Title: Harper's Round Table, October 1, 1895
Author: Various
Language: English
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[Illustration: HARPER'S ROUND TABLE]

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

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PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, OCTOBER 1, 1895. FIVE CENTS A COPY.

VOL. XVI.--NO. 831. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.

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[Illustration]

SEA RANGERS.

BY KIRK MUNROE,

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


CHAPTER I.

EARNING THEIR BICYCLES.

"I say, Hal, do you realize that the Ready Rangers will have been in
existence a whole year on the 30th?" asked Will Rogers, as he and Hal
Bacon walked homeward from school one afternoon of the May following the
Rangers' memorable trip to New York. "I remember the exact date, because
it was Decoration day, and the first time I was out after my accident."

"That's so," replied Lieutenant Hal, "and I think we ought to do
something in the way of a celebration."

"My idea exactly; and at the meeting to-night I want to talk it over. So
bring along any suggestions you can pick up, and let's see what can be
done."

Never had the Berks boys, who were also Rangers, worked so hard as
during the winter just passed. In spite of the allurements of skating,
coasting, and all the other fascinating winter sports of country life,
they had never lost sight of the coveted bicycles that Tom Burgess's
father had promised to let them have at much less than cost, if only
they could earn the money to pay for them. At the suggestion of Reddy
Cuddeback, their newest member, of whom they were intensely proud,
because he held the five-mile racing record of the United States, they
had decided to make a common fund of all their earnings, and place it in
the hands of honorary member Pop Miller for safe keeping. They did this,
because, while it was necessary to the success of their organization
that every member should own a bicycle, some of them were possessed of
greater advantages or abilities for earning money than others. Also
those who already owned machines, and so were not obliged to earn them,
could still work with enthusiasm for the fund. Besides these reasons the
Rangers proposed to raise some of the money by giving entertainments,
the proceeds from which would necessarily go into a common fund.

So, while several of the boys under direction of "Cracker" Bob Jones,
who had a great head for business, gathered nuts in the autumn for
shipment to New York, caught fish through the ice during the winter, and
sold them in the village, and made maple sugar, to order, in the early
spring, others split wood or did similar chores for neighbors. Will
Rogers and Hal Bacon organized a mail-and-package delivery service. Beth
Barlow, working on behalf of her brother, the naval cadet member, made
the caramels and pop-corn balls that little Cal Moody sold to his
school-mates at recess, while Reddy Cuddeback, who proved to be
possessed of decided dramatic talent, arranged and managed the several
entertainments given by the Rangers during the winter.

One of these was a minstrel show, the first ever seen in Berks. Another
was a Good Roads talk, given by a distinguished highway engineer, and
illustrated by stereopticon views, while the third, which was the
crowning success of the season, was a play written by Will Rogers and
Beth Barlow. It was called _Blue Billows_--a title cribbed from
_Raftmates_--_or, Fighting for the Old Flag_: a nautical drama in two
watches, founded on facts more thrilling than fiction. This play was
suggested by the story of Reddy Cuddeback's father, as told by Admiral
Marlin to his Road-Ranger guests the summer before, and in order that it
should present a realistic picture of naval life, its leading scenes and
all of its conversation were in closest imitation of _Pinafore_, which
the Rangers had been taken to see in New York, and which was their chief
source of knowledge concerning life on the ocean wave. So they had a
Little Buttercup, only she was called Pink Clover, a midshipmite
represented by little Cal Moody, a Jack Jackstraw, a Bill Bullseye, and
a close imitation of Sir Joseph Porter, named Sir Birch Beer. They sang
sea-songs, danced what they believed to be hornpipes, hitched their
white duck trousers, shivered their timbers, and were altogether so salt
and tarry, that had not the dazzled spectators known better they might
have believed the Rangers to be regular oakum-pickers who had never trod
dry land in their lives. So well was this performance received in Berks
that the boys were induced to repeat it in Chester, whereby they added a
very tidy sum to their fund.

This was their final effort at money-making, for about this time a
letter was received from Mr. Burgess stating that he found it necessary
to dispose of his stock of bicycles at once, and asking if the Rangers
were not ready to relieve him of them. So the meeting called by Captain
Will Rogers, to be held in Range Hall, as the boys termed Pop Miller's
house, was for the purpose of learning the amount of the fund and
deciding upon its disposal. The speculations as to its size, and what it
would purchase, were as numerous as there were members, and as diverse
as were the characters of the boys. Little Cal Moody hoped it might
reach the magnificent sum of one hundred dollars; while "Cracker" Bob
Jones thought one thousand dollars would more nearly represent the
amount obtained. "That's what we've got to have," he argued, "for there
are ten members without wheels, not counting what I owe Reddy Cuddeback
on mine, and I don't believe even Mr. Burgess can afford to sell such
beauties as those we rode last fall for less than a hundred apiece. So
there you are; and if we haven't got a thousand dollars, some of us will
have to go without wheels, or else only own 'em on shares."

This statement from so eminent an authority caused considerable
uneasiness among the other boys, and they almost held their breath with
anxiety as Mr. Pop Miller wiped his spectacles, and, producing a small
blue bank-book, prepared to make the important announcement.

"Mr. President and fellow-members of the most honorable body of Ready
Rangers," began the little old gentleman, beaming upon the expectant
faces about him. "It is with gratified pride and sincere pleasure that I
contemplate the wonderful success now crowning your tireless efforts of
the past winter. I must confess that both your perseverance and the
result accomplished have exceeded my expectations, and I congratulate
you accordingly. As treasurer of the Rangers' bicycle fund, I have the
honor to announce that, with all expenses for entertainments, etc.,
deducted, there is now on deposit in the First National Bank of Berks,
and subject to your order, the very creditable sum of three hundred and
eighty-five dollars and twelve cents. All of which is respectfully
submitted by

  "P. MILLER, Treasurer."

"Hooray!" shouted little Cal Moody, forgetting his surroundings in the
excitement of what he regarded as the vastness of this sum. As no one
else echoed his shout, he blushed, looked very sheepish, and wished he
had kept his mouth shut.

The Rangers had done well, remarkably well, as any one must acknowledge
who has tried to raise money under similar conditions; but in view of
"Cracker" Bob's recent statement, most of them felt that their great
undertaking had resulted in what was almost equivalent to failure, and
were correspondingly cast down.

"It is too bad!" exclaimed Sam Ray, breaking a gloomy silence. "Of
course we've got to pay the thirty-five dollars that Bob still owes
Reddy, for that is promised, and, besides, I'm certain that 'Cracker'
has earned more than that amount himself. After that is done, though, we
shall have only three hundred and fifty dollars left, which isn't more
than enough to purchase three and a half or four machines at the most,
and that will leave six of us with nothing to show for our winter's
work."

"I move," said Mif Bowers, who having been a performer in _Blue
Billows_, was fully persuaded that he was cut out for a sailor, "that we
don't buy wheels at all, but put our money into a yacht, and go on a
cruise down the Sound this summer."

"Second the motion!" cried Alec Cruger, who, having acted the part of
Bill Bullseye, was equally anxious to put his recently acquired nautical
knowledge to practical use.

"The motion is not in order," announced Will Rogers, firmly. "This money
was raised for an especial purpose; and, whether it is much or little,
it must be devoted to that purpose."

"That's so," agreed Sam Ray, who wanted a bicycle more than anything
else in the world, "and I move that the money be sent to Mr. Burgess,
with the request that he return just as many wheels as it will buy. We
can take turns at riding them, and work all through long vacation for
money to get the rest."

"Second the motion!" cried Si Carew.

"All in favor of Sam Ray's motion say 'aye.'"

"Aye!" responded half a dozen voices, though not very enthusiastically,
for most of the boys were greatly disappointed, and did not relish the
prospect of several months more of hard work for an object they had
believed already attained. Still no one voted against the motion, and so
it was pronounced carried.

"If we had got the machines I was going to suggest a grand parade in
celebration of our birthday," said Hal Bacon, after the meeting had
broken up; "but now I suppose it's no use."

So the three hundred and fifty dollars was forwarded to Mr. Burgess,
together with a note from the Captain of the Rangers, stating all the
circumstances, and hoping that the owner of the coveted wheels would
sell just as many for the sum enclosed as he could possibly afford.

An answer to this momentous communication was awaited with such deep
anxiety, that during the next few days the Rangers fairly haunted the
railway station as though expecting to see their longed-for bicycles
come rolling, of their own accord, up the track.


CHAPTER II.

A NOTABLE ARRIVAL IN BERKS.

"Hi-Ho! Hi-ho!" The well-known call of the Rangers summoning them to
immediate assembly at the engine-house rang out, clear and shrill up and
down the quiet village street. It was early morning, the sun was just
rising, and though there was already much activity in kitchen and
barn-yard, the long elm-shaded and grass-bordered thoroughfare was
almost as deserted as at midnight. Still there was one team in sight,
and one boy. The former was that belonging to Squire Bacon; and, driven
by Evert Bangs, it was coming from the direction of the railway station,
where it had been to deliver, for the early morning train, the very last
russet apples that would be shipped from Berks that year. The boy was
little Cal Moody, who was earning twenty-five cents a week towards his
bicycle by driving a neighbor's cow to and from pasture every morning
and evening. He had just completed his task for that morning, and was on
his way home when he noticed the approaching team.

It does not take much to arouse curiosity in a quiet little place like
Berks, and the boy's attention was instantly attracted to the fact that
Squire Bacon's wagon bore a very queer-looking load. As it passed
through occasional level shafts of sunlight that were darting between
the trees it seemed to be full of flashes and bright gleamings. What
could it be? Cal stopped to find out.

The nearer it approached the more he was puzzled, and it was not until
the team was actually passing him, when the good-natured driver sang
out: "Here they are, Cal! Came at last on the night freight, and I
thought I might as well bring 'em along up," that the mystery was
solved.

With a great tingling wave of joyful excitement sweeping over him, Cal
knew that Squire Bacon's wagon held a load of bicycles in crates, and
that they were being taken to the engine-house on the village green. He
tried to give a shout of delight, but at first could only gasp without
uttering a sound. Then, as he recovered his voice, the Ranger rallying
cry of "Hi-ho! Hi-ho!" rang shrilly out on the morning air with a
distinctness that instantly roused the sleepy village into full
activity. The meaning of the cry was well understood by this time, and
believing that it now indicated the breaking out of a fire, every one
within hearing instantly repeated it, at the same time running toward
the place whence it first issued. So within two minutes the exciting cry
was sounding from end to end of the village, and even far beyond its
limits. Sam Ray heard it in the new house up on the hill, and Reddy
Cuddeback heard it in the mill settlement down by the river. Will Rogers
heard it while he was dressing, and rushed out without stopping to
complete his toilet. Thus the echoes of Cal's first summons had hardly
died away before every Ranger in the village was tearing up or down the
long street toward the engine-house, and yelling at the top of his
voice.

The first to arrive got there even ahead of Evert Bangs, and were
already running out the natty little red-and-gold engine as he drove up.

"Hold on!" he shouted. "I ruther guess your engine won't be wanted just
yet. Seems to me you boys get het up terrible easy. No, your 'Hi-ho!'
don't mean fire this time, nor nothing like it. What it means is
_bicycles_, and here they be. I was calculating to have 'em all unloaded
before any of you fellers showed up, as a sort of surprise, you
understand; but seeing as you're on hand, I guess you'd better help."

Better help! Wouldn't they, though? and weren't they just glad of the
chance? So many and so eager were the hands upraised to grasp the
precious crates, that, even while some of the later arrivals were still
asking, "where was the fire?" the last one was lifted out, carried into
the engine-house, and there carefully deposited.

"How many are there?" asked "Cracker" Bob Jones, anxiously, as Evert
Bangs drove off with his empty wagon, and the engine-house doors were
closed to all except Rangers.

"I don't know," replied Will Rogers. "Let's count them."

As all began to count aloud at the same moment, it is not surprising
that several different results were announced. "Fifteen!" shouted Si
Carew. "Eight!" called little Cal Woody.

