a wretched time of
it, for over thirty hours, and not a wink of sleep. Scattered by twos
and threes they had been expected to preserve the peace even though
repeatedly cautioned not to use force. An important election was close
at hand. The city officials, now seeking re-election, had forfeited long
since the respect of the educated classes of the community, and their
only hopes lay now with the great mass of the populace in which the
strikers were largely represented, and from which their supporters and
sympathizers were without exception drawn. It would not do to club or
intimidate, and thereby offend these thousands of voters, and the
police, brave and determined individually, and long schooled in handling
the "tough" element, now found themselves absolutely crippled and
hampered, first by a feeling of personal friendship for many of the
railway men themselves, second by absence of either support or approval
when it came to handling the rioters. Not until the mob had burst all
bounds, and the safety of the great city was at stake did the officials
realize the tone of the torrent they had turned loose, and then gave
reluctant, half-hearted orders to suppress the riot even though somebody
had to be hurt. When at last the city troops were marched to the several
scenes, the wearied police took heart again, and many of them went to
work with their old-time vim.

Just before eleven o'clock Jim was tenderly lifted into one of the
regimental ambulances, and with his mother and Jess carefully driven
over home, where sympathizing neighbors gathered and ministered to one
and all. Half a dozen of Jim's associates, strikers themselves, but
appalled and disgusted now at the contemplation of the result of their
folly, established themselves as a guard at the cottage, while others
eagerly, fearfully joined in the search for the honored old Scotchman
who, with too good reason, many feared, had fallen a victim to the fury
of the rioters. Farley, Jim's brakeman, had not been seen for hours, and
this was significant. Fred, leaving his brother safely stowed away in
bed, with all possible comfort secured for the night, kissed his
mother's tear-stained face and told her he must go. She clung to him
shuddering a moment, yet could not say no. He was a man now, just
twenty-one, and knew his duty. Had not the Colonel said there was
further work ahead?

It came, quickly enough. A man in a buggy with a prancing, frightened
horse, was eagerly importuning the imperturbable gray-mustached Colonel,
as Corporal Fred returned to his post, and the conversation was more
than interesting.

"I _have_ appealed to the police. They say they're powerless. They've
got all they can do now. There's two companies of your regiment right
there near them within four squares. Colonel, if you will only order
them to go with me we can disperse that mob, and save the plant, cars,
and all."

"How many rioters are there, Mr.--Mr. Manners?"

"There must be five hundred; five hundred at least, and they've set fire
to the cars twice, and driven off the firemen and police."

"But, Mr. Manners, two companies of _tin_ soldiers can't drive away five
hundred strong men; and I understand you spoke of my men to-day as
such."

"Don't kick a man when he's down, Colonel. I may have said something
foolish--any man's liable to make mistakes; but four hundred thousand
dollars' worth of property is burning up there, and my watchmen are
being stoned and killed. We discharged some bad characters last week,
and they're heading the mob now."

"Yes, this does seem to give your discharged men a chance. Now there
were two or three given their walking papers to-day," continued the
Colonel, with provoking coolness, his lips twitching under his handsome
gray mustache.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Colonel, don't rub it in! I'll make it all right
with those men. Just think what's happened to the Amity Works all the
time you've been keeping me waiting and begging."

"I know what's been happening, Mr. Manners," said the veteran officer,
calmly, "and you don't know what wouldn't have happened but for the
prompt action of the very regiment you saw fit to ridicule, and the very
men you kicked out of their clerkships because they obeyed the order to
turn out, as _it_ turned out, to save you and your works. I ordered two
companies there twenty minutes ago. The mob scattered at their coming,
and not a dollar's worth have you lost. I only kept you here out of
danger for a while, and now, if you please, Corporal Wallace of my
headquarters party--with whom possibly you're acquainted--will conduct
you safely back. Jump into the gentleman's buggy, corporal. Your uniform
will pass him through our lines without detention. Good-night, Mr.
Manners. Next time we send a summons to the works, it'll probably be for
Sergeant Wallace, and I hope to hear of no further objection on your
part."

And despite sorrow for Jim and anxiety about his father, Corporal Fred
couldn't help feeling, as he drove with his abashed employer swiftly
through the dim yet familiar streets, that life had some compensation
after all.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

FOOTNOTES:

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



FIGHTING THE ELEMENTS.

BY W. J. HENDERSON.


"I tell you the steamship is a wonderful machine."

That was the exclamation of Mr. Powers as he sat on the deck of the _St.
Petersburg_. Away above him towered the three funnels from which the
brown smoke went swirling away to leeward. Away below him throbbed the
giant quadruple-expansion engines, turning the twin screws over nearly
ninety times a minute, and hurling the massive fabric forward through
the sea of sapphire and silver twenty-one knots an hour. Little Harry
Powers, who sat beside his grandfather, thought the steamer a fine thing
too, but he was not quite so much impressed with it as was the old man,
because he had not lived in the days when there were no steamers.

"No buffeting head winds and head seas for months at a time now,"
exclaimed Mr. Powers. "Steam is invincible."

"Um--yes, generally," said Captain Ferris, who was going over as a
passenger to bring out from Gourock a new yacht.

"Why not always?" asked Mr. Powers.

"Well, in order to answer that question," replied the Captain,
thoughtfully, "I must tell you that some steamers are not as large and
powerful as others."

"Of course I know that," said Mr. Powers, rather impatiently, "but they
all manage to get across in defiance of the winds."

"Perhaps I'd better tell you of an instance I have in mind," said the
Captain.

"Do so by all means," answered Mr. Powers; and Harry leaned forward
attentively, because he perceived that a yarn of the sea was
forth-coming. Captain Ferris settled himself comfortably in his chair,
cast a look around the horizon, and then launched into his story.

"Three years ago," he said, "I was in Hamburg in command of the
steamship _Bristow_. She is a vessel of about 1200 tons, and is in the
carrying trade, though she occasionally takes half a dozen passengers at
low rates. I was ready to get under way for New York when a man,
accompanied by a boy about the age of your grandson there, came aboard
and applied for passage. He said that he had come to Europe on business,
and had received word that his wife was very sick in New York. He was
anxious to get home and my ship was the first that was going. I advised
him to wait three days and take the Hamburg-American liner, which would
arrive fully five days before us; but he said he had not money enough to
go that way except in the steerage, and he could not think of doing that
because his boy's health was none too good. So, of course, I agreed to
take the two. The boy looked up at me and said,

"'Thank you, sir; and please make the ship hurry, because mamma is
waiting for us.'

"I promised him I'd do my best, and, indeed, I did make up my mind to
push the ship as she'd never been pushed before. We sailed at three
o'clock on June 28th--I remember that date well enough. It was a
lowering damp afternoon, with a brisk southwesterly wind, and as soon as
we got fairly out into the North Sea the ship began to butt into a nasty
chop that sent the spray flying over her bows. But I was able to escape
the worst of it by hugging the Holland coast, and so got down into the
English Channel in some comfort. But now it was no longer possible to
hug the coast, for that would have carried me too far out of my course.
However, the _Bristow_ made good progress till we passed Fastnet Rock
and got well out into the Atlantic. And there our troubles began. The
morning of our third day out dawned with a hard low sky, a dead calm,
and a deep, long, oily swell underrunning the ship. She rolled pitiably
indeed. The barometer began to fall, and the wind rose and became very
unsettled. I think that before noon it blew from every point of the
compass, and some of the gusts were regular white squalls. The swell was
running from the south, but the wind was chiefly from the west,
southwest, and northwest. Toward evening the wind settled down, and by
dark it was dead calm. But the terrific swells that swept up from the
south, the gradual fall of the barometer, and the lurid state of the sky
told me that there was a lot of trouble ahead of us yet. We were about
400 miles west of Fastnet at ten o'clock, and I lay down, giving my
first officer instructions to call me in case the wind rose. Just before
midnight I was aroused, and went on deck to find the wind coming in
short angry blasts from the nor'west. At midnight it came out with the
full force of a hurricane right in our teeth. In a short time a terrible
confused sea was running. It was a frightful night. At three o'clock in
the morning a thunder-storm swept over with the gale. Fierce lightning
and a deluge of rain combined to make an appalling scene. Daylight found
the ship reeling and staggering over huge jagged walls of water that
loomed up ahead of her as if they would swallow her. Just after four
o'clock a fearful sea fell bodily over the starboard quarter and stove
in one side of the cabin, filling it with water. I saw that it was
madness to try to drive the ship against such weather, and I hove her
to. When I went to my breakfast, Mr. Howard, my passenger, and his son
were there, very quiet and with white faces.

"'Will the ship sink, Captain?' asked the boy.

"'Oh no,' I answered; 'she's all right.'

"'But we sha'n't get home to mamma so soon,' murmured the boy,
mournfully."

[Illustration: FOR TWO WEEKS, INCH BY INCH, THE "BRISTOW" FOUGHT AGAINST
A SERIES OF WESTERLY GALES.]

"I had hove the ship to so as to bring the damaged side of the
deck-house to leeward, and I set the carpenter at work repairing it. We
were hove to for twenty-eight hours, and then, the weather moderating
somewhat, I started the _Bristow_ ahead at half speed. We had drifted
back fully seventy-five miles, and as we did not make more than three
knots an hour ahead, it took us fully a day to recover the lost ground.
Although the force of the wind had abated, it was still blowing a gale,
and the sea was sufficiently heavy to impede our progress very much. In
all my experience at sea I have never met with such heart-breaking
weather. If the wind had only shifted to our beam I would have been
profoundly grateful, while a hurricane on our quarter, disturbing at any
other time, would have filled me with joy. That boy's pale anxious face
and the thought of the sick mother at home haunted me as I walked the
reeling bridge or clung to its rail, and held my breath when some green
wall crashed down upon our forecastle deck. But the westward sky seemed
to be made of chilled steel, and out of its pitiless lips blew one gale
after another, and all full of a biting cold that made the name of
summer a foolish jest. For two weeks, inch by inch, the _Bristow_,
running her engine at its full power, fought her way against a series of
westerly gales. The decks were white with crusted salt, and the
iron-work became browned with rust, until the ship began to look old and
haggard from her struggle with the elements. But the worst had not come
yet. On the seventeenth day out, while I was at my dinner, the
pale-faced boy and his father sitting opposite to me and gazing at me in
mournful silence, the chief engineer came to me with a grave
countenance, and asked me to step aside that he might speak with me.

"'Captain,' said he, 'I am sorry to tell you that the coal in our
bunkers is getting very low, and that unless we make better headway it
will run out before we make port.'

"'Cut up all the spare wood in the hold,' I said, 'and feed that to the
furnaces.'

"The engineer went away shaking his head, and then the boy came up to me
and said,

"'Captain, are we ever going to get home?'

"'Oh yes,' I said, with an effort to appear cheerful; 'of course we are.
We're doing very well now.'

"The boy looked at me reproachfully and walked away. His father hadn't
said a word to me for two days. But I declare it wasn't my fault. Well,
you may think we had had our share of trouble, but we were not through
yet. On the afternoon of July 20th several large ice-floes were sighted,
and that night the ship ran into a dense field of ice. By this time most
of our spare wood had been burned, and we were depending largely on our
sails to carry us along, while the wind, which was still blowing half a
gale, was almost dead ahead. And here we were in an ice-field that
hemmed us in as far as the eye could see. The temperature of the air was
bitterly cold, and it seemed as if we had been plunged into the midst of
arctic regions. The ice-floes crashed and groaned, gulls whirled
phantomlike and screaming above our stained spars, and all the time the
wind blew against us as if some supernatural force were bent on driving
us back. On the evening of the 21st the ship's carpenter came to me and
said,

"'Captain, there are six inches of water in the hold.'