"Oh, pshaw!" laughed Will Rogers. "You fellows are so excited that I
don't believe any one of you could say his A B C's straight through.
Keep quiet for a moment and let me count them. One, two, three, four,
fi-- There! I believe I've missed one already. One, two, three--"

"Here's a letter for you, Will," shouted Hal Bacon, who had been to the
post-office, and came running breathlessly in at that moment. "What's
all this I hear about bicycles? Oh, my eye! What a lot! How did they get
here?"

"Just wheeled themselves up from New York," laughed Will, at the same
time tearing open his letter, which was postmarked at that city. After a
hasty glance at its contents, he called for silence, and read the
following:

  _William Rogers, Esq., Captain Berks Ready Rangers_:

     DEAR SIR,--Your favor of 10th inst. with check for three hundred
     and fifty dollars enclosed, is at hand, and contents noted. As per
     request I forward by freight, charges prepaid, three hundred and
     fifty dollars' worth of bicycles, or ten (10) in all.

     I am greatly pleased at the energy and perseverance shown by the
     Rangers in earning this sum of money, which I may as well admit is
     larger than I believed they would raise, and I congratulate them
     most heartily upon their success.

     Tom does not expect to spend this summer in Berks, but is making
     arrangements for a most delightful outing elsewhere. In it he
     hopes his fellow Rangers will be able to join him. It is nothing
     more nor less than a-- But I must not anticipate, nor rob him of
     the pleasure of telling you his plans himself.

     With best wishes for the continued prosperity and happiness of the
     Ready Rangers, I remain,

  Sincerely their friend,
  L. A. BURGESS.

"Ten bicycles for three hundred and fifty dollars!" cried "Cracker" Bob
Jones. "And all of 'em first-class, A No. 1 machines. That beats
anything I ever heard of. If Mr. Burgess has got any more to sell at the
same price I'd like to take them off his hands, that's all."

"But he hasn't," declared Will Rogers. "Don't you remember that ten was
the exact number he happened to have?"

"And it's the exact number that happens to make just one apiece for us,"
commented Abe Cruger. "Seems to me that's about as big a piece of luck
as I ever ran across."

"If it is luck," added Hal Bacon, shrewdly.

"Let's open 'em right away," cried Cal Moody, jumping up and down in his
excitement. "It doesn't seem as if I could wait another minute."

"Yes. Let's open 'em!" shouted half a dozen voices.

"Hold on," commanded Will Rogers. "We haven't time to open all the
crates and put the machines together now. Besides, Pop Miller isn't
here, nor lots of people who have helped us get these bicycles, and who
would be awfully interested in seeing them opened. So I propose that we
leave them just as they are until after school, and then hold what you
might call an opening reception."

Although the Rangers agreed to this proposition, it was with reluctance;
and that their thoughts remained with those precious crates all day was
shown in more ways than one. In school, for instance, when little Cal
Moody was asked to spell and define the word biennial, he promptly
replied, with "Bi--_bi_, cy--_cy_, cle--_cle_--bicycle--a machine having
two wheels;" and when "Cracker" Bob Jones was requested to favor the
arithmetic class with an example in percentage he complied by stating,
"that if ten bicycles, listed at $125 each, could be bought for $350,
and sold at their listed price, the percentage of profit would be--"
Just here he was interrupted by a shout of laughter, in which even the
teacher, who thoroughly understood and sympathized with the situation,
was forced to join.

When the hour for the opening of the crates at length arrived, half the
village was there to see, and when the ten glittering bicycles, each of
which bore a small silver plate inscribed with the name of its new
owner, were finally put together and displayed to the admiring public of
Berks, there were no happier nor prouder boys in the United States than
the young Rangers who had earned them.

From that time on, they rode their bicycles during every leisure moment,
and on the 30th of May they celebrated their birthday by giving an
exhibition parade as bicycle fire scouts, that was pronounced the very
finest thing of its kind ever seen in that section of country. In this
parade each machine carried a fire bucket, and while some also bore
axes, others were equipped with the rope-ladder that Will Rogers and
Sam Ray had used so effectively, a fire-net, blankets, spades, and other
articles to be used in an emergency.

The Chester Wheel Club came over to join in the parade, and with them
came the bicycle-supply man, who was so impressed with the fact that
Berks was becoming a bicycling centre that he at once established a
branch of his business there, and appointed Pop Miller his agent.

Best of all was a visit from Tom Burgess, who came on from New York, not
only to take part in the parade, but to unfold the gorgeous plan he had
evolved for the summer vacation, and in which he wished his fellow
Rangers to join. He first confided it privately to Will Rogers, and when
he concluded, the latter exclaimed:

"Tom Burgess, it seems almost too good to be true, but with the
experience we've already gained in _Blue Billows_ I believe we can carry
it through. If we only can, it will be the biggest thing the Rangers
have undertaken yet."

[TO BE CONTINUED.]



GREAT MEN'S SONS.

BY ELBRIDGE S. BROOKS.

THE SON OF SHAKESPEARE.


Many years ago had you been, let us say, a tinker travelling with your
wares or a knight riding by, you might have passed, upon a small arched
bridge that spanned a little river in the heart of "Merrie England," a
small boy, hanging over the railing, now watching the rippling water, or
with eager eyes looking along the roadway that ran between green meadows
toward that distant London, from which, perhaps, you were tramping or
riding.

[Illustration: "HAVE YOU SEEN MY FATHER AS YOU CAME ALONG?"]

I think, as you passed, you would have looked twice at that small boy on
the bridge, whether you were low-down tinker or high-born knight. For he
was a bright, sweet-faced little ten-year-old in his quaint
sixteenth-century costume, and the look of expectancy in his eyes might,
as it fell upon your face, have shaped itself into the spoken question,
"Have you seen my father as you came along?"

Whereupon, had you been the lordly knight you might have said, "And who
might your father be, little one?" Or had you been the low-down tramping
tinker you would probably have grunted out: "Hoi, zurs! An' who be'est
yure feythur, lad?"

To either of which questions that small boy on the bridge would have
answered in some surprise--for he supposed that, surely, all men knew
his father--"Why, Master William Shakespeare, the player in London."

For that little river is the Avon; that small bridge of arches is
Clopton's mill-bridge, that small boy is Hamnet, the only son of Master
William Shakespeare, of Henley Street, in Stratford-on-Avon. And in the
year 1595 the name of William Shakespeare was already known in London as
one of the Lord Chamberlain's company of actors, and a writer of
masterly poems and plays.

Perhaps if you were the tinker, you might be tired enough with your
tramping to throw off your pack, and, sitting upon it, to talk with the
little lad; or, if you were the knight, it might please your worship to
breathe your horse upon the bridge and hold a moment's converse with the
child.

Were you tinker or knight the time would not be misspent, for you would
find young Hamnet Shakespeare most entertaining.

He would tell you of his twin sister Judith--something of a "tomboy," I
fear, but a pretty and lovable little girl, nevertheless. And as Hamnet
told you about Judith, you would remember--no, you would not, though,
for neither tinker nor knight nor any other Englishman of 1595 knew what
we do to-day of Shakespeare's plays; but if you should happen to have a
dream of the little fellow now, you might remember that Shakespeare's
twins must have been often in the great writer's mind; for they stole
into his work repeatedly in such shapes as that charming brother and
sister of his _Twelfth Night_--Sebastian and Viola--

  "An apple cleft in two is not more twin
  Than these two creatures,"

or the twin brothers Antipholus of Ephesus and Syracuse, and those very,
very funny twin brothers of the _Comedy of Errors_, forever famous as
the Two Dromios.

And if young Hamnet told you of his sister he would tell you, doubtless,
of his grandfather who was once the bailiff or head man of Stratford
town, and who lived with them in the little house in Henley Street; and
especially would he tell you of his own dear father, Master William
Shakespeare, who wrote poems and plays, and had even acted, at the last
Christmas-time, before her Majesty the Queen in her palace at Greenwich.
For you may be sure boy Hamnet was very proud of this--thinking more of
it, no doubt, than of all the poems and plays his father had written.

Then, perhaps, you could lead the boy to tell you about himself. He
might tell you how he liked his school--if he did like it; for perhaps,
like his father's schoolboy, he did sometimes go

                  "with his satchel
  And shining morning face, creeping like snail
  Unwillingly to school."

He would, however, be more interested to tell you that he went to school
in the chapel of the Holy Cross, because the old school-house next door,
to which his father had gone as a boy, was being repaired that year, and
he liked going to school in the chapel because it gave him more
holidays.

Ah, he would tell you, he did enjoy those holidays. For the little house
in Henley Street was a bit crowded, and he liked to be out of doors,
being, I suspect, rather a boy of the woods and the fields than of the
Horn-Book, the Queen's Grammar, and Cato's Maxims. He and Judith had
jolly times abroad, for Judith was a good comrade, and really had it
easier than he did--so he would tell you--for Judith never went to
school. In fact, to her dying day, Judith Shakespeare--think of that,
you Shakespeare scholars!--a daughter of the greatest man in English
literature could neither read nor write!

So the Shakespeare twins would roam the fields, and knew, blindfold, all
that bright country-side about beautiful Stratford. Their father was a
great lover of nature. You know that from reading his plays, and his
twins took after him in this. Young Hamnet Shakespeare loved to hang
over Clopton Bridge, as we found him to-day, watching the rippling Avon
as it wound through the Stratford meadows and past the little town. He
knew all the turns and twists of that storied river with which his great
father's name is now so closely linked. He knew where to find and how to
catch the perch and pike that swam beneath its surface. He and Judith
had punted on it above and below Clopton Bridge, and on many a warm
summer day he had stripped for a swim in its cooling water.

He knew Stratford from the Guild Pits to the Worcester road, and from
the Salmon Tail to the Cross-on-the-Hill. He could tell you how big a
jump it was across the streamlet in front of the Rother Market, and how
much higher the roof of the Bell was than of the Wool-Shop, next
door--for he had climbed them both.

He knew where, in Stratford meadows, the violets grew thickest and
bluest in the spring, where the tall cowslips fairly "smothered" the
fields, as the boys and girls of Stratford affirmed, and where, in the
wood by the weir-brakes just below the town the fairies sometimes came
from the Long Compton quarries to dance and sing on a midsummer night.

He had time and time again wandered along the Avon from Luddington to
Charlecote. He had been many a time to his mother's home cottage at
Shottery, and to his grandfather's orchards at Snitterfield for
leather-coats and wardens. He knew how to snare rabbits and "conies" in
Ilmington woods, and he had learned how to tell, by their horns, the age
of the deer in Charlecote Park--descendants, perhaps, of that very deer
because of which his father once got into trouble with testy old Sir
Thomas Lucy, the lord of Charlecote Manor.

The birds were his pets and playfellows. And what quantities there were
all about Stratford town! Hamnet knew their ways and their traditions.
He could tell you why the lark was hanged for treason; how the swan
celebrated its own death; how the wren came to be king of the birds; and
how the cuckoo swallowed its stepfather. He could tell you where the
nightingale and the lark sang their sweetest "tirra-lirra" in the
weir-brake below Stratford Church, and just how many thievish jackdaws
made their nests in Stratford spire. He could show you the very fallow
in which he had caught a baby lapwing scudding away with its shell on
its head, and in just what field the crow-boys had rigged up the best
kind of a "mammet" or scarecrow to frighten the hungry birds.

So, you see, little Hamnet Shakespeare could keep you interested with
his talk until it was time--if you were the tramping tinker--to toss
once more your heavy pack on your shoulders, or, if you were lordly
knight, to cry "get on" to your now rested horse. And by this time you
would have discovered that here was a boy who, with eyes to see and ears
to hear all the sights and sounds of that beautiful country about
Stratford and along the Avon's banks, had learned to find, as his
father, later on, described it:

    "tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
  Sermons in stones, and good in everything."

A clatter of hoofs rings upon the London highway. The boy springs to his
feet; he scarcely waits to give you his hasty good-day, but with a hop,
skip, and jump, flies across the bridge and along the road. And, as he
is lifted to the saddle by the well-built, handsome man with scarlet
doublet, loose riding-cloak, white ruff, auburn hair and beard, who sits
his horse so well, you know that father and son are riding home
together, and that there will be joy in the little house in Henley
Street. For Master William Shakespeare, the London player, has come from
town to spend a day at home in the Stratford village he loved so dearly.