"For a minute, I think, I could not speak, for this new misfortune quite
stunned me.

"'Have you found the leak?' I asked at length.

"'Not yet, sir,' he answered. 'It is somewhere forward, though.'

"'Make a close search for it, and let me know at once,' I said.

"He went below, and in about half an hour reported that one of the
plates in our starboard bow had been cracked by the ice. The break was
below the water-line, but I succeeded in stopping it up by melting some
tar, which I fortunately had aboard, and pouring it into the crack. Our
engine was stopped altogether now, because the ice was so thick that it
was dangerous to push the vessel ahead. There was a good deal of sea
underrunning the ice, and it required the greatest skill and
watchfulness to prevent disaster. To avoid injury altogether was quite
impossible. At four bells in the morning watch on July 23d, while we
were still in the ice-field, there was a jar and a crash. I sprang from
my bunk, in which I had been lying dressed, and jumped on deck.

"'What in the world has happened now?' I cried.

"'Carried away our rudder, sir,' called the second mate, who was leaning
over the taffrail.

"The pale-faced boy came up to me, and looking into my face with his
great solemn eyes, said,

"'What shall we do now?'

"'Rig another,' I answered as bravely as I could.

"I'm not going to describe to you the rigging of a jury-rudder, because
it's one of the commonest feats of sea-engineering; but I will tell you
that it cost us a day's hard work, and required the use of some spare
stuff which I would have been very glad to put into the furnaces, for
the coal supply was becoming smaller and smaller, and we were seven
hundred miles from the nearest port. Well, we were twelve long,
heart-breaking days in the ice. Fortunately it rained heavily during two
of those days, and by using everything we had on board, including the
boats, to catch the rain, I succeeded in fairly replenishing the supply
of water in our tanks. We were fortunate in having an unusually large
supply of food, and this alone saved us from falling into the straits of
hunger. We had plenty of everything except beef and pork. These articles
were exhausted, and we had to depend upon canned food, bread, crackers,
tea, and coffee. But we had enough of those to last us three months, so
that I did not deem it necessary to shorten the allowances. On August 2d
we got clear of the ice, and began to make progress at the rate of four
knots an hour under sail and a little steam, but three points off our
course. In all this time we had sighted nothing save one distant sail;
but on August 3d, to our intense joy, a steamer rose over the horizon
ahead of us. I set signals of distress, and they were seen. The steamer
proved to be the _Argonaut_, from Halifax for Liverpool, and her Captain
agreed to tow us into Halifax. It was a long, long way, and we knew it
would be a slow task, but the thought of it lightened every heart. My
men jumped eagerly to the task of passing the great hawser, and at four
o'clock in the afternoon it was stretched, and the _Argonaut_ began to
drag us westward at six knots an hour. Our ship's company gathered in
the bow and gave a cheer, and the boy smiled and said,

"'At last we shall get home to mamma.'

"I turned in after that and slept the sleep of exhaustion. The
_Argonaut_ towed us gallantly for 250 miles; and then, on the night of
August 5th, we ran into another gale from the nor'west. It was not as
bad as those we had previously encountered, but it checked our advance,
and before morning had raised a heavy sea. At eight o'clock the tow-line
parted with a report like that of a gun. To think of stretching it again
in such a sea was hopeless, but the _Argonaut_ lay by us all day.
Several times in the course of the following night we saw her lights,
but before morning the wind shifted to the southeast, a fog came up, and
we never saw the _Argonaut_ again. Sadly we set sail on the _Bristow_,
and began to move slowly through the still troubled waters. But at nine
o'clock the fog cleared off, the wind hauled to the eastward, and the
sea became moderate. I was now able to set every stitch of canvas on the
vessel with a fair wind, and I laid my course for St. John's,
Newfoundland. We forged ahead at four knots an hour, and hope revived in
every breast. But before night the wind fell light, and our progress
became nothing better than a drift of two knots hourly. Still we were
going ahead, and we did not despair. Calm weather and light winds
continued till August 10th, and then the wind came in ahead. We were now
about two hundred miles from Cape Race. Two schooners passed us in the
course of the day, and I signalled to them our condition, asking them to
report us, and they promised to do so. I now determined to use the last
fuel I could find aboard the ship. Our coal had been exhausted, and I
did not dare to strip the spars from the masts lest I should still need
them to make sail. All the bulkheads in the ship were iron, but I had
every available bit of wood-work cut away, including the doors, and so
made enough steam to start the engine again. We went ahead very slowly
all that day, but the following morning, when 38 miles southeast of Cape
Race, we came to a stand-still. Our fuel was all gone, and the boilers
were cold.

"'What shall we do now?' asked the pale-faced boy.

"'Send a boat to Cape Race for help,' said I.

"My first officer, Hiram Baker, and four seamen volunteered to make the
voyage, and at nine o'clock, with a well-provisioned and unsinkable
life-boat, they pushed off from the ship. We watched them out-of sight
with aching hearts and throbbing eyes. There was a light breeze from the
westward, and the life-boat was able to work to windward, so she could
come pretty near laying her course. The weather seemed settled, and I
felt that unless some unforeseen accident occurred she would reach her
destination before the next day. And so, indeed, she did. Two powerful
sea-going tugs were despatched from St. John's, and on the afternoon of
August 12th they hove in sight. Two hours later they had us in tow, and
that night we arrived in St. John's, six weeks and three days out. The
boy and his father hurried off to the telegraph office and sent a
message to New York. In the morning a messenger came aboard with an
answer. I can never forget with what eager hands Mr. Howard tore open
the envelope. Then he threw his arms around his boy and said,

"'She is much better!'

"'Then we shall be at home in time, after all.'

"And he came up to me and gave me a kiss, which rewarded me for all my
struggles."

       *       *       *       *       *

In the thirteenth century the Chinese government issued some paper
currency. To-day there are probably but two notes of that issue extant.
One is in the British Museum, and the other in the possession of the
Oriental Society of St. Petersburg. These notes were issued in the reign
of Hung Woo, the founder of the Ning Dynasty, who died in 1398. The face
value of the notes is about a dollar, and that issue of paper currency
was the only one ever guaranteed by the Chinese government. To-day these
notes are probably the rarest and most valuable of currency issues.
Nearly all note collectors and Chinese bankers are fully aware of their
existence and their value.



STEWED QUAKER.

BY MARGARET E. SANGSTER.


  I don't like to be very ill--just ill enough to make her,
  (My grandmamma) say softly, "Child, I'll fix you some stewed Quaker."

  It's sweet and thick and very nice, and has molasses in it,
  And lots of vinegar and spice; you want it every minute.

  And being medicine, of course you sip and say it's dandy.
  Just only think! it's _medicine_, and tastes like taffy candy!

  Now castor-oil and squills, and stuff that wrinkles up your forehead,
  And puckers up your mouth, and gags and burns, are simply horrid.

  _I_ don't mind being ill at all, if darling grandma'll make her
  Nice dose she used to make for pa when he was young--stewed Quaker.



HIS WHEEL SAVED HIS LIFE.


The bicycle has proved useful as a life-saving machine in many
instances, but it remained for John O'Hara, of Broome Street, in New
York, to discover how good a bicycle is as a means of escape from a mail
dog. John is a well-grown lad, and is so fond of bicycle-riding that he
goes on wheeling trips through the streets of the Fast Side. All of
these streets are crowded, but probably no one of them is so jammed full
of pedestrians and push-carts and peddlers' wagons as Forsyth Street.
Experts say that no other part of the world is so thickly populated as
this neighborhood, so you can easily imagine how difficult it must be to
go wheeling a bicycle through it.

John O'Hara was enjoying a pleasant spin on the smooth asphalt pavement
of Forsyth Street, near Broome, at noon the other day, when he noticed
the crowd scattering right and left, and diving into open hallways and
down cellar stairs. Presently he heard a cry of "Mad dog!" He wheeled
around and turned to flee to the southward. As he hurried away he looked
back over his shoulder, and saw a big white dog galloping after him, its
red tongue lolling out, and yellow foam dripping from its open jaws. As
the dog ran it turned and snapped viciously right and left. The cries of
the crowds on the sidewalk warned everybody on the pavement, so that
there was a clear field ahead of O'Hara for several blocks. He pushed
hard on the pedals, and sprinted away as hard as he could. If he could
only be sure of plenty of headway he knew he would be safe. The dog was
not running very fast, for his gait was uncertain, and he wavered from
side to side.

If O'Hara had turned out into any of the side streets he would have been
safe, but in the excitement of the moment he did not think of this. His
one idea was to run ahead as fast as possible. Now and then the carts
and wagons in the street were slow in turning out, and O'Hara had to
slow up. In this way he ran five blocks, now gaining on the dog, and now
almost overtaken. At Canal Street there was such a jam of vehicles that
the bicycle rider almost had to stop. The dog galloped ahead of him,
snapping at the wheel as it went past. O'Hara might have even then
turned northward for safety, but he was too excited, as probably most of
us would have been in his place. He kept straight ahead, and as the dog
fell in front of him, the wheels of the bicycle passed over its neck and
stunned it. Away went O'Hara at full speed, and a policeman, fortunately
near at hand, shot and killed the dog before it could recover. Probably
this is the first time that a bicycle was ever used as a weapon as well
as a means of flight from danger.



TWO BRAVE MEN.


It has frequently been asserted that no fortifications of masonry could
resist modern ordnance, and this is doubtless true so far as heavy siege
guns are concerned. But in the recent war against China the Japanese
troops found on several occasions that with their light batteries of
field and mountain artillery they were unable to make any impression
upon the heavy stone defences of some of the walled Chinese towns. The
gates, especially, seemed able to resist any amount of bombarding, for
the masonry was much thicker and higher at these points, and frequently
there were three and four heavy iron-bound oaken doors to be broken open
before an entrance could be effected. The attacks on these walled towns
furnished occasions for a number of brave deeds on the part of the
Japanese soldiers, who proved themselves to be reckless in the display
of courage, and absolutely fearless in the face of the greatest dangers.
One of the first occasions of the kind was at Kin-chow, a good-sized
town surrounded by a very high stone wall with only a few gates. The
Japanese artillery had been firing at the principal gate for an hour or
so without effect, and the infantry had made assault after assault
against the perpendicular walls without being able to dislodge the
enemy, who were well screened behind battlements and embrasures. At last
the commander of the attacking force decided that the only way to get
into the town would be to blow open the gate with dynamite or
nitro-glycerine. It was all very well to decide upon this, after looking
at the heavy doors from a distance through field-glasses, but it was an
entirely different matter to put the explosive in place and set it off.

[Illustration: TOKUYI BLOWING UP THE GATES OF KIN-CHOW.]

Nevertheless, as soon as it was announced that it had been determined by
the commander to blow open the gates, Onoguchi Tokuyi, a private soldier
of the corps of engineers, volunteered to take the cartridge and place
it under the doors. He rushed from among his companions and ran straight
for the wall, from the top of which the Chinese poured a perfect hail of
bullets at him. But the Chinese soldiery never aim, and usually fire
with their eyes closed, so that Tokuyi reached the gate unharmed. He
placed the bomb under one of the hinges, lit the fuse, and only had time
to retreat a few steps when with a roar and a crash the great oaken
doors were torn to pieces and fell inward. The soldier was knocked down
by the force of the explosion, but he quickly picked himself up, and,
leaping through the dust and smoke, placed a second cartridge under the
inner gate and blew that open in the same way. By this time a perfect
avalanche of Japanese infantry was pouring through the opened doorway,
and in a very few minutes the Chinese were in full rout. Tokuyi was
found unconscious after the fight, lying near the second door. He had
been hit in the shoulder by a bullet as he entered the outer gate. He
was treated by the army surgeons, and sent home to Japan to get well,
and then he was decorated for his bravery by the Mikado.