Perhaps, two or three years later, you may be led again to tramp or ride
through Stratford town. As you loiter awhile at the Bear Tavern, near
the Clopton Bridge, you recognize the arches and the pleasant river that
flows beneath them, and then you remember the little boy with whom you
talked on the bridge.

To your inquiries the landlord of the Bear says, with a sigh and a shake
of the head,

"A gentle lad, sir, and a sad loss to his father."

"What--dead?" you ask.

"Yes, two years ago," the landlord replies. "Little Hamnet was never
very strong, to be sure, but he sickened and died almost before we knew
aught was wrong with him. A sad loss to his father. Master Shakespeare
dearly loved the lad, and while he was gathering fame and wealth he
thought most, I doubt not, of that boy to whom he was to pass them on."

"So Master William Shakespeare has grown rich as well as famous, has
he?" you say, for all England knows by that time of his wonderful plays.

"Indeed yes," the landlord answers you. "See, across the trees, that big
house yonder? It is New Place, bought in the spring of this very year of
1597, by Master Shakespeare, and put into fine repair. And there all his
family live now--his old father, Master John, his wife, Mistress Ann,
and all the children. But little Hamnet is not there, and I doubt not
Master Shakespeare would gladly give all New Place and his theatre in
London too, for that son of his back again, alive and well, and as happy
of face as he used to be in the old house in Henley Street."

The landlord of the Bear is right. Hamnet Shakespeare ended his short
life on the 11th of August, 1596, being then but eleven years old.

We know but little of his famous father's life; we know even less of the
son he so dearly loved. Nor can any one say, had the boy but lived,
whether he would have inherited anything of his father's genius.

The play of _Hamlet_ may have been called in memory of the boy Hamnet,
so nearly are the names alike; even more is it possible that the lovely
boy, Prince Arthur, whose tragic story is a part of Shakespeare's play
of _King John_, may have been drawn in memory of the writer's dead boy.
For _King John_ was written in the year of young Hamnet Shakespeare's
death, and with the loss of the boy he so dearly loved weighing upon his
soul, the great writer, whose name and fame the years only make yet more
great, may thus have put into words a tender memory of the short-lived
little Hamnet, the gentle son of Shakespeare.



THE DEMON OF SNAGGLE-TOOTH ROCK.

BY AGNES CARR SAGE.


[Illustration: Decorative T]

here were weeping and wailing within the Saunders' modest
"one-story-and-a-jump" cottage. Monongahela's eyes were red from crying;
the twins, Dallas Lee and Jemima Calline, had for once lost their
appetite, even for corn-pone and molasses; and Washington Beauregard,
the eldest of the brood of youngsters, frowned gloomily, and ground his
teeth in deep if silent rage as he polished up his antiquated old rifle
and thought upon vengeance. Only the baby crowed and gurgled as lustily
as ever, shaking his gourd rattle in blissful infantile ignorance of the
loss that had befallen the family--a loss most keenly felt by the
children, for it was that of the bonny ewe-lamb, their pet and plaything
by day, and almost their bedfellow by night; while the manner of its
disappearance was shrouded in profound mystery.

"Mebbe 'twas Butcher Killem who tuck him," suddenly suggested the
lugubrious boy twin. "Tuck him to make roasts 'n' chops of; 'n' if it
was, we may be eatin' Cotton Ball for dinner some of these fine days."

A dire prediction, which immediately sent Jemima Calline off into a wild
paroxysm of grief, flinging herself flat upon the floor, and drumming a
funereal tattoo with her best Sunday shoes on the gay rag carpet of
domestic manufacture. "I'll never taste mutton again; never, never, the
longest day I live," she howled.

"Now, Dallas Lee, see what you've done!" scolded Monongahela, usually
called Monny for short. "You've set her off agin, and we'll have her in
'sterics direckly. Thar ain't no need of any sech fool talk either, and
slanderin' your neighbor into the bargain. Mr. Killem is an honest man,
who buys 'n' pays for all the critters he cuts up. Besides, I caught the
lamb myself, and shet her up in the wood-shed before ever we started for
the bush-meetin'. I locked the door 'n' took the key in my pocket. The
door was still locked when we came back."

"Ya--as; but ye couldn't lock the hole in the roof," drawled Wash,
looking up from his polishing. "The hole pap 'n' I hev been calculatin'
to mend for some time back, but 'ain't got at yit, more's the pity.
Thar's where the thief come in. For thar on the shingles is where the
locks of wool are a-hangin'."

"But I can't see how anybody could clamber up thar, drop through a hole,
and git back agin with a big kickin' beast in his arms; for if he'd
killed it on the spot ther'd be blood spattered 'round."

"Mebbe nobody could, but mebbe some_thing_ might."

"Some thing! What sort of a thing? A fox or any other animal?"

"P'r'aps so," but Wash would say no more. He was famous for holding his
own counsel, and did so now, until the yellow moon had risen from behind
the glorious mountain peaks surrounding their little primitive West
Virginia home, and he and his favorite sister wandered out together into
the soft, pine-scented night. Then, however, their thoughts naturally
reverted to the mysterious disappearance, and the girl asked somewhat
curiously, "So, Washington Beauregard, you won't allow that the 'ornery'
thief what stole our pet come on two legs?"

"No, Monny, nor on four legs nuther," answered her brother. "Though I
didn't want to say much afore the chillen. But I've been a-studyin' over
this matter, and I begin to fear that he comes on wings."

"On wings! Law, then, he must be a bird! But I never saw a hawk or even
an eagle big and strong enough to tote off a half-grown sheep like
Cotton Ball. Strikes me it's dumb foolishness you're talkin', Wash."

"Waal, I dunno about that. Hevn't you heard the old hunters, on winter
nights, tell of a curisome-winged thing that once made its nest over
yonder on Snaggle Tooth?" and the youth pointed to a high, dark, jagged
crag silhouetted against the purplish-blue sky. "It did a power of
mischief in this neighborhood, totin' off chickens 'n' dogs 'n' sheep,
and some say even tacklin' a calf. 'Twas a cute old fowl, so nobody
could git a crack at it; but was up to so much devilment, that they
called it the Demon of Snaggle-Tooth Rock."

"Oh, yaas, I've heard o' that often; but it was years ago, before you or
I were born, an' the critter hasn't been raound here since."

"That's so; but what has been kin be; and the other day Tim Harkins tole
me a yarn about jest sech a bird havin' been seen lately over Stonycliff
way. A monstrous chap, something like a golden eagle, only bigger an'
wickeder-lookin', with a more crooked beak, an' feathers of a dirty
brownish-gray. At the time I thought Tim was jest a-humbuggin', but
after the little beast disappeared so unaccountable like, I begun to
reckon it must be true, sure enough."

"Oh, Wash, I can't bear to think of it!" and Monny's face looked quite
pale in the moonlight. "Poor, dear little Cotton Ball! Fancy that demon
and his mate tearing her limb from limb. It 'most breaks my heart." And
long after the girl had climbed the ladder leading to the low attic
under the clapboard roof, which she had shared with the younger children
ever since their mother's death one year before, she lingered at the
tiny two-paned window gazing off at the peaceful-seeming hills, but in
imagination following the lost lambkin to the eagle's grim eyrie on
wild, inaccessible Snaggle-Tooth Rock.

"It is dreadful, dreadful; but I won't tell Jemima Calline," was her
last thought as she crept into bed beside her sister.

For Monongahela was old beyond her fourteen years, and bravely strove to
fill the place of their lost parent to the motherless little ones,
sending them trim and tidy to school and "Methody meetin'," feeding them
on plenty of bacon, corn-dodgers, and apple-butter, and every morning,
in spite of grimaces, dosing them all round with "whiskey and burdock"
as an antidote against dyspepsia, the curse of that hog-eating,
excessive coffee-drinking community.

Within a few days Washington's fears were painfully confirmed. Our young
mountain folk were out one afternoon on the hill-side gathering ginseng
and other herbs, when they met the circuit-rider who visited in turn the
churches of their vicinity, and whom Mr. Saunders had frequently
entertained. He paused for a chat, and informed them of the
consternation created in a neighboring valley by the appearance of the
terrible bird to prey upon any poultry or small animals left out over
night; while one man had been severely wounded in an almost hand-to-claw
tussle in order to save his dog.

The following morning, then, when Monny, with the baby toddling by her
side, went out early to milk the cow, she heard a continuous firing, and
came upon her brother armed with the old flint-lock rifle which he had
inherited from his grandfather, popping away at the brown and purple
cones on the top of a tall pine-tree, and deftly snapping off the one at
which he aimed nine times out of ten.

"Well, Washington Beauregard, I'll allow you are a pretty fair
marksman," she remarked, after a moment of admiring watching. "Not many
private hunters kin wing a bird as well as you, kin they?"

"Reckon I could hold my own agin most of they-uns if I only had a
new-fangled gun," returned the boy. "This old fowlin'-piece ain't wurth
much, and I do hope I kin sell enough 'sang'[1] this year to buy
another. 'Tain't much fun to git a fine aim at a buck and lose him
'cause your gun misses fire. As it is, though, I believe I could snip a
curl off the baby's head an' hardly scare the darlin'. Jest hold him up,
honey, an' let me hev a try." But to this William Tell arrangement Monny
objected in horror, and scurried off with the infant, followed by Wash's
roar of laughter and shout of "Ho, scare rabbit! But anyhow I mean to
keep in practice,'n' hev a cold-lead welcome ready for that air eagle if
he ever shows hisself this way agin."

The bird did not come; but about noon Tim Harkins did, ambling along on
a rawboned sorrel nag, and reined up at the gate with a long-drawn-out
"Whoa, thar'!"

"Wash Saunders! Oh, Wash!" he called, and that youth, rising from the
dinner-table, appeared in the ramshackle porch.

"Hello, Tim, is that you? Step in an' hev a bite, won't yer?"

"No, thankee. I'm jest on my way to a gander-pull over nigh the Springs,
'n' on'y stopped to fotch you a message. Ye wouldn't keer, naow, to hire
out for a few weeks, at a dollar a day, would yer?"

"What to do?"

"Oh, jest to show a gentleman through the mountings, an' pint out the
hants o' the wild birds. 'Pears this Perfessor, as they call him, is
stoppin' over to the Spring Hotel, an' the landlord, Poke Dickson, axed
me ef I knowed any o' the neighborhood boys who would like the job.
Somenn what wuz a first-rate shot, an' 'quainted with all the trails.
Yaas, I tole him Wash Saunders am the very chap, ef you kin git him.
But, I added, the Saunders air pooty ticky, an' Wash, mebbe, won't
relish playin' pinter-dorg to any one. For, sez I, his pappy am a
forehanded man, who keeps his fambly comf'ble. He hez a good corn 'n'
tobaccy field, 'n' the gyurls hez a kyarpet on the best room, 'n'
curtings to the windys, 'n' everything mighty slick. Still, sez I,
'twon't do no harm to ax, so here I be."

"Sho, Tim, you know I ain't so ticky as that. Dunno but I'd like it
first rate, for I'm strivin' to get a new rifle. Granddaddy's old 'Sally
Blazer,' as he used to name it, is about played out."

"Waal, naow, then, here's your chance, 'n' I'm real tickled. But I must
be ajoggin'. G'lang, Juniper! Shall I tell Poke you will go over 'n' see
the Perfessor?"

"Yes, I will, this very evenin'"; which the boy did, and returned
jubilant. "It's a snap, a reg'lar snap," he declared to the group of
brothers and sisters who ran to meet him. "Professor Stuart is real
quality, an' no mistake. He's an orni--orni--waal, I don't rightly
remember the name, but he's plumb crazy about birds, 'n' comed here a
purpose to see those what live in West Virginia. It's a curous notion,
but he's nice, 'n' so is Mis' Stuart, though she lies on a sofy most of
the time, and looks drefful white 'n' pindlin'."

"Air there any chilluns?" inquired Jemima Calline.

"Yaas, two. An awful pooty gyurl, with eyes like brown stars, an' all
rigged out in white, same as an angel, with big, puffy sleeves; an' the
jolliest small boy you ever see. He's a downright little man, though
he's only five year old, an' he's curls down to his waist."

"Waal, then, sence they were so friendly, I s'pose you came to some
bargain?" said Monongahela.