[Illustration: MIMURA CLIMBING THE WALLS OF PING-YANG.]

A similar exhibition of courage was given by an infantryman at the
storming of the Gemmun Gate at Ping-Yang. There, too, the thick stone
walls proved impervious to Japanese shot and shell, and after two
fruitless assaults it was decided to try some other method. Lieutenant
Mimura volunteered to open the gate single-handed, but Private Harada
stepped out and said he would follow along and help. Both men then ran
for a corner of the gateway, while their comrades diverted the attention
of the Chinese defenders by keeping up a hot fusillade. Mimura and
Harada clambered quickly up the face of the wall by placing their hands
and feet in the chinks between the stones. They succeeded in reaching
the top without being seen by the Chinese, who were busy blazing away at
the main body of the enemy, and then jumped down and rushed for the
inside of the gate. They had to cut their way through a horde of
Chinamen as soon as they had gotten inside the town; but they finally
beat them off, and threw the bolts of the heavy gates, that were at once
shoved in by the attacking force outside. Both Lieutenant Mimura and
Private Harada were promoted the next day.

       *       *       *       *       *

Two gentlemen had a rather lively dispute, which finally wound up in an
agreement to fight it out in a duel. One of the gentlemen was extremely
thin and the other stout. The stout gentleman complained that it would
be useless for him to fire at such a shadow, for one might as well
expect to hit the edge of a razor as to hit the man. Whereupon the lean
man made the proposal to chalk a line down the fat man, and if his shot
failed to take effect within the narrow side of the line it wouldn't
count.



GREAT MEN'S SONS.

THE SON OF LUTHER

BY ELBRIDGE S. BROOKS.


[Illustration: Decorative H]

igh on a Saxon hill-side overlooking the pleasant valley of the Itz, and
in the shadow of the loftier Frankenwalds, stands an old castle now gray
with age and rich in memories. In one of its many guest rooms, near an
open window, about which crows and jackdaws hung with swirl and clamor,
there sat, many years ago, a stockily-built, firm-featured,
fearless-eyed man writing a letter.

Armed men fill the castle; upon its walls and on its highest turrets
watchmen stand on guard; above it floats the standard of the Elector of
Saxony; and the great gate opens only to the summons of those who come
with credentials or password.

The time is one of anxiety and excitement, for the Protestant Princes of
northern Germany have taken a bold stand against their lord the Emperor.
Messengers ride daily to and from the castle, and letters are sent now
this way and now that, freighted with important measures or hot with
words of protest, counsel, and appeal, strengthening those who waver,
restraining those who are over-bold.

As by his open window in the ancient castle of Coburg, where his
presence is honored and his word is law, the strongman sits at work.
What is the letter that he writes? Who is the Prince or preacher for
whom his words of wisdom are penned? Is he a soldier issuing commands,
or a councillor sending advice to Elector, Duke, or King?

We draw near the writer, and as we look over his shoulder, following the
queer old German script his quick quill traces on the paper, this is
what we read:

     "Grace and peace in Christ. My dear little son, I am glad to hear
     that thou learnest well and prayest diligently. Do this, my son,
     and continue it; when I return home I will bring thee a fine
     fairing.

     "I know a beautiful cheerful garden, in which many children walk
     about. They have golden coats on, and gather beautiful apples
     under the trees, and pears and cherries and plums; they sing, and
     jump about, and are merry; they have also fine little horses with
     golden bridles and silver saddles. And I asked the man, 'Whose
     children are they?' He replied, 'These are the children who like
     to pray and learn and are pious.' Then I said, 'My good man, I
     have a son; his name is John Luther, may he not also come to this
     garden to eat such nice apples and pears, and ride such fine
     little horses and play with these children?' And the man said, 'If
     he likes to pray and learn and is pious, he shall come to this
     garden with Philip and James; and when they all come together they
     shall have pipes and cymbals, lutes and other musical instruments,
     and dance, and shoot with little cross-bows.'

     "And he showed me a fine meadow in the garden prepared for
     dancing, there being nothing but golden pipes, cymbals, and
     beautiful silver cross-bows. But it was yet early and the children
     had not dined. Therefore I could not wait for the dancing, and
     said to the man, 'My good master, I will go quickly and write all
     this to my dear little son John, that he may pray diligently,
     learn well, and be pious, that he also may be admitted into this
     garden; but he hath an Aunt Lena whom he must bring with him.' The
     man answered, 'So be it; go and write this to him.'

     "Therefore, my dear little son John, learn and pray with all
     confidence; and tell this to Philip and James, that they also may
     learn and pray; and ye will all meet in this beautiful garden.
     Herewith I commend thee to Almighty God. Give greetings to Aunt
     Lena, and also a kiss from me. Thy father who loves thee.

  "19th June, 1530.
  "MARTIN LUTHER."

A cheery, bright, helpful, storylike letter to a boy, is it not? And
written from that old German castle in a time of danger and of
controversy. And the writer is neither soldier, prince, nor priest, but
greater than soldier, prince, or priest, the one man who gave the
death-blow to the ignorance of the Dark Ages, and changed the history of
the world. For the writer was Martin Luther, the apostle of the
Reformation, the "renegade monk" who dared, in spite of Pope and Orders,
to tell the world that alike the Word of God and the conscience of man
were free, and who, in the year 1521, commanded by Pope and Emperor to
take back his bold words, heroicly said, in the midst of enemies, and in
the face of almost certain death: "I may not, I cannot retract; for it
is neither safe nor right to act against conscience. Here stand I. I
cannot do otherwise. God help me."

And the little four-year-old boy to whom this storylike letter was
written was Luther's first-born, the dearly loved "son John." He was
named for his grandfather Hans (or John) Luther, the Saxon miner, and he
was born in June, 1526, in the cloister-home in Wittenberg, where his
father, Martin Luther, had first lived as monk, and afterwards as
master. For when that monk made his heroic stand, and the men of North
Germany followed him as a leader, the Prince of his homeland, the
Elector of Saxony, gave him as his home the Augustinian convent at
Wittenberg, deserted by the monks, who would not follow him whom they
called "the renegade."

Here in the cloisters of the old convent, close to the city wall, and
almost overhanging the river Elbe, Martin Luther and his wife Catherine
made their home; here they received into their household students,
professors, travellers, and guests--men anxious to hear the glad tidings
of religious freedom that this great leader proclaimed to Germany and
the world, and here, as I have told you, in June, 1526, little
"Hanschen," or "Johnny" Luther was born.

Luther was a man who loved home and family ties, and from babyhood
little John was most dear to him. The Reformer's letters to his friends
are full of references to the small stranger who had come into the
Wittenberg home; and neither hot religious disputes, knotty theological
problems, nor grave political happenings could crowd Johnny out of the
father's heart.

We get these glimpses of "our John" frequently. "Through the grace of
God there has come to us," he writes to one of his friends, "a little
Hans [John] Luther, a hale and hearty first-born"; and a few days later
he says that, with wife and son, he envies neither Pope nor Emperor. Of
the year-old boy he writes, in May, 1527, "My little Johnny is lively
and robust, and eats and drinks like a hero."

That year of 1527 some terribly contagious disease, called, as all such
"catching" illnesses then were, "the plague," visited Wittenberg and
converted the Luther household "into a hospital." "Thy little favorite,
John"--thus he closes a letter to a friend--"does not salute thee, for
he is too ill to speak, but through me he solicits your prayers. For the
last twelve days he has not eaten a morsel. 'Tis wonderful to see how
the poor child keeps up his spirits; he would manifestly be as gay and
joyous as ever, were it not for the excess of his physical weakness." It
was in the midst of the poverty and worry that the plague and the other
crosses he endured brought about that Luther wrote his great hymn, "Ein
feste Burg ist unser Gott," one of the grand and triumphant "Hymns of
the Ages," and we can imagine that, with his powerful voice, he rang the
hymn out gladly when, in December, 1527, he could write thankfully, "Our
John is well and strong again."

Luther was a great letter-writer, and in the midst of pressing duties
and important deeds, away from his loved ones, he could always find time
to write home. Many of these "letters home" remain on record, beginning
"To the gracious dame Catherine Luther, my dear spouse, who is
tormenting herself quite unnecessarily"; or, "To my sweet wife Catherine
Luther von Bora. Grace and peace in the Lord. Dear Catherine, we hope to
be with you again this week, if it please God." But one of the most
famous of the Luther letters is that one which, when "our John" was just
four years old, his father wrote from the old castle of Coburg, in the
shadow of the Saxon mountains, and in the midst of stirring times,
sitting at the window, as we have seen, while outside the crows were
cawing and the jackdaws were chattering, and armed men guarded the great
letter-writer as the most precious of Germany's possessions.

Five boys and girls blessed that cloister-home at Wittenberg. The
Luthers were never "well-to-do"; sometimes they were so short of
money--for Luther was overgenerous in his charities--as to feel the
pinch of poverty. But Luther had friends in high places who would not
let him want, and he was therefore able to give his boys tutors at home
and good instruction later on in life.

"Son John" could scarcely be called a brilliant scholar. Indeed, he was
a bit dull, and inclined to take things easy. In this his mother seems
to have been just a trifle partial to her first-born, and inclined to
help him thus take things easy. So, when he was sixteen, "son John" was
sent away to school.

From the letter which he bore from his father to Mark Crodel, the
teacher of the Latin school in the Saxon town of Torgau, young John
seems to have entered the school as a sort of "pupil-teacher," for thus
the letter runs:

     "According to our arrangement, my dear Mark, I send thee my son
     John, that thou mayst employ him in teaching the children grammar
     and music, and at the same time superintend and improve his moral
     conduct. If thou succeedest in improving him, I will send thee two
     other sons of mine. For, though I desire my children to be good
     divines, yet I would have them sound grammarians and accomplished
     musicians."

Young John would seem to have been sent to Torgau as one needing
correction; and, indeed, I am afraid he was not always a good or a
dutiful son; otherwise it is hard to explain the words of Luther when
one of his friends spoke of the boy's frequent attacks of illness. "Ay,"
said Dr. Luther, "'tis the punishment due to his disobedience. He almost
killed me once, and ever since I have but little strength of body.
Thanks to him I now thoroughly understand that passage where St. Paul
speaks of children who kill their parents not by the sword, but by
disobedience."

Just how the son "nearly killed" his father we cannot say. It may have
been the great man's strong way of putting things, but evidently "son
John" also needed reformation.

[Illustration: JOHN WAS THE COMPANION OF HIS FATHER IN MANY
EXPEDITIONS.]

However that may be, we catch more glimpses of John's good side than of
his bad. He was the companion of his father in many of his expeditions
about Germany, and he was with him on that fatal trip to Eisleben in
January, 1546, to reconcile the quarrelsome Counts of Mansfeld.

With his boy he forded the icy rivers Mulde and Saale, where they nearly
lost their lives, and where the Reformer doubtless "caught his death."
Escorted by horsemen and spearmen, Luther and his son entered Eisleben;
the Counts of Mansfeld were reconciled, but Luther fell sick, and that
very night, the 18th of February, he died.

All Germany mourned the great man's death; all Germany hoped that his
sons might follow in the father's steps. But the three boys seem only to
have turned out respectable men, without any of the elements of
greatness or leadership.

John Luther made a fairly good lawyer. He married the daughter of one of
his professors at Königsberg University; served as a soldier in the
German army; settled down, and died at Königsberg, in the year 1576, at
the age of fifty. His name is chiefly remembered as the "dear Johnny"
and "son John" of his great father's letters, and of the happy home
circle in the cloister-house at Wittenberg. He left neither name nor
deed to make his memory a word in the mouths of men; yet we cannot but
feel that, as the son of Luther, he must have been proud of the great
father whom he remembered only with love and reverence, and, let us
hope, rejoiced to see the regard the world paid to the masterful ways of
the great Reformer and leader, whose gifts the son did not inherit, and
whose name he but feebly upheld.



[Illustration: THE PUDDING STICK]

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


The last Pudding Stick was especially designed for young people who wish
to write for the papers. This one is also to be about writing, but in
rather a different line. I hope none of you will be offended if I urge
upon you the importance of learning to spell. It always gives me a
little quiver of pain--something like the sudden start of a nerve in a
tooth which is sensitive--when I read a letter from one of my girls, and
find that she uses two "l's" where she should use one, or one "t" where
two are required. I think it is easier for some than for others to spell
correctly. Spelling is largely a matter dependent on attention. You may
not know it, but your eyes are always teaching you how to spell, and,
unconsciously, as you read interesting books or the daily paper, you see
how words are spelled, and learn to spell correctly yourself. There is
no excuse for any girl who has both sight and hearing to blunder in her
spelling, when Helen Keller, who can neither see nor hear, spells
without ever making a mistake. Helen writes a beautiful legible hand,
and uses a type-writer to perfection, and yet she has never had the
advantages which most of us possess, having been blind and deaf ever
since her babyhood. The thing is to pay close attention if you desire to
be a good speller.

Very much more than we fancy we are dependent for our style of speech in
writing and conversation on the authors we read. Here, too, we need to
be attentive. No bright American girl can afford not to read a few pages
of some good author every day of her life. Mere story-books are not
sufficient. Keep on hand a book which is a serious undertaking, and plod
straight through it. I have made this a rule all my life, and I advise
you to do the same.

Those who have had the good fortune to be early taught another language
besides your own, and who understand French or German, should keep on
hand a book in one of those languages, and read a chapter or two every
day. If I could I would like to persuade you of the importance of doing
something along the line of a study or an accomplishment every single
day. Even a few minutes regularly devoted will tell in time to
advantage. The president of one of our great New England colleges used
to say to the students, "Nothing can stand before the day's works."
People who set apart a little while every morning or every afternoon for
a definite purpose, and then never allow themselves to lose that time,
making it up if they are interrupted by extra effort on the next day,
soon surpass the brilliant people who are capable of great exertions now
and then, but never do anything patiently day by day. I wish, too, that
I could say to you as strongly as I feel, "love your work." "The labor
we delight in physics pain." It seems to me a dreadful thing to go to
one's work with the spirit of a slave. We should always put into our
work our best thoughts, our best hope, and the motive of true love. No
matter what the work, the way we go about it gives it worth and dignity,
or makes it petty and mean.

Another caution is, do not talk very much about what you are doing.
Nothing is so weak as vanity. Somewhere in the world there is always
somebody doing such work as ours quite as well as we can do it, and we
have no right to inflict upon our friends the story of our personal
endeavors or failures. It is well to omit from our daily conversation as
much as possible references to ourselves and to what we are engaged
upon. I want my girls to become interesting women, and the woman who is
really interesting thinks and talks of others more than of herself.

It is a good plan, in order to fix on your mind what you read and wish
to remember, to keep a commonplace book. Here you may copy poems which
please you, dates of striking events, bits of description, and
entertaining anecdotes. One girl friend of mine succeeded thus in making
a very beautiful compilation, which was afterwards published, and which
gave great pleasure to her friends.

[Illustration: Signature]



ON BOARD THE ARK.

BY ALBERT LEE.


CHAPTER IV.

The animals poured into the Ark like the tide through a sluice. They
pushed and shoved and crowded, and many tried to get to the Purser's
window ahead of their turns. The big ones brushed the little ones aside
with a total disregard of gentleness or consideration. But the Bull soon
put a stop to this sort of thing. He stuck his head out of the window
and said all sorts of horrible things, and vowed he would have the doors
closed if the beasts did not preserve better order. Things went along
better after that.

The larger animals came in first: Lions, Tigers, Elephants, Hippopotami,
Rhinoceroses, Camels, Giraffes, Dromedaries, Buffaloes, Polar Bears,
Grizzly Bears, and every other kind of Bear. Tommy thought he had never
seen so many different animals in all his life. It beat a circus all
hollow, and it reminded him of the college song his Uncle Dick used to
sing about:

              "The animals came in two by two,
                  Hurrah! Hurrah!
              The animals came in two by two.
                  Hurrah! Hurrah!
              The animals came in two by two,
              The Elephant and the Kangaroo,
  And they all got into the Ark before it began to rain!"

After the large animals followed a long procession of deer--Elk,
Antelopes, Gazelles, Chamois, Moose, and Caribou. Behind these came dogs
of every kind--big dogs, little dogs, thin dogs, fat dogs, gay dogs, sad
dogs, shaggy dogs, sleek dogs, and all colored dogs; Greyhounds,
Mastiffs, Pugs, St. Bernards, Fox Terriers, Setters, Pointers, Poodles,
Great Danes, Skyes, Black-and-Tans, and Collies. Toward the end of the
procession came a long-bodied brown dog with big ears and long straight
legs. Tommy had never seen that kind before.

"What is he?" he said, pointing downward.

The ex-Pirate shook his head, but the Gopher answered, "That's a
Dachshund."

"A Dachshund?" repeated Tommy: "I guess not. Dachshunds are not built
like that. Look at his long legs."

"Well, that _is_ a Dachshund," insisted the Gopher; and then he pulled
his sunbonnet over his head and closed his eyes for a nap.

The French Poodle was the only one that had any trouble with the Bull,
because the Bull could not speak French, and refused to understand what
the Poodle said. Tommy plainly heard the dog muttering to himself as he
left the window:

"Espèce de John Bull! Il est toujours comme ça!"

But the little boy could not understand what the Poodle meant anymore
than the Bull could, because he had not gotten along any further in his
French exercise-book than "Have you seen the good General's red slippers
under the green table of the wine-merchant's beautiful mother-in-law?"
And he did not recognize any of the words in the Poodle's plaint.

The Bull had been losing his temper pretty rapidly ever since the doors
opened, and he seemed to be waiting for a chance to do or say something
ugly. Pretty soon a couple of harmless and sleepy-looking Oxen came
plodding up the gang-plank and strolled through the doorway.

"Look here!" the Bull shouted at them, "you've got to leave your
chewing-gum outside! No gum-chewing allowed on the Ark!"

One of the Oxen protested, but the Bull asserted that if the Ox made any
trouble he would come outside and settle the matter himself; and so both
Oxen regretfully stuck their chewing-gum under the gang-plank and passed
in. A little while later a Lizard came along and handed in his ticket
through the small window near the floor. The Bull looked at it and
frowned, and then stuck his head out over the counter and glared at the
little Lizard, who positively turned green with fright.

"What do you mean by presenting this ticket?" asked the Bull, savagely.

"Please, sir, I want to come into the Ark," replied the Lizard, meekly.

"Well, you can't get in on this ticket--see?"

"Please, sir, it's the only one I have," continued the Lizard,
trembling.

"Well, look here, young fellow," snorted the Bull, getting angrier as he
spoke; "this ticket is your shape, but it is not your size. You bought
it from a speculator outside!"

"Oh no, sir!" exclaimed the Lizard.

"I don't care what you say. This is the Crocodile's ticket, and it ain't
your size, and you can't get in on it!"

"Please, sir. I did not know," mildly protested the Lizard. "I can't
read, sir."

"Well, don't you know that the pauper, the insane, and the illiterate
are not allowed on this Ark?" roared the Bull, apparently deriving much
pleasure out of the fact that he was scaring the Lizard half to death.
The little fellow did not in the least understand the meaning of these
big words, but he was so frightened by the Bull's ferocious manner that
he turned away and scurried frantically down the gang-plank, and hid
under a big stone in the sand.

"How awfully mean for the Bull to talk like that to such a little
animal!" whispered Tommy to the ex-Pirate.

"That's what he always does. Never takes a fellow his size," answered
the ex-Pirate. "He bullies the little ones: that's why he's called a
Bull."

Presently a Crocodile came stamping up the gang-plank. He had a
business-like expression in his eye, and a cold sarcastic smile
displayed his glistening rows of sharp teeth. He stepped right up to the
ticket-window, and thrust his long snout in so suddenly that he almost
knocked the Bull off his stool.

[Illustration: "WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY SENDING ME A MINIATURE TICKET LIKE
THIS?"]

"What do you mean by sending me a miniature ticket like this?" he
shouted, fiercely.

The Bull stuttered, "I beg your pardon, sir; but won't you allow me to
look at the ticket?"

The Crocodile passed the paper in.

"Oh, it's all a mistake," began the Bull, apologetically. "I assure you
it is all a mistake--"

"I should say it was," interrupted the Crocodile, who appeared to be in
an exceedingly unpleasant frame of mind. "Do you think for a moment that
I am going to take any such accommodations as that? Do you think I can
sleep in any berth that was built for a Lizard?"

"It's a mistake," repeated the Bull, affably. "Your quarters are on the
main-deck, starboard side, No. 417," and he passed out the ticket he had
taken away from the Lizard.

The Crocodile did not appear satisfied. He stuck his nose through the
window again and shouted:

"Well, I want satisfaction! I want satisfaction, and I'm going to have
it--"

But the crowd of animals in line behind the Crocodile, tired of waiting,
gave a push that sent the latter past the window and out into the main
hall, still mumbling something about "satisfaction." The Bull looked out
of his office, much relieved, and shouted down the line,

"Somebody tell that Lizard he can come in."

It did not take so long as Tommy thought it would for all the animals to
get on board. When the last one had passed in, preparations were made to
haul up the gang-plank, for the wind had freshened, the skies had
darkened, and the general appearance of the heavens betokened the
approaching storm. Just as the big plank was about to be taken aboard,
faint voices were heard from the ground outside:

"Wait a moment! wait a moment!" they cried. "Wait for us; we're almost
there!"

It was the Turtles. By so close a margin did they get into the Ark. The
Bull scolded them as they passed, and then slammed down the window, and
the Gopher, on the rafter next to Tommy, heaved a sigh of relief.

Soon afterwards it began to rain. The big drops fell noisily upon the
shingled roof of the Ark, and pattered on the window-panes.

"What is that noise?" asked a little Armadillo.

"That's the rain, dear," replied its parent.

"Oh no," said the little one; "the reindeer are sleeping down-stairs."

And then there was a great jolt, and the Ark floated off on the flood.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]



[Illustration: INTERSCHOLASTIC SPORT]


The interscholastic matches at Newport promise to be more interesting
this year than ever before. The game put up by the various players who
are to represent the schools in the national tournament has been of so
much higher an order than that of any previous season, that it has
attracted more than the usual amount of attention from sportsmen not
directly interested in the schools. There is better material blossoming
this August than has come forward for many years, and most of it is
coming out of the schools. The new players who are making themselves
prominent are all young men--not men who have been playing many years
and have finally developed skill. Thus it is very evident that the
formation of the Interscholastic Tennis Association has been a good
thing, and if properly supported--as I have no doubt it will be--it is
bound to aid materially the progress and refinement of the game. It
means the early development of good players and a higher standard in
inter-collegiate tennis. Already interscholastic tennis, in its first
champion, has given us a national representative who last year saved our
trophy from foreign hands.