"Sartain; an' I'm to meet Mr. Stuart to-morrer mornin' at the
cross-roads an' show-him a red-bird's nest. He wants to collect eggs an'
live specimens."

When, then, the Professor rode up to the appointed rendezvous on the
following day, he found Wash awaiting him, "Sally Blazer" in hand, and a
powder-horn and shot-pouch slung from his neck by a leather strap. His
feet, too, were encased in moccasins that his footfall might not startle
the shy creatures of the wildwood.

"Ah, my lad, I see you understand the business," remarked the
ornithologist, with an approving nod, "and I predict we shall be fine
friends."

Thus, too, it proved and for both. That was the beginning of a month of
happy, halcyon days spent in the open; a perpetual picnic, scaling the
rough but ever-enchanting hills, wandering through the beautiful solemn
pine forests, following Nature's most winsome things to their chosen
haunts, and always breathing in the resinous health-giving mountain air.
Sometimes, when the tramp was not to be too long a one, small Royal
accompanied his father, gay and joyous as a dancing grig, and looking
like a little Highland princeling in his outing costume of Scotch plaid,
proudly flourishing a tiny wooden gun.

"We are good chums, ain't we, Wash?" he would say, in his precocious
friendly little way--"good chums, going hunting together. But we mustn't
kill things just for fun. That is naughty. Papa says food or science is
the only excuse. He never takes but one egg from a nest, and would
rather snare birds than shoot them."

Occasionally, too, pretty Jean would join the party at a given point,
driving over with a dainty lunch from the hotel, and then there would be
a merry out-door meal in some cozy green nook, near to one of the cold
clear mountain springs which furnished the purest and most refreshing
beverage.

And what a revelation this experience was to poor little Washington
Beauregard! Not only the bits of knowledge he picked up from the
ornithologist's learned discourses on the gorgeous Virginia-cardinals
and orioles, the red-capped woodpeckers and flitting humming-birds, but
in a different style of girlhood and more refined mode of life than he
had ever known. Day by day, too, he became fonder of and more devoted to
his new friends, and looked forward with dread to the time when they
must part. All too speedily, then, that date drew on apace, until the
morning set for their last pleasant tramp dawned. The Professor and
Washington started early, while at noon Jean and Royal met them on the
hills above Stonycliff, climbing the last rough incline, that being too
steep for the horses and carriage, which were left with the driver at a
small clearing part way down the mountain.

"And just think, papa," cried Jean, "we found the squatter's wife at the
log house below in sore trouble. Yesterday that horrible eagle, of which
we have heard so much, swooped down and carried off her milch-goat
almost before her very eyes, and now what she is going to do for milk
for her baby she does not know."

"Well, that is a misfortune truly," said the Professor, "and we must see
what we can do to help her, but I wish I had been here to have a peep at
that abnormal bird. I imagine the stories regarding it are much
exaggerated, but if not, it cannot be an eagle, must belong to the
semi-vulturine family, though those are rarer than white black-birds in
this part of the world. I really am curious to get a glimpse of the
creature." And as it chanced, he was destined to have his curiosity
satisfied in a way he little dreamed of.

The collation eaten that day under the trees was an unusually bountiful
one, reflecting credit on mine host of the Spring House, and after it
the ornithologist stretched himself out to enjoy an afternoon cigar,
while Jean, followed by her small brother, wandered off to sketch a
charming view that had taken her fancy. Meanwhile Wash cleared away the
remains of the feast, packing the dishes in the hamper, and carefully
saving any fragments of good things for the little ones at home.

He had just completed his task, when a frightened cry of "Sister, oh,
sister!" and a blood-curdling shriek from the girl made him snatch up
his fowling-piece and fly in the direction the young Stuarts had taken.
The Professor also sprang to his feet and followed suit, while, as they
emerged from the shadow of the wood, both were almost paralyzed by the
sight they beheld. For there stood Jean, white to the very lips, but
bravely endeavoring with her climbing-staff to beat off an enormous
bird, in whose great cruel talons struggled little Royal, upon whom had
been made a sudden and fierce attack.

"My goodness! it's the demon!" gasped Wash, while the father, overcome
by a sickening horror, fell back against a tree. Even too, as they
approached, the huge, repulsive creature spread its big dusky wings and
began slowly to rise, bearing off in its claws the poor child, who
stretched out his tiny hand, sobbing piteously, "Oh, papa, save me!"
There was one terrible nightmarish second, when nobody had power to
move, and then the Professor, with a wild lunge forward, caught at his
vanishing boy. But the gay kilt slipped through his fingers, and still
the bird of prey soared relentlessly upward and onward.

But at that moment Granddaddy Saunders's old rifle was raised and
levelled at the monster.

"Oh, Wash, pray be careful: you may hit the wee laddie," cried Jean,
sinking down and covering her face.

[Illustration: "MAY OLD 'SALLY BLAZERS' NOT MISS FIRE THIS TIME!"]

No one knew the danger better than the mountain-bred youth, but he held
himself well in hand and kept cool. "I must only maim, not kill, the
critter outright," he thought, "and may old 'Sally Blazers' not miss
fire this time!"

Then he took careful aim, a bullet whistled through the air, and the
"demon's" left wing dropped powerless at his side. They could see the
wrathful red gleam in the creature's eyes as it paused, wavered, and
careened to one side, but the right pinion still flapped vigorously, and
kept it up, while it still retained its clutch on the little fellow, who
no longer screamed, but now appeared ominously quiet and white.

"Ef he gits over the precipice all is lost," murmured the young
sportsman, with a glance toward the edge of the cliff upon which they
stood, and he wasted no time in reloading and firing again. And oh, joy!
again he winged his victim, which, uttering an unearthly, discordant
cry, began to flutter slowly downward. But now a fresh danger threatened
Royal, for the bird, maddened by pain, suddenly released its hold, and
the fair little head must surely have been crushed on the jagged rocks
beneath, had not Wash been prepared for this, and, springing forward,
caught him in his strong young arms, although the precipitancy with
which the child came almost flung both to the ground. There was just an
instant, too, in which to stagger to one side, before, with a whirl and
a whir, the mighty fowl was upon them, striking the stony ledge with a
dull, sickening thud. Wounded, but by no means dead, was the
Snaggle-Tooth demon, and he fought desperately with beak and claws, and
beat himself against the granite, until a third shot from old "Sally
Blazers" finally ended his career forever.

Meanwhile poor little Royal lay stretched on a bed of moss, pale and
unconscious, his garments torn to tatters, and blood streaming from his
chubby legs and arms.

"He is dead; my bonny wee laddie is dead, and how ever shall I tell his
mother?" sobbed the Professor, completely unnerved; but Jeanie never
stopped chafing the dimpled hands, and bathing the white forehead with
cold water; until, after what seemed an eternity, a low sigh issued from
between the child's pale lips.

"No, papa dear, he is breathing, and it is Wash, good brave Wash, who
has saved him"; and when the young girl turned and thanked him, and her
eyes filled with grateful tears, the uncouth backwoods boy, though he
could only stammer and blush, felt it to be the proudest moment in all
his fifteen years of life.

Soon Royal regained consciousness, but seemed so dazed and frightened,
clinging to his sister and imploring her to "hide him from the awful,
scratching claws," both father and daughter looked worried. "For it will
kill mamma to see him in this condition," groaned Jean.

"Oh, then," put in Wash, eagerly, "jest tote him down to our house.
Monny would admire to hev yer, 'n' she's a fust-rate nuss."

"Do you think so? Would your sister really not object?"

"'Deed no; she will be plumb right glad."

So it was decided, and so the young Stuarts made the acquaintance of
Monongahela, Jemima Calline, Dallas Lee, and the baby, and slept in the
room with the "rag kyarpet and the curtings," which was hastily prepared
for the unexpected guests, while by the fitful light of six pine knots
the killing of the Snaggle-Rock demon was rehearsed again and again.
Monny lost her heart to gentle, ladylike Jean, and concocted such a bowl
of "yarb tea" for Royal that he slept soundly all night, and awoke his
own bright, bonny, little self.

"It has been a strange conclusion to a most satisfactory summer," said
Mr. Stuart, when he appeared at the cottage the next day. "And but for
you, Washington, would have been a very tragic one."

But when he attempted to reward the boy with money, he stiffened in a
moment. "No, thankee, sir," he said. "I can't take it. Why, I love that
leetle R'yal most as much as I do Dallas Lee, 'n' I won't be paid for
rescuin' him. Besides, I had a grudge agin that air eagle, on my own
account, all along of Cotton Ball."

"That vulture, you mean; for I was not mistaken. It belongs to the
vulture family, though sometimes erroneously called the 'golden eagle.'
Well, I am not sure but you will get a nice little sum for that
specimen, as it is a rare and unusually large one. Suppose I take it to
the city, and see what I can do for you?"

To this Wash agreed, and the huge bird of prey, which was found to
measure fourteen feet from tip to tip of its broad wings, after lying in
state, and being visited by half the county, was shipped to New York,
while the amount returned by the Professor for the great carcass seemed
a veritable fortune to the Saunders, whom the neighbors say are more
"ticky" than ever.

Certainly St. George never won more local fame by his dragon slaying
than did Washington Beauregard by his lucky feat, and he is proud of the
handsome silver-mounted Winchester rifle, the gift of "his grateful
friend Royal Stuart," that hangs side by side with the ancient gun which
shot the voracious bird of prey now adorning a city museum, labelled
"_The Lammergeir, or Bearded Vulture_," but which in the West Virginia
mountains will go down to history as the Demon of Snaggle-Tooth Rock.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Ginseng.



OAKLEIGH.

BY ELLEN DOUGLAS DELAND.


CHAPTER XV.

The drive to Blue Hill had been delightful and the view from the top
exceptionally fine, it being one of those clear, still days when distant
objects are brought near. It seemed almost possible to lay one's finger
upon the spires of Boston and the glistening dome of the State-house
miles away.

Bronson had exerted himself to the utmost. He wished to stand well with
all men, and particularly with the Franklin family. From a worldly point
of view it would have a most excellent effect for him to be seen driving
with pretty Edith Franklin, of Oakleigh. He was glad whenever they
passed a handsome turnout from Milton, and he was obliged to take off
his hat to its occupants. He felt that he had really gone up in the
world during the last year or two. It was a lucky thing for him, he
thought, that he had fallen in with Tom Morgan at St. Asaph's. By the
time he left college, which he was entering this year, he would have
made quite a number of desirable acquaintances.

His talk was clever, but every now and then he said something that made
Edith wince. He spoke of Neal, and was sorry he had gone to the bad
altogether. Had he really disappeared?

Edith hesitated; she had not the ready wit with which Cynthia would have
parried the question.

"We think he is in Philadelphia," she said, finally.

Bronson laughed.

"Hardly," he said; "I saw him in Boston a day or two ago. He looked
rather seedy, I thought, and I felt sorry for him, but I didn't stop and
speak. Thought it wouldn't do, don't you know; and I'm glad I didn't, as
you feel this way."

"I hardly know what you mean," said Edith, somewhat distantly; "we are
sorry Neal went away, that is all."

Though she thought he must have taken the money, Edith felt obliged to
defend Neal for the sake of the family honor. She had suffered extremely
from the talk that there had been in Brenton: she did so dislike to be
talked about, and this affair had given rise to much gossip.

"You are very good to say that," said Bronson. "How generous you are not
to acknowledge that Gordon stole the money to pay me."

"Stole!" repeated Edith, shuddering.

"I beg pardon, I shouldn't have stated it so broadly; but I'm so mixed
up in it, don't you know. It was really my fault, you see, that he felt
obliged to--er--to take it. But, of course, I'd no idea it would lead to
any such thing as this. I fancied Gordon could get hold of as much money
as he wanted by perfectly fair means. Will you believe me, Miss Edith,
when I tell you how awfully sorry I am that I should have indirectly
caused you any annoyance?"

He looked very handsome, and Edith could not see the expression of
triumph in his steely eyes. It was nice of him, perhaps, to say this,
even though there was something "out" in his way of doing it.

What was it about Bronson that always affected her thus, even though she
liked him, and was flattered by his attentions? She said to herself that
it was merely the effect of Cynthia's outspoken dislike. Unreasonable
though it was, it influenced her.