The history or the movement may be summed up in few words. It was
initiated by the Harvard University Lawn-Tennis Club at the
suggestion of its secretary, William D. Orcutt, in 1891, when the
first tournament was held upon the college grounds, Saturday, May
2d, ten schools having replied to the circulars and letters by sending
representatives--twenty-five in all. The tournament, played off in two
days without a default, was won by R. D. Wrenn, of the Cambridge Latin
School, and created no small amount of interest both in college and
schools as the large audience at the courts testified. From this
beginning grew the idea of an Interscholastic Association, with an
annual tournament as a national fixture. In 1892, therefore, Harvard
sent out further circulars inviting preparatory schools to send
representatives to a second tournament, to be held under the auspices of
the United States National Lawn-Tennis Association, by the Harvard Club,
with the intention of forming a permanent association of the schools at
a meeting to be called on the day of the tournament. In response
sixty-six entries were received, representing at least twenty-four
schools. The tournament, held May 7th, was won by M. G. Chace, another
who has since distinguished himself among our ranked players, and
afterwards, as had been proposed, the association was formed.

The formation of the Harvard Interscholastic Association was an
incentive to other colleges to attempt similar organizations, and in
1893, Yale, Princeton, and Columbia started such associations, and held
tournaments. The four winners of these events met that year in Newport,
at the time of the national tournament, to determine the Interscholastic
champion, and again in 1894, after similar preparatory tournaments.

The following table shows the Interscholastic champions up to date:

  Year.  Played at.     Singles.          School.

  1891   Cambridge    R. D. Wrenn     Cambridge Latin.
  1892   Cambridge    M. G. Chace     Univ. Grammar, Prov.
  1893   Newport      C. R. Budlong   High, Providence.
  1894   Newport      W. G. Parker    Tutor, New York.

These Interscholastic lists have already introduced several fine tennis
players. R. D. Wrenn is the present national champion. M. G. Chace
ranked fourth in the ten of 1893, and by the new method is in '94 ranked
in Class 2. C. R. Budlong entered the first ten the year of his
interscholastic championship, and now, with W. G. Parker, is placed in
Class 4, (1/2 15). It is natural that the older players should watch the
ranks of the interscholastics with some interest, for it is here that
the coming players are most apt to show themselves first.

This year the contestants at Newport will be L. E. Ware, Roxbury Latin
School, of the Harvard I.S.L.-T.A.; M. W. Beaman, Lawrenceville, of the
Princeton I.S.L.-T.A.; and Waltz, Leal's School of the Columbia
I.S.L.-T.A. J. P. Sheldon, Jun., of Hotchkiss Academy, Lakeville, won
the Yale Interscholastic tournament, but may not be able to be present
at Newport this week. Of these four players the chances seem in favor of
Ware, who has already some practical tournament experience to back his
good play. Last year he won the Harvard Interscholastic, but was
defeated at Newport by W. G. Parker, winner of the championship. At
Longwood, last year, he showed excellent form in his match against
Larned, from whom he won the first two sets, and at Saratoga he was
"runner-up" in the tournament for the New York State Championship. This
season he has also appeared in several tournaments. At Longwood, having
reached the semi-final round, he lost to M. D. Whitman, whom he had
before defeated in the Harvard Interscholastic. In the double contests
at Elmira, Ware and W. M. Scudder played a close match in the finals
against Fisher and Paret. In his game, Ware's strong ground stroke,
quick judgment, and self-possession give good promise of a future
player.

The names of the other three contestants do not figure so conspicuously
in large tournaments. Sheldon has played in Western State championships,
winning in Ohio, but he has not had the experience of Ware against our
best Eastern players. He easily won the Yale Interscholastic, not losing
a set even to the winner of that event last year. He is good both back
and at the net, placing with some accuracy, and certainly in these
preliminary contests he showed a very good understanding of the game. If
he keeps his steadiness and coolness under the excitement of closely
contested matches he should prove a formidable adversary for Ware.
Concerning Beaman and Waltz it is more difficult to pass judgment,
these, as yet, having given little public exhibition of their games.
Waltz ranks as a third-rate local player, having been easily beaten in
local matches by the Miles and by Holcombe Ward at Orange.

It is to be regretted that Whitman is ineligible for the Newport event,
for he is a strong man, and has shown wonderful improvement since Ware
defeated him on Holmes Field in May. He is sure to become a prominent
player in the early future. Some of the other good men that the schools
have produced, and who will doubtless be at Newport, are Beals, Wright,
Henderson, and Moeran of Southampton, and Palmer of Hobokus.

It cannot be debated that larger co-operation by the different colleges
in this field of interscholastic tennis would be of the greatest benefit
to the game in this country. It would offer early incentive to young
players throughout the land, and carry a step further the general system
of sectional tournaments already instituted by the central association
to spur our players to greater and more scientific effort. The contests
last year at Newport, and again this spring at the Neighborhood Club,
West Newton, Massachusetts, where our men came in contact with
foreigners, brought out both our weakness and our strength; it showed
clearly that our worst fault is the unsteadiness of American players.
That this early tournament playing, accustoming young men to watch their
strokes and play carefully, must aid in remedying this evil among the
rising players hardly needs to be pointed out, while the new opportunity
of meeting equal or better players must also promote skill and
brilliancy in play. Add to this the closer contact of school and
college, and there seems strong argument for the more vigorous support
of such a cause.

In less than a month football will be taking up most of the time and
attention that school athletes can devote to sport. The coming season
should be a notable one in the history of the game too, for it will show
whether or not the schools are going to allow themselves to be
influenced by the better or the worse element that is identified with
the game. The better element is the one which has been trying for years
to arrange a code of rules that would purge the sport as much as
possible of opportunities for the practice of rough and unsportsmanlike
methods. The other element is the one which has been trying for just as
many years to evade the rules laid down. If the school players will
frown upon all unfair methods, and refuse to countenance sharp practice
in the game, if they will insist upon adhering to the spirit as well as
to the letter of the law, they will soon swell the ranks of the better
element of football men to such proportions that the other class will
find itself entirely overruled.

It is unfortunate that we should be forced to admit that sharp practice
occurs in football to a greater extent, probably, than in any other
sport. But, nevertheless, I think this is true. More acts of meanness
are performed in the course of one football game almost than in a whole
season of baseball or tennis or track athletics. Men will punch and kick
one another when the referee is not looking, and they will resort to all
sorts of small tricks that they would blush to acknowledge afterwards.
But, remember, this is not the fault of the game, it is the fault of the
man. And the endeavor of every true sportsman should be to get this sort
of man out of the way. We don't want him. He does more harm than good,
even if he is the best player on the eleven.

It is considered clever by many to do as many small and mean acts as
possible in a match game of football. To resort to petty practices is
looked upon by them as good playing. But there is no good playing,
except fair and honest playing. These same men who will kick their
opponents in the shins when the umpire is not looking are those who
encourage players to attend school during the football season, not
caring whether they remain afterwards or not. It is surprising how much
of this is done, and I have actually heard men say (instead of refusing
to play with a team composed of such men) that they, too, have hired or
obtained players to meet their rivals' crooked tactics. What an
argument! Where would the ethics of sport end up if such logic were to
be accepted? Why cannot we all become thoroughly imbued with the idea of
sport for sport's sake only? We do not play to _win_. We play for the
sake of playing--for the sake of the sport, the exercise, the
fellowship, and good blood that is to result.

Last year and the year before there was more than one school in the
Connecticut High-School League that resorted to practices not entirely
consistent with true sportsmanship. I speak of these now because my
attention has been directly called to them, and because I believe from
personal investigation that they were guilty certainly of a portion of
the misdeeds that rumor credited them with. In the other scholastic
football associations I have known of irregularities, but of none quite
so flagrant as those of Connecticut. There several football players have
suddenly been seized with a desire to attend school just as the season
opened, and have lost all inclination to study immediately after
Thanksgiving.

It is, of course, impossible to say outright that these men are
improperly induced to enter school, for such a thing is very hard to
prove. But it is perfectly just to say that no Captain of an amateur
eleven or of a school eleven should allow any man to play on his team
whom he does not believe to be a _bona fide_ scholar who means to remain
in school until the end of the year--a scholar who has come to learn
what is taught in the class-room, not what is practised on the football
field.

It is ridiculous for any Captain to assert that he does not know what
the men on his team intend doing a month hence. It is his business as
Captain to know this. He should know where his players come from, how
long they are to be in school, and all about their football experience.
If he does not know all this he is a mighty poor Captain, and ought to
be replaced. And the Captain who allows a man to play on his eleven whom
he suspects of having intentions of leaving school before the year
closes is not a fit leader for an honest school's football team, and
should likewise be replaced. The best Captain in the end is the most
honest Captain, and the most honest Captain is the best sportsman.

While speaking of sportsmen and sportsmanship I should like to call the
attention of all the readers of this Department to a definition of
"sportsman," published in the "Amateur Sport" columns of _Harper's
Weekly_ of August 17th: "A sportsman engages in sport for sport's sake
only, and does by others as he would be done by. A 'sporting man' or
'sport' enters sport for mercenary motives, and prefers to 'do' others."
This is only one sentence from a very good sermon. I recommend the
entire article to every one interested in the welfare of sport.

The Academic Athletic League of California has track-athletic sports as
well as football in the autumn term. Their next semi-annual field-day is
to be held September 28th, and from present reports the new material in
the schools is going to make a showing. As the meet is to be held on the
University of California track, which has the fastest 100-yard course on
the Coast, the A.A.L. sprinting records, which are at present 10-4/5 and
25-1/5 secs., ought to be reduced. Parker, Hamlin, and Chick are the
most promising men to do the work, Chick being a new man and a brother
of the University of California sprinter. Lynch of the B.H.-S. has gone
to Oakland to live, and will wear the O.H.-S. colors at the next
field-day. He has improved greatly in his hammer throwing. The O.H.-S.
team, by-the-way, stands a good chance of retaining the interscholastic
championship of the Coast, and if the teams are increased from seven to
ten men, as is now proposed, the other schools will have to work hard to
defeat them.

The California school athletes certainly go ahead of their Eastern
brethren in enthusiasm and true love of sport. This Department has for
some time been urging the formation of a general Interscholastic
Association; but as yet nothing has been done toward any such
organization, although I understand that active steps in this direction
are to be taken here as soon as the schools open next month. It may be
due to the long summer vacation that nothing has been done yet. But in
California interest in sport seems to be so lively that there is no
vacation interference. In a recent letter from Oakland, one of the
prominent men of the A.A.L. says: "In regard to your proposition for a
general American Interscholastic League, I can say that it meets with
the approval of the boys here, and we would be glad to join it if it is
formed. The only difficulty to our participating in such a field-day
would be the expense for travelling to and fro. If we joined such a
league we would try to raise the necessary sixteen hundred dollars. For
it would take that much, at least, which is quite a good deal for
High-School boys to raise. Will you kindly let me know of any advances
in this direction, and also give me an outline of what is intended?"