But now it came over Edith with overwhelming force that she had done
very wrong to come with Tony Bronson this afternoon. She was disobeying
her step-mother, besides acting most deceitfully. Yes; she had
deliberately deceived Mrs. Franklin when she wrote the note the day
before; for had she not had it in her mind then to allow herself to be
over-persuaded in regard to the drive? These thoughts made Edith very
silent.

And then they had driven through Brenton. Unfortunately an electric car
reached the corner just as they did. The gay little mare from the
livery-stable, which had been rather resentful of control all the
afternoon, bolted and ran. A heavy ice-cart barred the way. There was a
crash, and Bronson and Edith were both thrown out.

It was all over in a moment; but Edith had time to realize what was
about to happen, and again there flashed through her mind the conviction
of how wrongly she had behaved. What would mamma say?

It was significant that she thought of Mrs. Franklin then for the first
time as "mamma."

Bronson escaped with a few bruises, but Edith was very much hurt--just
how much the doctor could not tell. She was unconscious for several
hours.

Cynthia never forgot that night; her father away; her mother, with
tense, strained face, watching by the bedside; and, above all, the awful
stillness in Edith's room while they waited for her to open her eyes.
Perhaps she would never open them. What then? Beyond that Cynthia's
imagination refused to go.

She was sorry that she had been so cross with Edith about Bronson.
Suppose she never were able to speak to her sister again! Her last words
would have been angry ones. She would not remember that Edith had done
wrong to go; all that was forgotten in the vivid terror of the present
moment.

The tall clock in the hall struck twelve. It was midnight again, just as
it had been on New Year's Eve when she and Neal stood by the window and
looked out on the snow. The clock had struck and Neal had not promised.

Reminded of Neal, she put her hand in her pocket and drew out the
crumpled note. It had quite escaped her mind that she was to meet him
to-morrow. To-morrow? It was to-day! She was to see Neal to-day, and
bring him back to her mother. Poor mamma! And Cynthia looked lovingly at
the silent watcher by the bed.

Edith did not die. The doctor, who spent the night at Oakleigh, spoke
more hopefully in the morning. She was very seriously hurt, but he
thought that in time she would recover. She was conscious when he left.

The morning dawned fair, but by nine o'clock the sun was obscured. It
was one of those warm spring days when the clouds hang low and showers
are imminent. Mrs. Franklin was surprised when Cynthia told her that she
was going on the river.

"To-day, Cynthia? It looks like rain, and you must be tired, for you had
little sleep last night. Besides, your father may arrive at any moment
if he got my telegram promptly, and then, dear Edith!"

"I know, mamma," faltered Cynthia. It was hard to explain away her
apparent thoughtlessness. "But I sha'n't be gone long. It always does me
good to paddle, and Jack will be at home and the nurse has come. Do you
really need me, mamma?"

"Oh no, not if you want to go so much. I thought perhaps Edith would
like to have you near. But I must go back to her now. Don't stay away
too long, Cynthia. I like to have you within call."

Cynthia would have preferred to stay close by Edith's side, but there
was no help for it: she must go to Neal. Afterwards, when she came back
and brought Neal with her, her mother would understand.

She was soon in the canoe, paddling rapidly down-stream. A year had not
made great alteration in Cynthia's appearance. As she was fifteen years
old now her gowns were a few inches longer, and her hair was braided and
looped up at the neck, instead of hanging in curly disorder as it once
did; and this was done only out of regard for Edith. Cynthia herself
cared no more about the way she looked than she ever did. She did not
want to grow up, she said. She preferred to remain a little girl, and
have a good time just as long as she possibly could.

It was quite a warm morning for the time of year, and the low-hanging
clouds made exercise irksome, but Cynthia did not heed the weather. Her
one idea was to reach Neal as quickly as possible and bring him home.
How happy her mother would be! She wondered why he had not returned to
the house at once, instead of sending for her in this mysterious
fashion; it would have been so much nicer. However, she was glad he had
come, even this way. It was far better than not coming at all.

Her destination lay several miles from Oakleigh; but the current and
what breeze there was were both in Cynthia's favor, and it was not long
before she had passed under the stone bridge which stood about half-way
between. She met no one; the river was little frequented at this hour of
the morning so far from the town, for the numerous curves in the Charles
made it a much longer trip by water than by road from Oakleigh to
Brenton. A farmer's boy or two watched her pass, and criticised loudly,
though amiably, the long free sweep of her paddle.

Cynthia did not notice them. Her mind was fully occupied, and her eyes
were fixed upon the distance. As each bend in the river was rounded she
hoped that she might see Neal's familiar figure waiting for her.

And at last she did see him. He was sitting on the bank, leaning against
the trunk of a tree, and when she came in sight he ran down to the
little beach that made a good landing-place just at this point.

"Cynthia, you're a brick!" he exclaimed. "I was afraid you were not
coming."

"Oh, Neal, I'm _so_ glad to see you! Get in quickly, and we'll go back
as fast as we can. Of course I came, but we mustn't lose a minute on
account of Edith. Hurry!"

"What do you mean? I'm not going back with you."

"Not going back? Why, Neal, of course you are."

"Not by a long shot. Did you think I would ever go back there?"

"Neal!"

Cynthia's voice trembled. The color rose in her face and her eyes filled
with tears.

"Neal, you can't really mean it?"

"Of course I do."

"Then why did you send for me?"

"Because I wanted to see you. There, don't look as if you were going to
cry, Cynthia. I hate girls that cry, and you never were that sort. I'll
be sorry I sent for you if you do."

Cynthia struggled to regain her composure. This was a bitter
disappointment, but she must make every effort to prevail upon Neal to
yield.

"I'm not crying," she said, blinking her eyes very hard. "Tell me what
you mean."

"I don't mean anything in particular, except that I wanted to see you
again, perhaps for the last time." This with a rather tragic air.

"The last time?"

"Yes. I've made up my mind to cut loose from everybody, and just look
out for myself after this. If my only sister suspects me of stealing, I
don't care to have anything more to do with her. I can easily get along
until I'm twenty-five. I'll just knock round and take things easy, and
if I go to the bad no one will care particularly."

"Neal, I had no idea you were such a coward!" exclaimed Cynthia,
indignantly.

"Coward! You had better look out, Cynthia. I won't stand much of that
sort of thing."

[Illustration: "YOU WERE AFRAID TO BRAVE IT OUT. AFRAID!"]

"You've got to stand it. I call you a coward. You ran away like a boy in
a dime novel, just because you couldn't stand having anything go wrong.
You were afraid to brave it out. _Afraid!_"

There was no suspicion of tears now in Cynthia's voice. She knelt in the
canoe very erect and very angry. Her cheeks were crimson, and her blue
eyes had grown very dark.

"I tell you again to take care," said Neal, restraining his anger with
difficulty. "I did not send for you to come down here and rave this
way."

"And I never would have come if I'd thought you were going to behave
this way. I'm dreadfully, _dreadfully_ disappointed in you, Neal. I
always thought you were a very nice boy, and I was awfully fond of
you--almost as fond of you as I am of Jack, and now--"

She broke off abruptly and looked away across the river.

If Neal was touched by this speech he did not show it at the moment. He
stood with his hands in his pockets, kicking the toe of his boot against
a rock.

"Of course I couldn't stay there," he said, presently. "Your father as
good as called me a thief."

"He didn't at all. He didn't really believe you had taken the money
until you ran away. Then, of course, every one thought it strange that
you went, and I don't wonder. And I couldn't tell how it really was,
because I had promised you; but I'm not going to keep the promise any
longer, Neal. I am going to tell."

"No, you can't. You've promised, and I won't release you. I am not going
to demean myself by explaining; they ought to have believed in me. But I
wish you would stop scolding, Cynthia, and come up here on the bank. I
can't talk while you are swinging round there with the current."

After a moment's hesitation Cynthia complied with his request. It
occurred to her that perhaps she could accomplish more by persuasion
than by wrath. Neal drew up the boat and they sat down under the tree.

"Where have you been all this time?" asked Cynthia.

"In Boston, first. I've been staying with several fellows. I gave out
that I was going to Philadelphia, for I thought you would be looking for
me, and it is true, for I am going, some time soon. Then I went to
Roxbury, and yesterday I walked out from there and found that little
shaver to take the note to you."

"Have you told your friends that you ran away?"

"No. Why should I? Fortunately I took enough clothes, though these are
beginning to look a little shabby. I spent last night in a shed. I've
only got a little money left, but it will answer until I get something
to do."

"Neal, do you know you are just breaking mamma's heart?"

Neal said nothing.

"She has looked so awfully ever since you left, and she wrote to you in
Philadelphia, and papa went on, but we had to send for him to come back
on account of Edith."

"What about Edith?"

"Oh, didn't I tell you? Edith had a fearful accident yesterday. She was
driving with--she went to drive, and was thrown out and was terribly
hurt."

"I'm awfully sorry," said Neal, with real concern in his voice. "How did
it happen? Was it one of your horses?"

"No," said Cynthia, hurrying over that part of it, for she did not want
Neal to know that Edith had been with Bronson; "but she was very much
hurt, Neal. She was unconscious nearly all night, and the doctor thought
perhaps she--she would die. Oh, Neal, won't you come back? Won't you
please come back?"

Neal rose abruptly, and began to walk up and down the little clearing.

"I wish you wouldn't, Cynthia," he remonstrated; "I've told you I
couldn't, and you ought not to ask me. I'm awfully sorry about Edith,
and I'm sorry Hessie feels so badly about me. I'll give in about one
thing. You can tell her you have seen me and that I am well. You needn't
say I'm going to the bad, but very likely I shall. You mustn't say a
word about having lent me the money, I will not have that explained.
There, it has begun to rain."

A few big drops came pattering down, falling with loud splashes into the
river.

"Oh, I must hurry back!" exclaimed Cynthia, hastily drying her eyes.

"It's only going to be a shower. Come up here where the trees are
thicker, and wait till it is over. See, it's all bright over there."

Cynthia looked in the direction indicated, and seeing a streak of cloud
that was somewhat lighter than the rest, concluded to wait. Perhaps she
could yet prevail upon Neal to come.

They went into the woods a short distance, and though there were not
many leaves upon the trees as yet, they were more protected than in the
open. It was raining hard now.

"Neal," said Cynthia, in her gentlest tones, "when you have thought it
over a little more I'm sure you will agree with me. Indeed, you ought to
come."

"I have done nothing else but think it over, and I tell you I am not
coming, Cynthia. I wish you wouldn't say any more. I sent for you
because I wanted to see you once more, and now you're spoiling it all. I
don't believe you care a bit about me."

"Oh, Neal, how can you say so? You know I do care, very much. I'm
awfully disappointed in you, that's all. I always thought you were brave
and good, and would do things you ought to do, even when you didn't want
to. It does seem selfish to stay away and make mamma feel so badly, when
it would only be necessary to come home and say you had borrowed the
money of me, to make everything all right. It seems very selfish indeed,
but perhaps I am mistaken. I dare say I'm very selfish myself, and have
no right to preach to you, but if you could see mamma I'm sure you would
feel as I do."

Neal remained silent.

"But I still have faith in you," continued Cynthia. "I think some day
you will see it as I do. I am sure you will. Oh, dear, how wet it is
getting."

The rain was coming down in torrents. The ground was wet and soggy, and
their feet sank in the drenched leaves. The canoe, drawn up on the bank,
was full of water.

"I ought to have gone home. It is going to rain all day, and mamma will
be so worried."

The clouds had settled down heavily, and there was no prospect whatever
of the rain stopping.

"I must go right away; I am wet through now. Oh, Neal, if you would only
go with me! Won't you go, Neal?"

But Neal shook his head.

"Very well; then it is good-by. But remember what I said, Neal. It's
your own fault that the family think you took it. And if mamma or any
one ever asks me any questions about what I am going to do with Aunt
Betsey's present, I'm not going to pretend anything. If they choose to
find out I lent it to you, they can. You won't say I can tell them; so,
of course, I can't do it, as I promised, but I sha'n't prevent them
finding it out. Oh, Neal, do, _do_ come!"

"I'm a brute, Cynth, I know, but I can't give in. You don't know how
hard it is for me ever to give in. I'll remember what you said. Please
shake hands for good-by to me, if you don't think I'm too mean and
selfish and heartless and a coward, and everything else you've said."

"Oh, Neal!" cried Cynthia, as she grasped his hand with both of hers,
"some day I'm sure you will come. Good-by, Neal."

They turned over the canoe, which was full of rain-water, and then
Cynthia embarked. Suddenly an idea occurred to her--she would make one
more effort.

"Neal, you will have to go part way with me. I'm really afraid to go
alone. It is raining so hard the boat will fill up, and it will take me
so long to go alone."

Neal could not resist this very feminine appeal. He hesitated, and then
got in and took the extra paddle.

"I'll go part way. Cynthia, but I won't go home. Of course I can't let
you go off alone if you're afraid. I never knew you to be so before."

With long, vigorous strokes they were soon pulling up-stream.
Occasionally one of them would stop and bail with the big sponge kept in
the boat for emergencies.

The rain splashed into the river, and the dull gray stream seemed to run
more swiftly than usual. It looked very different from its wont. Cynthia
and Neal, many times as they had been together on the Charles, had never
before been there in a storm.

"Everything is changed," thought Cynthia: "even my own river is
different. Will things ever be the same again? Oh, if Neal will only
give in when we get near home!"

[TO BE CONTINUED.]



A WAR FLEET IN TRAINING.

BY W. J. HENDERSON.


The fleet cruiser _Minneapolis_ lies straining at her arched cable off
Tompkinsville, Staten Island. The last of the flood tide is singing
around the outward curve of her powerful ram, and a gentle southerly
breeze is floating to leeward from her massive yellow smoke-stacks, two
columns of oily-brown smoke, for the signal "spread fires" flew from the
flag-ship hours ago, and the fleet is in readiness to get under way.
Down in the fire-room the coal-passers feed the giant furnaces that roar
for more. Water-tenders and machinists glide hither and thither watching
the boilers and the machinery. On the platforms beside the twin engines
stand engineer officers waiting for the signal to start the propellers.
Brass-work and steel-work glitter with the splendor of a new polish, and
under all rumbles the dull monotone of the dynamo.

On the bridge stand the Captain, the Executive Officer, the navigator,
the officer of the watch, the cadet whose duty it is to watch for
signals, and a signal boy. A seaman stands by the wheel, and a
quartermaster stands beside him. On the after-bridge stand the
junior-officer of the watch, a quartermaster, and two signal boys. About
the decks are hundreds of seamen ready to jump to their allotted
stations. All are silent, eager, alert.

"Signal, sir," says the cadet, referring to his fleet signal-book;
"137--get under way."

A word from the Executive Officer, and the steam-winch rolls in the
cable. A touch upon an electric button, a rattle of jangling bells
below, and the mighty engines turn slowly over, taking the strain off
the cable, and sending the ship up to her anchor. Another string of
flags runs to the signal-yard of the flag-ship.

[Illustration: SIGNALLING FROM THE FLAG-SHIP.]

"Form column of vessels," reads the cadet from the signal-book, "natural
order." A minute later the North Atlantic Squadron, Admiral Bunce
commanding, is steaming in single file out toward the Narrows, the
flag-ship _New York_ leading, followed by the _Minneapolis_, _Columbia_,
_Raleigh_, _Montgomery_, _Cushing_, _Ericsson_, and _Stiletto_. A
triangular shape swings point up half-way between the Deck and the
signal-yard of the _New York_. It means half-cruising speed--five knots
an hour--and the other ships repeat the signal. Silently, majestically,
keeping their distances like soldiers on parade, the powerful steel
cruisers and the agile torpedo-boats move down the Conover Channel,
around the Southwest Spit, past the Hook bell-buoy, out the Gedney
Channel, and past the old red light-ship to the open sea. Another string
of signals rises on the flag-ship, and the answering pennants flutter on
the other ships while the signal-book says,

"Form double column."

[Illustration: "FORM DOUBLE COLUMN!"]

Every ship knows her place, and in a few minutes the right wing is made
of the _Minneapolis_, _Montgomery_, _Cushing_, and _Stiletto_, and the
left of the others, the flag-ship at the head and in the centre. The
speed is now up to the full cruising limit--ten knots an hour--and as
the ships go rolling and bowing over the Atlantic swells, their keen
prows send up fountains of silvery foam that spread away on either bow
in streamers of snow on the living blue. The flag-ship signals the
course, and again the others answer with the pennant of perpendicular
red and white stripes. The quiet of an orderly sea-march settles down
over the fleet, yet never for one instant, night or day, does vigilance
relax, for at any moment signals may break out on the flag-ship, though
they be nothing more than some vessel's number to warn her that she is
out of position.

But other signals do appear, for this is no holiday cruise, but one of
practice and ceaseless drill. Fleet tactics are executed almost without
rest. "Form line of battle, wings right and left front into line;" "By
vessels from the right front into echelon," "Front into line,"
"Squadrons right turn," "Form line, left wing left oblique," "Form
column, vessels right turn," and dozens of other orders are given by the
flag-ship, and executed with precision and accuracy which would amaze a
landsman, but which probably fall far short of the high ideal in the
Admiral's mind. Empty, paradelike manoeuvres these would seem to the
ignorant, but it was the skill of his captains in the execution of such
movements, combined with their knowledge of his plans, that enabled
Nelson to hurl his fleet upon that of Villeneuve at Trafalgar with such
fatal accuracy after hoisting only three signals to the yard-arm of the
_Victory_.

In the darkness of a cloudy night one of the ships is detached with
secret orders. She is to indicate an enemy's force, and to fall upon the
fleet at some unexpected hour the next day. From the moment of her
departure the lookouts on the remaining ships doubly strain their eyes,
and not a spar rises above the horizon that is not studied with all a
seaman's skill. In the first dog-watch of the next afternoon, when the
sailors forward are amusing themselves with pipe and song, the lookout
in the foretop cries,

"Steamer ho!"

[Illustration: "All HANDS CLEAR SHIP FOR ACTION!"]

In answer to the questions of the officer of the watch, he says the
smoke looks like that of a cruiser. The _New York_ has seen her too, and
the next minute signals fly at her yard-arm. The Captain nods, and the
hollows of the ship are filled with the sharp beating of a drum, the
shrill screeching of boatswains' pipes, and the sound of heavy voices
bawling, "All hands clear ship for action!" That is a thrilling cry,
even in time of peace, and half-slumbering sailors spring to their feet
with staring eyes and panting breath. Marines rush to the arm-racks to
get their rifles, belts, and bayonets. Officers buckle on swords and
revolvers, and spring to their stations.

[Illustration: LOADING A BIG GUN.]

And now begins a brief period of bustling activity, which to a landsman
would seem like confusion itself confounded. Boats are lashed around
with canvas to keep splinters from flying, extra slings are rigged on
yards and gaffs to keep them from falling to the deck if struck by shot,
breastworks of hammocks are made on bridges, forecastle, and poops,
stanchions and rails are sent below, and everything that can be removed
is taken from the deck so that the guns may have a clear sweep. The
magazines and fixed ammunition-rooms are thrown open, and the men of the
powder division take the stations allotted to them for keeping up a
continuous supply of ammunition to the whole battery. Hatch-covers are
lifted, shell-whips are rigged for hoisting away the heavy charges for
the big guns, and chutes are placed for sending empty cartridge-cases
below. The men belonging to the lighting-tops go aloft and hoist
ammunition for their guns. The crews of the main battery open the
breeches of their great weapons, sponge out the chambers, insert the big
steel shells and powder cartridges, and stand waiting for orders.

At last all is ready, and the division officers report to the Executive
Officer, who in turn reports to the Captain.

The flag-ship signals the order for the formation for attack, and then
at full speed the vessels dash forward. Signals follow signals, and the
ships go through swift and graceful evolutions, until the Admiral's
programme has been fully carried out. Then the vessel that was detached
to represent the enemy lowers over her side a pyramidal target of white
canvas with a black spot painted in the centre. She steams back to her
position in line. Now the vessels in turn glide slowly along at a
distance of 1600 or 1800 yards from the target, and the thunder of great
guns fairly shakes the heavens, while the massive steel projectiles
strike the water around the target, and thrash it into glaring geysers
of milk-white foam. It would be a sad time for any hostile ship if she
lay where that target is.

At last the target practice is over, while a great cloud of gray smoke
drifting slowly off to leeward, and the signal "Secure" at the
flag-ship's yard-arm, are all that remain of the recent scene of action.
Once again signals direct the formation of the fleet in double column,
and like some giant duck leading a flock of monster ducklings across the
sea the _New York_ swims away, followed by her steel companions. This
time the fleet steers for a harbor. Again the red and blue flags blossom
at the _New York_'s yard-arm like the magic flowers in the last scene of
a fairy play.

"Two thirty-seven," reads the cadet from the signal-book; "anchor in
column."

With the precision of carriages driven to a church door at a wedding the
big ships and the little torpedo-boats stop at their proper stations,
and the hoarse rumble of cables through hawse-holes tell that the
anchors have gone down. All but three--for see, there go the three
torpedo-boats, spinning around on their heels, and gliding out of the
harbor as silently and as swiftly as mice. There is to be a torpedo-boat
attack. This will be made under cover of the darkness, and the anchored
ships will strive, by means of their search-lights, to detect the
assailants. If the torpedo-boat succeeds in approaching a certain ship
within a given distance without being seen, she is credited with having
sunk or disabled that ship, for that is what she would do in time of
war.

[Illustration: FIRING FROM THE MILITARY TOPS.]

The night is intensely dark, and the blinding search-lights pierce the
blackness in every direction with their shafts of dazzling white. Under
the shallow of the land, with every light extinguished, the
torpedo-boats, painted a color which blends with that of the sea, steal
noiselessly toward the fleet. Suddenly they separate, and with lightning
speed dash forward. See! a brilliant light falls on one. She is caught,
and the firing of rifles and Gatling-guns from the tops shows that she
is hotly received. The other two escape detection, and make their
presence known inside the circle. Red and while lights flash signals
along the main rigging of the _New York_. The day's work is over, and
erelong tired blue-jackets hear the bugles blow the welcome notes of the
tattoo.

[Illustration: A LANDING PARTY.]

The next morning the flag-ship hoists the signal for a landing-party.
Boats are lowered away, and Jack Tar prepares to go ashore as a
seaman-infantryman. With his brown canvas leggings, his brown belt and
knapsack, his formidable rifle and bayonet, the sailor makes a
serviceable coast soldier. At a signal from the flag-ship the boats are
hauled to the companion-ladders, and the men pour into them. Rifles are
laid down, and oars are taken up, for Jacky rows himself ashore. Another
signal, and the boats, shooting out from the sides of the ships, fall
into their allotted places. Again a signal, and they start for the
shore, the oars in the rowlocks beating time to a sort of sea-march. As
the boats strike the beach the bugle sounds the "assembly," and in a few
minutes the battalion of marines and seamen-infantry is formed. The band
from the flag-ship strikes up "Nancy Lee," and with that invigorating
swing that belongs to Jack Tar alone the battalion marches inland, where
it goes through all the evolutions of the street riot and battle drills,
and finishes with a dress parade to the delight of all the boys in that
part of the land.

And thus from day to day the work of the squadron runs on, the Admiral
constantly propounding new topics for its study; for no one knows better
than a naval officer the necessity of being ready for active service at
a moment's notice. That readiness can be attained only by obeying the
good old maxim: "In time of peace prepare for war."



[Illustration]

BUTTERFLY BOWS.

BY MILDRED HOWELLS.


  Once a little girl existed
    Who was fond of pomps and shows,
  And upon her braids insisted
    Tying two great scarlet bows.

  Though her father couldn't bear them,
    And her gentle mother said
  That she wished her child should wear them
    Tied with modest bows instead.

  But their wishes she made light of,
    And her gaudy ribbons grew
  Bigger every day, in spite of
    All her friends could say or do.

  Till this child, all counsel spurning,
    Found with horror and surprise
  That her bows were slowly turning
    Into monstrous butterflies.

  First they gently swayed and fluttered,
    Then with spreading wings they flew,
  Ere one sad farewell was uttered,
    Straight into the welkin blue.

  So she vanished; still her mother
    Hopes those wandering bows will bring
  Back her daughter, when the other
    Butterflies return with Spring.