With such a spirit as is displayed in this letter the sportsmanship of
the Pacific coast is bound to thrive. These lads are not only willing
to join the Interscholastic Association at once, but they believe they
can collect enough money to pay expenses to come East and be present at
the first meet. I hope they will have the chance, and from the letters I
have received from sportsmen along the Atlantic seaboard, I believe that
in a very few months the much-needed association of the schools of the
country will be in running order. Perhaps one reason why the
Californians are so anxious to come here and try their skill is that
they believe they can win. Their records are not up to those of the
Eastern leagues, but another writer from the A.A.L. says: "One of the
University of California team told me the Eastern schoolboys are clever,
but that an Oakland High-School team could pull a field-day away from
the best school of 'em. That makes me wish we had a 220 straight-away
here to see how Dawson and Woolsey would appear alongside of Syme."
Dawson holds the local high-hurdles record at 19-1/4 sec., and Woolsey
holds the low-hurdles record at 31 sec. The sticks are 3 ft. 6 in. and 2
ft. 6 in. high, respectively.

In other matters of sport the Californians are just as progressive as
they are in their desire to come East. They have recognized the justness
of the Round Table's advocacy of uniformity in field and track
programmes, and are trying to adjust the A.A.L. list to the university
schedule. They have already adopted a 440-yard run, which they did not
have before, and at an early meeting of the executive committee on
athletics a motion will be made to use a 16-lb. hammer instead of a
12-lb. weight at the coming games. The shot is already a
sixteen-pounder.

  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 as far as possible. Correspondents should
     address Editor.


[Illustration]

One of the greatest "finds" in the history of stamp collecting has just
been made in Kansas City. The letters of an old firm were about to be
destroyed when the attention of a stamp-collector was called to them. He
immediately bought the entire lot of letters for a small sum. Among the
lot were about one hundred letters each bearing one or more of the rare
St. Louis stamps issued in 1843, and remaining in use until 1847. The
5c. stamp has hitherto brought from $150 to $200 at auction; the 10c.
about $75, and the only copy of the 20c. in the market was sold in 1894
by the veteran dealer J. W. Scott, usually called "the father of
philately," to a collector in Bangor, Maine, for $1500. This gentleman,
it is said, refused an offer of $2500 for the stamp.

In this new lot are a number of pairs of all three varieties and several
strips of three. The immediate result will probably be lower prices on
all three St. Louis stamps, but the demand will probably fully equal the
supply.

     FRED.--No premium on the English shilling, 1817.

     J. HALL.--Very few gold dollars were ever coined, and many have
     found their way to the melting-pot, or have been practically
     destroyed by conversion into bangles. Hence the dealers ask from
     $1.50 upward for all U.S. dollars in gold.

     H. STEVENS.--It is impossible to give anything more than a rough
     estimate as to the number of stamp-collectors and dealers, or the
     value of the stamps now in existence in albums, or the amount of
     annual business done in stamps. I hope to give some statistics on
     all these points in a future issue.

     M. C. W.--It would be very difficult to explain the differences in
     the Brazils and Guatemalas without illustrations, or within the
     narrow limits of this column. I congratulate you on your "find" of
     Wurtembergs.

     R. B. HADDOCK.--The 1864 and 1866 2c. coppers are quoted by
     dealers at 10c. each for "good," and 50c. each for "fine."

  PHILATUS.



AN ASTUTE SEA-LION.


It has always been a question in the minds of naturalists whether or not
animals have any means of conversing or of communicating to one another
more than the most elementary ideas of danger, hunger, and affection. It
would seem from what lately happened at Lake Merced that seals, at
least, must certainly have the powers of description and persuasion well
developed. Lake Merced was at one time a favorite resort of fishermen
from San Francisco. The trout that were pulled out of its quiet waters
were said to be the best, but so much angling was done that the trout
finally disappeared, and only carp were to be caught. Then the fish
commissioners decided to stock the lake with muskallonge, in the hope
that the latter would destroy the voracious carp, and eventually afford
good catches themselves.

Lake Merced is not very far inland from Seal Rock, and in some manner an
old sea-lion found his way from the ocean to the quieter waters beyond.
He tasted of the carp and enjoyed his meal, and being a genial sort of a
sea-lion, he returned to the rock, where he must have told his friends
of his adventure. He must have told them, and he must have organized a
picnic party, because the next night a number of seals flopped their way
into Merced. Everything was just as the old lion had represented, and
the band decided to remain.

Soon afterwards some employés of the commissioners drew a net across the
lake to see how the muskallonge were getting on. The seals, now
permanent residents of the lake, laughed loudly, after the fashion of
their race, and waved their flappers at the net-men as if to encourage
them to keep on and find out how many muskallonge were left. For the
muskallonge had got to the last dozen or so of carp, and the sea-lions
had gobbled the muskallonge, and only a few cat-fish were found in the
lake.

The seals are still in Merced, but there is a firm conviction in the
minds of those who live near by that unless the lake is stocked again
the greedy fellows will return to the rock in the sea.



ADVERTISEMENTS.



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

[Illustration: Royal Baking Powder]



Arnold

Constable & Co

       *       *       *       *       *

Camel's-Hair

Chudda Shawls,

75c. to $3.50 each.

Worth from $2.00 to $10.00.

       *       *       *       *       *

Broadway & 19th st.

NEW YORK.



OFFICIAL ANNOUNCEMENT of the award on

=GILLOTT'S PENS= at the CHICAGO EXPOSITION.

=AWARD:= "For excellence of steel used in their manufacture, it being
fine grained and elastic; superior workmanship, especially shown by the
careful grinding which leaves the pens free from defects. The tempering
is excellent and the action of the finished pens perfect."

  (Signed)  FRANZ VOGT, _Individual Judge_.

  Approved: { H. I. KIMBALL, _Pres't Departmental Committee_.
            { JOHN BOYD THACHER, _Chairman Exec Com. on Awards_.



HARPER'S PERIODICALS.

Per Year.

  HARPER'S MAGAZINE         _Postage Free_, $4.00
  HARPER'S WEEKLY                 "          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 A BROTHERS, New York, N.Y.



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



[Illustration: BICYCLING]

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


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

Continuing the trip from Philadelphia to Atlantic City, the first stage
of which was given in the Round Table for last week, we start from
Hammonton. The run from here to Atlantic City is somewhat roundabout,
owing to the nature of the country through which you must pass, and the
run is about forty miles in all. Leaving Hammonton proceed through New
Columbia, five miles away, to Batsto. The condition of the road is not
of the best; but there are almost no hills, and the side path will, in
many places, save you a good deal of hard riding. There is no difficulty
in finding the road, except about three miles and a half out of New
Columbia you should keep to the left at a fork in the roads. From Batsto
to Greenbank is five miles over a gravel road in capital condition, and
from this point on to Wading River and New Gretna there will be little
or no difficulty in finding the way. The road becomes poorer as you
approach Wading River, and the side paths should be resorted to wherever
possible.

There are several bridges to be crossed during this part of the ride,
from Greenbank to Chestnut Neck, and indeed there are a number of
bridges over the entire route. It may not be out of place to say a word,
therefore, about bicycle-riding over bridges. Most bridges in the
country are composed of horizontal supports, running lengthwise with the
bridge, along the tops of wooden posts. Across these at right angles to
the direction of the bridge are laid logs, sometimes nailed down to the
supports underneath, sometimes not fastened at all. If they are nailed
the wood wears away quickly, and the heads of the nails stick up perhaps
half an inch, and offer one of the most admirable opportunities for
puncture that could be found. Never ride over a bridge of this sort at
speed, therefore, and always keep a line between the rows of nails, so
that you may not run the chance of thrusting one of the nail-heads
through your pneumatic tube. If you are riding at night, and want to be
on the safe side, it is wise to dismount, and either carry or push the
bicycle across the bridge.

From Greenbank to Chestnut Neck, through New Gretna, is twelve miles.
From Chestnut Neck you should then proceed, following the main road, to
Port Republic, Smithville, Oceanville, Absecom, a distance altogether of
ten miles. Shortly after passing out of Chestnut Neck the rider must
keep to the right at the fork, and run into Port Republic. On running
out of Port Republic he should bear always to the left, going down
through Smithville as described. There is a road direct to Absecom, as
the map will show, but it is by no means as good a road, and passes over
several hills, that can be avoided by following the main road, which
runs along the valley. From Absecom to Pleasantville, a distance of
three miles, the road is clear enough. At Pleasantville a sharp turn to
the left should be made, and the road thence to Atlantic City is very
easily followed. It follows the track until after crossing the bridge,
then crosses the track and follows it to Atlantic City on the other
side. This part of the road is in moderately good condition, considering
that it is so near the water, and that the sand and gravel do not
readily admit of good hard road bed.

     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. Philadelphia to Atlantic City--First Stage in
     No. 825.



[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. 13.

DARK-ROOM HINTS.

In guides to photography, directions are always given for varnishing the
negative, but with ordinary care a negative need not be varnished except
for the purpose of retouching. Retouching means covering the spots in
the film with some non-actinic substance. Small spots are covered by
touching them lightly with a rather soft lead-pencil. Sometimes
water-color is used applied with a delicate brush, and sometimes crayons
are used.

It is not necessary to varnish a negative in order to retouch it; for a
fluid can be bought for this purpose, called "retouching fluid," which
is applied locally with a piece of surgeon's cotton. To "apply locally"
means to put the fluid on the part of the plate which needs retouching,
instead of covering the whole plate. A bottle of retouching fluid costs
twenty-five cents, and will last a long time. Full directions for use
come with each bottle.

Fine retouching is an art, but the amateur can easily learn to cover the
spots in his negative which would disfigure or spoil his prints.

The small clear spots on negatives are usually caused by dust on the
plate. They make what are called pin-holes, and wherever these occur in
the negative a black spot will show on the print. Amateurs are often
advised to dust their plates with a brush before placing them in the
holders. It requires a very soft brush and a careful hand to dust a
sensitive plate without scratching the film, and if the plate-holders
and camera-bellows are wiped frequently with a damp cloth there will be
little danger of pin-holes from dust spots in the sensitive plate.

Transparent spots in the negative are caused by air-bubbles forming on
the plate when the developer is turned over it, and the bubbles not
being broken, the developer does not have a chance to act on the film.

Larger spots on the plate or near the edge, which seem less intense than
the rest of the negative, are caused by the plate not being covered all
at once with the developer. The undeveloped plate should be placed in
the tray and the developing solution turned over it quickly with a sort
of sweeping motion, and the tray rocked in all directions till the plate
is completely covered.

Never place a negative in sunshine or near a stove to dry. The heat
causes the gelatine to melt and run off the plate. If for any reason one
wishes to dry a negative quickly, wash it, after removing it from the
hypo, for about half an hour, wipe off the water with a piece of damp
surgeon's cotton, lay the negative in the tray, and cover it with
alcohol. Let it remain in the alcohol for a minute or two, then take it
out and set it up to dry. It will dry in from five to ten minutes, ready
for printing.

Sometimes in warm weather the edges of the sensitive plate will come
loose from the glass. This is called "frilling," and occurs when the
developer is too warm. If the plate begins to frill, remove it to a dish
of cold water, and lower the temperature of the developer by setting it
for a few minutes in a dish of ice-water. The temperature of solutions
should not rise above 85°, or sink below 65° if good results are
desired.

In a later paper full directions will be given for retouching negatives,
improving the high-lights, blocking out backgrounds, etc. But these
belong to the finer part of the mechanical work of photography.

     SIR KNIGHT GLOVER BEARDSLEY, Auburn, New York, asks: 1, if one can
     use a ruby light safely when putting a plate in the holder; 2, if
     a plate should be left in the water after being taken from the
     hypo, or if it can be washed off and put to dry at once; 3, in the
     formula for making blue prints, where it says add one and one-half
     ounce of citrate of iron and ammonium, if it means three-quarters
     ounce each, and does it mean the ammonium in a liquid or solid
     form. 1. One may use a ruby light with safety in filling
     plate-holders. It is wise not to hold the plate too near the
     light. 2. Negatives should be washed at least half an hour in
     running water, and one hour if one has not running water, changing
     the water four or five times. 3. "Citrate of iron and ammonium" is
     a double salt formed of ferric citrate and citrate of ammonium,
     and comes in brown shining leaflets. Ask for "citrate of iron and
     ammonium" when buying the ingredients for the formula.

     SIR KNIGHT A. SMITH, Trenton, New Jersey, asks for a good
     developing solution, how to polish ferrotype plates, and how to
     keep films from curling when drying. Makers of dry plates always
     put in each box of dry plates formulas for developing, with full
     directions for preparation and use. These will always be found
     reliable. In No. 786 will be found a simple developer for
     instantaneous pictures, and we shall shortly publish a set of
     formulas with full directions for use. In Nos. 797 and 805 will be
     found directions for preparing a ferrotype plate so that prints
     will not stick. If the prints are trimmed before toning, they can
     be pasted before removing from the ferrotype, and thus most of the
     gloss made by the plate will be retained. Films may be kept from
     curling by soaking the film, after fixing and washing, in a
     solution of one-quarter ounce of glycerine and 16 ounces of water.
     Pin them at the corners to a flat board, removing all drops of
     water with a soft cloth. Set the board in an upright position till
     the films are dry. Do not use any more glycerine than the
     proportions given, as it will make the negatives sticky.

       *       *       *       *       *

RECALLED STORMY TIMES.

"Well, that looks natural," said the old soldier, looking at a can of
condensed milk on the breakfast-table in place of ordinary milk that
failed on account of the storm. "It's the Gail Borden Eagle Brand we
used during the war."--[_Adv._]



ADVERTISEMENTS.



[Illustration: Columbia Bicycles ad]



Walter Baker & Co. Limited,

[Illustration]

The Largest Manufacturers of

PURE, HIGH GRADE

COCOAS and CHOCOLATES

On this Continent, have received

HIGHEST AWARDS

from the great

Industrial and Food

EXPOSITIONS

IN EUROPE AND AMERICA.

       *       *       *       *       *

=Caution:= In view of the many imitations of the labels and wrappers on
our goods, consumers should make sure that our place of manufacture,
namely, =Dorchester, Mass.= is printed on each package.

       *       *       *       *       *

SOLD BY GROCERS EVERYWHERE.

       *       *       *       *       *

WALTER BAKER & CO. LTD. DORCHESTER, MASS.



[Illustration]

Noah's Ark

with animals, will be sent postpaid to any address on receipt of three
2-cent stamps. The animals are on cardboard--two and three inches high,
naturally-colored, and will stand alone. They can be arranged in line or
groups, making an interesting object lesson in natural history. This
offer is made solely for the purpose of acquainting mothers with the
merits of

WILLIMANTIC

Star Thread.

Send for a set for each of the children. Address

WILLIMANTIC THREAD CO.,

Willimantic, Conn.



WANTED.

Short stories and articles for the Boys', Girls', and Ladies'
Departments of a Weekly Magazine; also contributions of all important
subjects, all to be written by experts.

P. F. COLLIER, Publisher, 521 W. 13th St., N. Y.



Postage Stamps, &c.



[Illustration]

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



[Illustration]

100 all dif. Venezuela, Costa Rica, etc., only 10c.; 200 all dif. Hayti,
Hawaii, etc., only 50c. Ag'ts wanted at 50 per ct. com. List FREE!

=C. A. Stegmann=, 2722 Eads Av., St. Louis, Mo.



=25c. per 100= paid for cancelled postage stamps. For particulars, send
10c. silver, and get 20 foreign stamps free. Approval sheets at 50%.

H. P. HALBRAN, 101 CLINTON STREET, OLEAN, N. Y.



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



Notice to all members.


It is desired to correct the Order's records, especially all changes in
addresses. The new Patent is now ready, and all will want it. It is far
handsomer than the old certificate. We make a special request,
therefore, to all Founders and members to send us at once their names
and permanent addresses. Use English capital letters, which you can
easily make with your pen, and spell out in full at least one Christian
or given name.

A "given" name is the name given you by your parents, as distinguished
from your last name, which you have from your father. Use a postal card,
not a letter, and put no other matter upon it. Address the card Messrs.
Harper & Brothers, Publishers, New York, and put in the lower left-hand
corner the words "Round Table." On the back of the card write the letter
"A," and follow it with name, as directed, and address in full--street
and number if any, town or city, and State. If you are a Founder, write
that word in full anywhere on the card. Your new Patent will then bear
that word. If you were not a Founder, do not use the word.

Remember that if a certificate was ever issued to you, you are still a
member, no matter if you have now passed your eighteenth birthday.
Chapter officers are asked to send, on postal cards, names and addresses
of their Chapter members. They are also asked to send names of any
grown-up friends of the Chapter whom they may wish to honor by making
them Patrons of the Round Table Order.

All who have not passed their eighteenth birthday, even if not formerly
members, are urged to send postal cards as directed. So, too, are grown
folks interested in the Order. If you have passed your eighteenth
birthday, and have not previously held a certificate of membership, send
your name and address and use the letter "D." Members are urged to send
names and addresses of their friends, that we may give Patents to them.
Your teacher may be made a Patron.

To all who comply with these suggestions we will send Patents in the
Order, bearing their names, creating them Founders, Knights, Ladies, or
Patrons. The advantages of belonging to the Order will be attached--and
there are many. We will also send our prize offers for 1895-6, in which
money incentives are to be offered for pen-drawing, story-writing,
poems, nonsense verses, entertainment programmes, photography, and music
settings, and for distributing some advertising matter about Harper's
Round Table.

This matter consists of announcements and a Handy Book. The latter is a
neat memorandum-book, which, besides blank pages, contains lists of
words often misspelled, interscholastic sport records, a calendar, list
of books to read, hints about amateur newspapers, how to get into West
Point, values of rare stamps and coins, and a great number of other
useful facts.

Of course no member or Patron is required or even asked to undertake
this work any more than they are asked to compete for prizes. Many
members wish to earn the rewards offered by the Table, and to all such
we desire to offer the first chance. These rewards consist of Order
badges in silver and gold, rubber stamps bearing your name and address,
fifty visiting cards with the copper plate, and a very limited number,
because we have only a few copies, of bound volumes of HARPER'S YOUNG
PEOPLE for 1893 or 1894. These rewards are offered, not for
subscriptions, but for giving printed matter to your friends. The offer
is limited, since we can allow only one member or Patron to accept it in
each town or neighborhood.

We repeat that the Order has no "have to's." But it has many literary
and prize advantages. We want the names and permanent addresses again in
order to correct our records. To all who send us such we forward the
Order's new Patent and our prize offers. Use a postal card--and write as
soon as convenient.



Who can give Us a Morsel on This?


     An experience I once had with a garter-snake leads me to believe
     that the family to which it belongs consists of more than one
     variety. One warm day in May, while scouring the woods in search
     of something of interest, I came upon a small pool at the edge of
     the woods, seemingly a drinking-place for cattle. Yet the water
     was black with a myriad of tadpoles, presided over by a monster
     frog--the largest I have ever seen. I was interested in the queer
     little wigglers, and did not notice the approach of a large snake,
     making its way to the pool, till it had taken its fill of water,
     as I then supposed. I quickly picked up a stone and killed the
     snake, at first thinking it to be a water-adder. A second glance
     showed it to be an unusually large garter-snake, less brilliantly
     striped than any I had before seen.

     I was about to leave the pool when I saw that the reptile's paunch
     was considerably swollen, and that in it some live creature was
     imprisoned. This aroused my curiosity, and in another moment I had
     opened the paunch. To my astonishment seven squirming tadpoles
     wriggled out upon the ground. I placed them in the pool, and all
     swam off as briskly as before they had, Jonah-like, been swallowed
     by a hungry monster.

     Since this experience I have questioned in vain whether or not
     there is a separate variety of the garter-snake which lives in or
     near the water; or whether the snake was of the common variety,
     and simply forced by hunger to make a meal of tadpoles. Can some
     one enlighten me?

  VINCENT V. M. BEEDE, R.T.F.
  EAST ORANGE, N. J.



One Way to Learn.


One of the best ways to broaden one's mental horizon, to make one think
of more than the familiar things about him, is to enter into
correspondence with persons who live in distant States and countries.
You can find such correspondents in a variety of ways. Look in your
geography and see the name of a town in a far distant part of the
country. Perhaps it is a small village. It has a principal of a public
school. Write him a letter, briefly stating your purpose, and ask him
for the name of a pupil who wishes to correspond with you.

Are you interested in stamps, bugs, butterflies, minerals, rocks,
plants, autographs, cameras, amateur papers--anything? Enclose in your
letter a good specimen. It will interest somebody and hardly fail to
bring you a response. You can also find addresses through Sunday-school
teachers, Round Table Chapters, etc. Or you can, upon meeting a friend,
ask him or her for names of relatives who might like to correspond,
trade specimens, etc.

Use your ingenuity to find persons with the same hobby as your own. When
you find them, write them a really good letter; that is, treat them
well, not ill. Do not ask any one to excuse blots in letters. Busy
business men even do not do that. They write the letter over again, and
their time is more valuable than yours. Never say, "That isn't the best
I could do, but it is good enough." Only the best is good enough. Treat
your correspondents well, and you will derive much of both knowledge and
pleasure from them.



A Fire by the Esquimaux Method.


     I read about the Esquimaux method of lighting fires in _Snow-shoes
     and Sledges_. I had read about the method before, but had always
     been somewhat sceptical on the subject. But as the directions were
     plainer than any I had previously seen, I thought I would try it
     myself. I procured a piece of soft pine and worked a hole in it
     with my knife. The pencil I made of oak, and the piece that went
     on top of the pencil I made of whitewood.

     I then took an old bow, and taking the string off, put on a larger
     one about an eighth of an inch in diameter. I took a turn of this
     around the oak pencil, and drew the bow back and forth. At first I
     could perceive no fire, but before long, to my surprise, the wood
     began to smoke, and when I took the pencil out I found it was
     somewhat charred. I have tried it several times since with more or
     less success. I would like to know whether any one else has tried
     this experiment, and how they have succeeded.

     I would like some correspondents.

  CASSIUS MORFORD.
  BANFIELD, MICH.



Questions and Answers.


Avis K. Smith, Box 84, San Luis Obispo, Cal., wants to hear from a
Chapter that admits corresponding members. Gérasime Dubois, 21 Chaussie
du Vouldy, Troyes, Champagne, France, is a French Knight of the Order,
and wants to correspond in French, German, or English, to improve his
own and his correspondents' language construction. He will write in any
or all of the languages. O. Prussack, R. T. K., 84 Norfolk Street, New
York, wants to join a literary Chapter.

       *       *       *       *       *

Elizabeth A. Hyde, 1458 Euclid Place, N. W., Washington, D. C., wants to
hear from other Washington members willing to help her get up an
entertainment in that city in aid of the School Fund. S. L. Barksdale, a
Mississippi Knight, says he has a good many correspondents. It is their
custom, besides describing places each may have visited, to propound
questions. They differ about answers sometimes, and so they send us five
questions, agreeing to abide by our decisions. What is the Flower City
and what the Flour City? Springfield, Ill. and Rochester. N. Y.
respectively. How does a spider get his web from one tree to another?
How does he spin a round web? How does he keep lines the same distance
apart? And what keeps him from falling?