[Illustration: THE PUDDING STICK]

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


It isn't a very hard task to set the table, is it, girls? Yet I find
that it takes skill, taste, and pains to do this simple thing so very
nicely that the family coming to the table three times a day will have
the feeling that they have been expected, and their comfort and pleasure
planned for.

One important thing to be considered when setting the table is the
table-cloth. This should be of fair white linen, if possible, with a
pretty pattern of ferns or blocks or clover leaves, but even if it be
coarse, and not beautiful in design, it must always be spotlessly clean.
Do not let the laundress starch your table-cloth. No starch is needed.
It must, however, be ironed with exquisite nicety, folded evenly down
the middle, and the crease made by folding shown plainly by the pressure
of the flat-iron. A table-cloth must not be laid upon the bare table.
Next to the table you must have a heavy undercloth of felt or Canton
flannel. This serves several purposes. It removes the danger of injury
to the table itself from hot dishes, which sometimes leave a disfiguring
white rim or scarred edge upon it polished surface, it deadens sounds,
and it brings out well the pretty figures on the cloth. If used with
care, an undercloth of this kind will last a long time, and I have found
Canton flannel much more satisfactory than felt.

When you begin to set your table for breakfast or dinner, decide on the
places for the different members of the family, and then do not change
these except when you have guests. Mamma will have before her the tray
with the cups and saucers, the tea things, and the coffee urn. I hope
you make tea and coffee on the table; it is a graceful occupation for
the house-mother, and insures your always having clear coffee, and hot,
delicious tea, and is, besides, very little trouble once the habit has
been established. A simple French coffee-pot with an alcohol lamp, a
small tea-kettle also with a lamp, a tea-caddy, and a rule always
adhered to, will make these processes simple. Cups and saucers and the
cream-jug, sugar-bowl, and spoon-holder should be beside the mother's
place.

Oatmeal and other cereals, if served on the table at breakfast, should
stand by the sister or brother who dispenses them. It is best to begin
with a fruit course, and, therefore, finger-bowls, fruit doilies, and
plates, with the knives, forks, and spoons needed for this, should be on
the table when the family seat themselves. If you wish to save trouble,
and have the meal pass on in an orderly manner, you may place by each
plate all the knives, forks, and teaspoons which will be required during
a meal. These will be used one by one, always beginning with that on the
outside, farthest from the plate, and as the maid changes the plates for
each course she will remove the knives and forks which belong to that.

Flowers should form a point of beauty for the eye, and decorate every
home table. You do not need many; a single rose or cluster of lilies,
three or four pinks with a few sprays of mignonette, a few stalks of
salvia, a half-dozen asters, with geranium leaves or lemon verbena, or
sweet-peas in the season, nasturtiums, golden and glowing as flame, are
very ornamental. A cut glass bowl, or a clear bowl of pressed glass, if
bright and free from lint, a china vase, or any pretty bouquet-holder
will answer for the purpose of holding the flowers, which must be
removed and replaced by others the moment they become withered and
faded; never keep dying or dead flowers in any living-room, and, above
all, never let them remain an hour on your table. Wild flowers are the
loveliest things for ornamenting the table, and you may have as many of
them as you can mass effectively.

It is optional--that is, you may do as you like about the placing of
food on the table. But I think the prettier way, when it can be done, is
to set the roast on the table for the father to carve, and serve the
vegetables from a side table. Salad, with thin wafer crackers and cream
cheese, is a course by itself. Dessert follows this; coffee comes last
at dinner, and you may ask people if you choose to step from the table
to the library, or the porch, if it be in the summer-time, and sip their
after-dinner coffee there.

Pretty bread-and-butter plates, with knives of their own, are a great
convenience, and if you are saving up your money as a family to give
mother a particularly acceptable Christmas gift, why not buy her a set
of these?

[Illustration: Signature]



[Illustration: THE CAMERA CLUB]

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


MARINES.

Last year many of the pictures sent in labelled "Marines" were really
landscapes showing, perhaps, a tiny bit of water. A marine, strictly
speaking, means a sea picture, but when prizes are offered for marines,
views on lakes and rivers are always admitted, so that one need not
necessarily send in a picture taken at the sea-shore.

Among the most attractive of marine views are those showing a view of
rugged cliffs with the surf beating against them, where wave after wave
"breaks on the rocks, which, stern and gray, shoulders the broken tide
away." To obtain the most successful picture of such a scene one should
use a tripod, and get as clear a focus as possible. Get the plate ready,
set the shutter, and then wait till a big wave comes rolling in, and,
breaking against the rocks, sends the spray high in air. At the very
instant that it strikes the rock snap the shutter, and if the exposure
has been all right, the picture will be everything to be desired of the
breaking waves. Use a small diaphragm (6/32 being a good size), and make
a quick exposure. If the day is rather dull use a size larger diaphragm
and a trifle slower exposure.

A stretch of sandy beach with the tide coming in makes a good marine,
especially if there are plenty of clouds in the sky. Such a picture must
have some object in the foreground in order to secure the effect of
distance and perspective. A piece of drift-wood, an old wreck, or any
object of suitable size that one finds along the shore, will do to break
the level of the sand.

Marine views also include pictures of water-craft. Yachts are the most
graceful of water-craft, but the old dory is not to be despised. One of
the marines which took a prize last year was entitled, "Stranded." It
was the picture of a once handsome yacht, which had been driven ashore
by a storm, and was lying partly on its side on the beach. The cloud
effects in this picture were very good, and added much to the beauty of
the picture. The picture was well taken, and the subject a rather
uncommon one for a photograph.

Another marine sent in last year was a picture of a lighthouse, built on
jagged-looking rocks, taken when the tide was just coming in. Still
another, which was not strictly a marine, was a view of a long line of
vessels drawn up at the dock. The picture had the effect of a street of
ships instead of houses.

The prizes offered for marine and landscape views are less than those
offered for figure studies, as marines or landscapes are usually much
easier pictures to make than figures.

The entry for "Marines" closes on October 15th, for after that date
there is usually little opportunity for making successful water
pictures. Be sure and get your pictures in at least a week before this
date. Take special pains with the finishing and mounting, as technical
excellence is one of the points for which the pictures are to be marked.

     SIR KNIGHT JOHN H. CHAMBERS says that his last batch of negatives
     were so black that he could get no prints, and asks if there is
     any way to remedy them. The plates were developed too long and are
     too dense. This can be reduced by the following process: Cyanide
     of potassium, 1/2 oz.; water, 10 oz. Dissolve and add 2 drachms of
     bromine water. Soak the plate in clear water for a few minutes
     till the film is softened, and then immerse in this solution for a
     few seconds. Take out and wash, and if the negative is still too
     dense immerse it again. Repeat the process till the film is
     reduced sufficiently. Label the bottle "Poison," and keep it
     carefully locked up when not in use. One should have a plate
     lifter, or use rubber finger-tips when handling the plates with
     this solution. Sir John also says that the gelatine gets black
     first on the side next to the plate when developing. If the tray
     is kept gently rocking during development the development should
     be from the top downward. When the image is seen from the back of
     the plate it is supposed that development has proceeded as far as
     it will, and the plate is left in the developer simply to acquire
     the proper density. This can be judged by looking through the
     plate toward the light, holding it rather near the light. Sir John
     says he would like to start a Camera Club or Chapter, and wants
     members of the club to write and send suggestions and also to join
     the Chapter. We have several successful Chapters already, and
     would like to have more among our members.

     SIR KNIGHT OCTAVE DE MAURIAC, P. O. Box 596, Middletown,
     Connecticut, would like correspondence from Sir Knights or
     chapters interested in photography. Will answer all letters, and
     would also like to exchange photographic prints.

     SIR KNIGHT HARRY H. LUTHER, of Nantucket, Massachusetts, says he
     would like to become a member of the Camera Club. We are very glad
     to add the name of Sir Harry to our club list. As he writes from
     Nantucket, Massachusetts, we shall expect some fine marine
     pictures from him for the coming contest. Sir Harry asks for
     papers on retouching, special toning, formulas, etc. These papers
     are ready for publication and will soon appear.



ON BOARD THE ARK.

BY ALBERT LEE.


CHAPTER IX.

The ex-Pirate very good-naturedly put his head under the table and
pulled the Gopher out from the pile of débris and broken crockery. The
little beast did not appear to have suffered any injury beyond tearing a
gash in his pink sun-bonnet, and as soon as he had resumed his place at
the table he looked about him and smiled just as if nothing had
happened.

"You don't seem to mind your fall a bit," remarked the Sheep, somewhat
surprised.

"Oh, I don't mind it at all," answered the Gopher, complacently.

"I thought you would be dreadfully cut up," put in the ex-Pirate.

"So did I, at first," continued the Gopher; "but only my sun-bonnet got
cut, and that was badly cut in the beginning anyway, so that this extra
slash does not make any particular difference. And what do you suppose I
saw under the table?"

"Feet," said the ex-Pirate, at a venture.

"That's pretty good for a first guess," retorted the Gopher; "but I saw
something else."

"What did you see?" quickly asked Tommy, who was beginning to feel that
he had been out of the conversation long enough.

"I saw It," answered the Gopher.

"You don't say so!" exclaimed the Sheep.

"Indeed I did. Do you want to play a game?"

"Certainly, I'm getting awfully tired of sitting here. Let's play a
game."

"I wish you would explain," broke in Tommy. "You are talking about all
sorts of things, and I can't understand a word. What is this all about?
What is it the Gopher saw under the table?"

"Why, he saw It," answered the ex-Pirate.

"Well, what is that?" asked Tommy.

"Don't you know what It is?" exclaimed the ex-Pirate, his eyes opening
very wide with surprise.

"No, I don't," replied the little boy, bluntly, "and I wish you would
explain."

"Goodness!" gasped the Gopher. "Where did you come from? Did not you
ever play any games?"

"Certainly," said the little boy; "but what has that to do with it?"

"You could not very well play any games without It," insisted the
Gopher.

"It," declared the ex-Pirate very slowly and impressively, "is the one
that runs after you when you are playing tag, and the one that hides his
face and shuts his eyes when you play hide-and-go-seek."

"Oh, I've played those games lots of times," said Tommy.

"Then you must have seen It," put in the Sheep.

"Never," said Tommy.

"How did you play, then?" asked the ex-Pirate.

"One of us was it, of course," explained Tommy; "and when he caught
another, the other was it."

"How funny," said the Gopher. "Why, with us It is always It. That's the
fun of the game."

"Of course it is," added the ex-Pirate. "I don't see how you could play
without It. We had an It on board the _Black Avenger_, and we used to
play tag for exercise when we were becalmed. But one day, in a storm, it
was washed overboard, and we had to go without playing games all the
rest of the voyage."

"How stupid of you!" remarked Tommy. "Why did not you take turns being
it?"

"Never thought of such a thing," admitted the ex-Pirate, frankly. "You
will explain to us how it is done, some time, won't you?"

"Why, of course," replied Tommy. "I'm sure it's very simple."

"Is it simpler than dominoes?" inquired the Gopher. "I never could
understand dominoes. You see, there's no It in that, and that makes it
so complicated."

"Yes, the lack of an It complicates games very much," said the
ex-Pirate. "But let us play an easy game now. Go down and butt him out
from under the table," he added, turning to the Sheep.

The latter obligingly jumped to the floor and disappeared under the
table. A few moments later Tommy heard a thump, followed by a whizzing
sound, and then a queer-looking something sped out from under the table
and slid along the floor as though it had been shot out of a catapult.

"That's It," said the Gopher, unconcernedly. And then they all got up
and walked over to where a new sort of a queer creature, such as Tommy
had never seen before, was getting itself together after its encounter
with the Sheep's head. Tommy took in the peculiar features of the
new-comer as carefully and completely as he had taken in the other
unusual events of the day.

It was an undersized being that walked on two legs, and corresponded
somewhat to the little boy's idea of what a dwarf ought to be, except
that Tommy had always thought of dwarfs as being round and fat, whereas
this creature was exceedingly thin, almost bony, "by reason of his
constantly playing games," explained the ex-Pirate. Its head went up
almost to a point, on top of which grew a little tuft of hair, which
Tommy at first took to be a small fur cap; and the utter lack of
expression in his pallid face betokened that It had no understanding
whatever beyond his own sphere of utility.