The spider possesses no special ability to get from one tree to another.
He depends upon the wind generally. He spins a single thread long enough
to reach across and then trusts to the wind. If the end attaches itself
at what he deems the wrong place, he goes over it where it is, or around
by way of the ground and adjusts it. He makes the web regular, both in
size and distances apart, because he possesses mathematical and
mechanical instinct, just as does the bee, only in less degree. He keeps
from falling by clinging to his web. He possesses no peculiar power in
this respect over other insects. We cannot express an opinion whether a
certain firm is reliable or not. The price of Abbott's _Life of
Napoleon_ is $5 in cloth.

       *       *       *       *       *

The rules of knucks up, with marbles, vary greatly. Here is one way to
play it: Dig three holes in the ground three inches in diameter and four
feet or more apart. The first player starting at the first hole tries to
get his marble into the second hole. If he succeeds he takes a span with
his hand and proceeds to the third; if he fails, the next player
follows. Should he manage to get into the hole, he plays again, and can
either try for the third hole or try to knock his opponent further away
from the hole. He also has the privilege of a span. If he should hit his
opponent's marble, the hit counts another hole for him, but he must put
his marble into the hole he was playing for before he can shoot at his
opponent's marble. There is a point to be gained in carrying your
opponent's marble from hole to hole. You can finish the game in this
way.

The players continue in this way until one or the other has gone up and
down three times. The player who has lost the game places his clinched
fist on one side of any of the holes, with his marble in front of his
fist. The winner gets on the opposite side. He then takes aim, closes
his eyes, and shoots. He does this three times, his eyes closed, and
every time he misses, or hits his opponent's marble, he has to put his
knuckles up on his side of the hole while the loser shoots at them.
These are called the "blind" shots. Then he shoots three times at the
loser's knuckles with his eyes open. These shots he very seldom misses.
It is best not to have too many players, because there is likely to be
confusion in the marbles and the holes. You can also play partners in
the same way.

       *       *       *       *       *

The largest city in the United States is New York, and its population,
recently enumerated, is only a little below 2,000,000. The following
States fought for the Southern cause of 1861, passing secession
ordinances on dates in the order named: South Carolina, Mississippi,
Florida, Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana, Texas, Virginia, Arkansas, North
Carolina, and Tennessee. The States of Missouri, Kentucky, Maryland, and
Delaware refused to secede, but passed ordinances declaring themselves
to be neutral.



A VILLAGE OF CHESS-PLAYERS.


We learn from a foreign journal that the village of Stroebeck is known
throughout the whole of Germany as the "chess-playing village." For
centuries every native of that village, from the prosperous freeholder
down to the poor shepherd, has been an enthusiastic and a more or less
efficient chess-player.

From time immemorial the knowledge and love of the game have been handed
down from one generation to another, and parents are still in the habit
of teaching it to their children as soon almost as they are able to
walk. It is one of the regular subjects taught at the village school.

Once a year, at Easter, the children's knowledge of the game is tested
by a kind of examination conducted by an examining committee of
peasants, of which the clergyman is the president and the school-master
the vice-president. Forty-eight of the scholars are selected by lot, and
matched against each other by a similar method. The twenty-four winners
in the series of single combats then enter upon a second struggle among
themselves, and the remaining twelve on the third. The six winners in
the threefold contest are declared the champion players of the school.
They each receive a prize, consisting of a chess-board and chessmen, and
are escorted home by their parents and friends after the manner of the
Olympian victors among the ancient Greeks. Afterwards a feast is given
in their honor to which all the friends and relations are invited.



MARSHMALLOW PASTE AND CANDIES.


Dissolve five ounces of best white gum-arabic in twenty table-spoonfuls
of water, and strain it. Put it with a pound of powdered sugar into a
basin, and place this basin in another containing water. A farina or
double boiler is especially good to use for this cooking. Stir
constantly till the mass is very stiff and very white. Divide the paste
while still hot into parts, flavoring one with vanilla, another with
rose and a few drops of pink coloring matter, and another with
orange-flower water, if strong and fresh. Then pour the paste into tin
dishes dusted with corn-starch. When cool divide into squares with a
sharp knife, using it with a quick stroke. A variety of candy can be
made with this paste by dipping the squares when perfectly cold in
fondant. The fondant should be melted in small quantities, and each
portion differently colored and flavored. From marshmallow paste is made
another attractive candy, called Neapolitan nougat. Make the marshmallow
paste as before, but when thick and white add the well-beaten white of
an egg. When well blended remove the mass from the fire, flavor with
vanilla, and add a pound of blanched, chopped almonds, and an ounce of
pistache nuts, also blanched and chopped. When well mixed press into a
box, and when cold cut into bars and wrap each bar in double waxed
paper. As this candy will not keep long put it into an airtight box.



[Illustration: Ivory Soap]

Elisabeth R. Scovil in her book, "The Care of Children," recommends the
use of Ivory Soap for bathing infants, and says: "There is no particular
virtue in Castile Soap, which has long been consecrated to this
purpose."

THE PROCTER & GAMBLE CO., CIN'TI.



[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.



HARPER'S CATALOGUE

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



[Illustration]

WONDER CABINET =FREE=. Missing Link Puzzle, Devil's Bottle, Pocket
Camera, Latest Wire Puzzle, Spook Photos, Book of Sleight of Hand, Total
Value 60c. Sent free with immense catalogue of 1000 Bargains for 10c.
for postage.

INGERSOLL & BRO., 65 Cortlandt Street, N. Y.



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



By Kirk Munroe

       *       *       *       *       *

Snow-Shoes and Sledges.

     A Sequel to "The Fur-Seal's Tooth." Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth,
     Ornamental. (_Nearly Ready._)

Mr. Munroe long ago established himself as one of our ablest juvenile
writers, and this latest work from his pen is perhaps the best that he
has published. The story continues the adventures of two boys--Phil
Ryder, a New-Englander, and Serge Belcofsky, an Alaskan--from St.
Michaels, in the northern part of Alaska, through a 2000-mile trip with
dog-sleds and snow-shoes up the Yukon River and across the mountains to
Sitka.

The Fur-Seal's Tooth.

     A Story of Alaskan Adventure. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth,
     Ornamental, $1.25.

A fresh and well-told narrative.... One would not willingly lose a page
of this charming story.--_Philadelphia Ledger._

       *       *       *       *       *

_PREVIOUS VOLUMES BY MR. MUNROE:_

     =Raftmates.--Canoemates.--Campmates.--Dorymates.= Post 8vo, Cloth,
     Ornamental, $1.25 each. The Four Volumes in a Box, $5.00.

     =Wakulla.--Flamingo Feather.--Derrick Sterling.--Chrystal, Jack &
     Co., and Delta Bixby.= Illustrated. Square 16mo, Cloth, Ornamental,
     $1.00 each.

       *       *       *       *       *

HARPER & BROTHERS, Publishers, New York



[Illustration: MELVILLE IS AN INGENIOUS LAD. WITH HIS OLD HOBBY-HORSE
AND SOME PARTS OF AN OLD BICYCLE HE HAS A STEED THAT COMES NEARER A REAL
ANIMAL THAN ANYTHING YET SEEN.]



STORIES BY GRANDMA.

REMARKABLE HARVEST OF WILD ANIMALS.


"Grandma," said Ralph, "what did Uncle James go to Borneo for?"

"Well, I declare," answered Grandma; "who ever said that anybody ever
went anywhere?"

"You did, Grandma, you know you did; you're trying now to get out of
telling me a story."

"But telling you what he went to Borneo for isn't a story."

"No; but it's a good start for one," insisted Ralph.

"Well, then, he went there for his health, I believe," answered Grandma.

"What was the trouble with his health?"

"The doctor said he had indigestion."

"So he went to Borneo, did he?"

"Yes."

"But you are _so_ tantalizing, Grandma. Why is Borneo good for
indigestion?"

"Well, the doctor advised him to exercise by riding horseback. He told
your uncle that the shaking up which it would give him would be good for
him. But he didn't like to ride, so he went to Borneo instead."

"Well, I don't understand it at all," and Ralph drew a long breath and
looked deeply perplexed.

"Why, you see the earthquakes there come so often that they keep a
person bouncing up and down just as if he were riding horseback all the
time--so your uncle said. He would often tell, too, of what a good place
it was to sleep, because there are three or four earthquakes every night
which toss you up and turn you over and save you the trouble."

"I don't hardly _think_ I'd like it," said Ralph.

"Perhaps not," returned Grandma. "It makes some people nervous. He said
himself that it was the most fidgety and excitable island that he was
ever on. It would be a good place to play jackstones--don't you think
so?--the earthquake would toss 'em for you, and all you'd have to do
would be to hold out your hand and look on."

Ralph smiled a little, then he said, "_Now_ tell me the story about
Uncle James and Borneo."

"Oh, dear; I thought perhaps you'd forgotten that. Well, you know Borneo
is full of wild animals--lions and tigers and leopards and hyenas and
jackals and ant-eaters and chimpanzees and--"

"What are jimpansies?" asked Ralph.

"Chimpanzees are a big kind of monkey--you've seen pictures of them.
Your uncle James noticed that during every earthquake the animals were
shaken all over the country. They would go rattling and rolling around
on the ground everywhere, like pop-corn in a popper. He looked at the
wild-animal-market reports in the newspapers and saw that they brought
good prices to sell to circuses and park museums, so he made up his mind
to catch a few ship-loads and send them back to this country.

"The first thing he did was to hire a hundred Chinamen. He set them at
work digging a big hole in the ground. He made it two hundred feet long,
a hundred feet wide, and twenty-five feet deep; and when it was all done
he went home to his bamboo house and waited for a big earthquake. In a
day or two one came. It shook the animals out of the woods till the
ground was all covered with them, rolling about everywhere. There was
every kind of animal, from wild dogs and porcupines to elephants and
hippopotami. They soon began to roll into the hole, and as the
earthquake kept on it gradually filled up. Pretty soon it was full, and
ferocious and bloodthirsty beasts were boiling up out of it just like
foam out of a glass of soda-water--so I remember your uncle said. Then
just as the earthquake stopped he went out with the Chinamen and put a
big net over the hole, and staked it down all around; and there he had a
hundred thousand bushels of fresh wild animals.

"As soon as he could, your uncle began to take out the animals and load
them into freight cars to ship to the coast. He didn't get them out any
too soon, either, because the earthquake had rattled all of the little
ones to the bottom and the big ones to the top, and the little fellows
were pretty nearly smothered. One chimpanzee was so cross over being
squeezed that he hit an orang-outang on the nose, and if the men hadn't
separated them there would have been a serious fight. There were a few
natives mixed with the animals, so your uncle said; but he sorted them
out very carefully, because he didn't want the folks he sold them to to
say that he was trying to adulterate his animals with natives."

"That's a very _interesting_ story," said Ralph, "but it seems to me
that it is a pretty hard story to believe."

"It seems that way to me, too," replied Grandma. "But I suppose that is
because we never travelled in distant lands. Perhaps when you grow up
you can go to Borneo and see if you can find the hole in which your
uncle caught the animals."

  H. C.



At a recent School Board examination in India, where the task was an
essay to be written on boys, the following was handed in by a girl of
twelve years:

"The boy is not an animal, yet they can be heard to a considerable
distance. When a boy hollers he opens his big mouth like frogs; but
girls hold their tongue till they are spoke too, and then they answer
respectable and tell just how it was. A boy thinks himself clever
because he can wade where it is deep; but God made the dry land for
every living thing, and rested on the seventh day. When the boy grows up
he is called a husband, and then he stops wading, but the grew-up girl
is a widow and keeps house."





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