"Perhaps that's why he is willing to be it all the time," thought Tommy.
"I'm sure he does not look as if he knew enough to object."

By this time the Sheep had rejoined the group and was ready to play.

"I don't want to play any game of chance," said the ex-Pirate when the
Gopher asked what it should be.

"No; we won't have any game of chance," agreed the Sheep.

"I don't see how you could," ventured Tommy, "if It is in the game. It
strikes me that if It is always It, there is no _chance_ for him."

"Of course not," answered the ex-Pirate; "there's no chance for him
ever, but we don't consider him. _We_ take all the chances."

Tommy did not understand, but this was nothing new to him, and he
consented to play anything that would please the rest.

They decided to have a game of Bumpolump. It took the ex-Pirate fully
fifteen minutes to explain to the little boy how Bumpolump was played,
and even then Tommy never got a clear idea of it, and was unable to give
his Uncle Dick the slightest explanation of how it was done, except that
It had an inordinate amount of running about to do, while the others
seemed to get all the fun. And at the end everybody got a prize except
It.

"I should not think you would like this," said Tommy to It,
sympathetically.

[Illustration: "MY LIFE IS ONE LONG PURSUIT OF THE UNATTAINABLE."]

"I don't," answered It. "I've gotten quite beyond that. My life is one
long pursuit of the unattainable. How does it feel to succeed?"

Tommy, not knowing just what to say under the circumstances, hesitated;
but before he could reply It continued:

"You see, I always apparently succeed in all I do--just as in
Bumpolump--but I never enjoy the fruits of success. The others always
get the prizes, and I have to start all over again. Some day--"

But just then an Ibex came along, and saying "Excuse me" to Tommy, he
butted It up to the other end of the room, where a lot of little Ibexes
and Zebus immediately began to hop about, apparently playing some game
with It, who was laboring with his utmost energy.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]



[Illustration: INTERSCHOLASTIC SPORT]


There will be two sets of football rules in use by the college teams
this fall. Yale and Princeton will be governed by one code, while
Harvard, Pennsylvania, and Cornell will play their games according to
another. The official rules of last year will also stand, to be adopted
by the smaller colleges, the athletic clubs, and possibly by the
schools, although I should advise the schools to accept the amendments
made by the universities, and adopt either the Harvard or Yale code,
with a preference in favor of the latter.

The first important change is found in Rule 8, and relates to the fair
catch. Yale and Princeton have it that a fair catch is a catch made
directly from a kick by an opponent, or from a punt-out by a player on
the side having the ball, provided the man making the catch does not
advance beyond a mark which he must make with his heel, and provided
also no other player on his side has touched the ball. The player is not
required to raise his hand as a sign that he intends to make a catch,
and if he is interfered with, or thrown by an opponent, he will receive
fifteen yards, unless that would carry him across the goal-line, in
which case he receives only half the distance. In the Harvard
regulations the definition of a fair catch is the same as the one just
given, but the player catching the ball cannot run with it, although he
may pass it back to one of his own side, who may then run with it or
kick it. If this is not done the ball must be put in play where the
catch was made. In case the player fails in his attempt at making the
catch, the opponents have an equal chance at the ball.

The most radical change made by Yale and Princeton (and an excellent
one) is in regard to mass plays. The rule covering this point states
that in scrimmages not more than one man shall start forward before the
ball is in play, and not more than three men shall group themselves at a
point behind the line of scrimmage before the ball is put in play,
although the man playing the position of either end rush may drop back,
provided he does not pass inside the position occupied by the man
playing adjacent tackle before the ball is put in play.

As to the officials of the game, Yale also makes an innovation. This
year there will be an umpire, a referee, a linesman, and an assistant
linesman, any one of whom may disqualify a player under the rules,
subject, of course, to the approval of the umpire, who alone may be
appealed to by the captains regarding fouls and unfair tactics. These
officials are also empowered to formulate ground rules prior to each
game, governing the disposition of the ball in case it touch or be
obstructed by some person or object surrounding the field of play, but
the referee must announce the rules as made to the captains before
calling play.

In the triple alliance there are to be two umpires, a referee, and a
linesman, the umpires being judges of the conduct of the players, the
referee being judge of the position and progress of the ball, and the
linesman being judge of time, and of the distance gained and lost by
each play. The umpires shall also see that no coaching is done while the
game is in progress, and they have the power to send behind the ropes
any substitute or other person who attempts to advise the players while
the ball is in play.

Off-side play will be punished by Yale and Princeton by the enforcement
of the rule that says that if a player when off side touches the ball
inside the opponent's ten-yard line the ball shall go as a touch-back to
the opponents. These colleges further legislate that seven men or more
must be in the rush line until the ball has been put in play, except in
the case I have already cited, where the ends may drop back.

It is hardly necessary for me to say to every man who is playing
football this year that the first thing for him to do is to secure one
of the new books of rules and study all the changes that have been made.
Space permits me to make but a very brief mention here of a few of the
innovations. The man who is playing on the field, however, must have
every clause at his finger-tips, and know the spirit and the letter of
the law by heart. Every scholastic league should decide at once which
code it will use this year, so that the captains of the teams may begin
to train their men in the new methods that some of the changes require.

The teams of the Connecticut league have been at work for two weeks or
more now, and several unimportant practice games have been played. The
Hartford High School players started in with preliminary unlimbering at
Crescent Beach early in September. Only five men of last year's team are
back again, although Captain Bryant confidently counted on six. Smith,
who played centre last fall, shot himself in the foot recently, and will
be laid up for some time. Bryant, therefore, will try it between the
guards for a while, and if Smith comes back later, he will be put in at
tackle. Goodell will be the other tackle, while Ingalls, the
hammer-thrower, and Lyman will go in at guards. The ends are much in
doubt, but Monahan, Ralyea, and Garvan stand good chances. Sturtevant
will probably make quarter-back, while Chapman and Jenkins will no doubt
be found at half at the end of the season. Luce, who did good work on
the quarter-mile track last spring, is the strongest candidate for
full-back. On the whole, the team is a light one.

The prospects for a good team at Exeter are bright this year, although
so far no game has been arranged with Andover. The old feud seems to be
still on deck. (But I hope to devote some space to that bit of
childishness later. Now we are talking football.) Five of last year's
players are back at P.E.A.--Scannell, Kasson, Breen, Gibbons, and
Hawkins. Scannell is Captain, and besides being a good player himself,
he is able to put life into his men. He graduated from the Newmarket
High-School in '89, and entered the academy in the fall of '92. That
season he made the second eleven, and played a good game. In the spring
term he made the baseball team, and filled the position of centre-field
with credit to himself and honor to the academy. He is a hard worker, he
is a little heavy for tackle, but his quickness overcomes this handicap,
and by the end of the season he will doubtless train down.

Centre rush will be taken care of by Kasson, who did good work on the
'94 eleven, and he will have a veteran in Breen as his right guard,
unless Connor proves a better man. A candidate for tackle is Higley, who
held that position last year for Andover. Another is Evans from Lowell,
who was Captain of his High-School team last year. During the season the
school had a long string of victories and retrieved its reputation,
which was last dwindling in the defeats of the five previous years.
Evans appears to be a brilliant man, but he does not know the game well
enough to play at Phillips Exeter without a great deal of coaching. He
stands 5 feet 10 inches, and weighs 170 pounds. For ends Gibbons, Shaw,
and Robinson are the most likely candidates. Hawkins, Martin, and
Botcher will try for quarter-back. Hawkins did good work last year, and
is plucky. That he will not give up his position without a tussle is
very evident from his practice-work. Martin, formerly of Andover, will
press him hard. When at Andover he played quarter on the second eleven,
and did good work. He is active and cool-headed.

For half-backs, J. B. Gibbons is sure of one position. He played an
excellent game last year, and will undoubtedly develop further this
fall. McLane will probably take care of the other side. Whitcomb and
Headden are trying for full-back. Whitcomb is a swift runner, and
distinguished himself last spring, when he smashed the school record in
the quarter-mile race. He is showing up well, and plays a good game.
Headden is not so sure a man as Whitcomb, and will require a great deal
of coaching. The Exeter team's first game of the season was played
against South Berwick on September 17th, and resulted in a victory for
the crimson and gray by a score of 6-0.

In the New England League it looks as if there would be a hot contest
again this year for the championship. Cambridge High and Latin has
nearly all of last year's team back. There will be only three vacant
places in the line, Baldwin, right end, Stearns, right guard, and
Columbus, left end, not having returned to school. Among the new men
with the squad are Hawes, Seaver, and Barnes. The backs will probably be
the same as last year, Campbell, Curry, and Parker, with Saul for
quarter-back.

Last Friday the Newton High-School eleven played the Brookline
High-School team at Brookline to determine which one should be taken
into the Senior League, the former having been the tail-ender in the
Senior League last year, while Brookline was an easy winner in its own
class. The contest occurred too late in the week for me to be able to
comment on it here, but I hope to say something of the game next time.

As to the two elevens, Brookline had a good nucleus to build upon.
Morse, Hutchins, Aechtler, Gillespie, North, Lewis, and Cook are on
deck, the latter as Captain. Hutchins, who was one of the best centres
in the Junior League last fall, will play the same position this year.
He is quick on his feet, snaps back quickly, and breaks through well.
Gillespie, at right tackle, is another good man. He is quick in breaking
through and smashing up the opponent's interference. North, who played
end last year, has been moved up to left half-back, where he is winning
new laurels by his fine running and dodging. For the position of
full-back, Boyce, substitute on last year's eleven, has the best chance.
He hits the line hard and low, and is good at punting. Two new men, both
named Talbot, have secured the position of right and left guards. They
are brothers, and know little about football, but since the beginning of
hard practice they have developed wonderfully under careful coaching.
Seaver and Parker are both trying to make quarter-back. Parker, though
handicapped by his light weight, 118 pounds, has proved himself the best
man for the place so far.

Newton's team, on the other hand, is badly handicapped by the loss of
most of last season's players, and the new men do not seem to be built
of the stuff that grabs championships. Captain Lee is beyond question
the best man on the team. He is a veteran in his position of centre
rush, and is an earnest and conscientious worker. He has been obtaining
a lot of good coaching as a candidate for the Newton Athletic Club's
eleven, and the points he has thus picked up he has taught his men. He
is 5 feet 10 inches in height, and weighs 180 pounds. He is an
aggressive player, and quick to take advantage of an opponent's
weakness.

Of the new-comers he has got to lick into shape, Howard is the most
promising candidate. He is trying for the position of right guard, the
place left vacant by Paul, who was the star player of last year's team,
and who is trying for a place in the line of the Newton Athletic Club
this season. Howard, while rather slow on his feet, has the making of a
good player. Van Voorhees will be found at left guard, and Brigham, who
gained much experience on the Newton Athletic second eleven last year,
will prove a formidable man at left tackle. He is quick in getting
through the interference, and tackles hard and low.

The other tackle will probably be Johnson, who is pretty light for such
a place, but his activity may make up for other deficiencies. Colbing
will make right end a hard place to get a gain. Forssen, a new man, will
go in at quarter, while the halves will be Chase and Burdon. Chase is
the surest ground-gainer, and can be depended on to advance the ball
every time it is given to him. Burdon is good for around-the-end plays,
as he is a fast runner, good dodger, and uses his blockers to the best
advantage. His chief fault is in not starting the second the ball is
snapped. Bryant is pretty sure of full-back, as he is the best punter on
the team. He runs low and hard, but is apt to fumble.

What has weakened the Newton team more than the lack of old material,
however, is the preference the candidates for positions on the eleven
have been showing for tennis. For the past ten days a tennis tournament
has been in progress, and many of the football-players have been trying
for the prizes there in preference to practicing with the eleven on the
school grounds.

The interest in football and baseball has always been greater in the New
England schools than in almost any other, as I have frequently found
occasion to mention in these columns. An additional proof of this fact,
if any such proof were needed, is that the Boston English High-School,
besides putting a strong school team into the field, is supporting class
teams. The class of '98 especially is doing good work in that direction,
and intends to arrange games, if possible, with all the first-year
classes in Boston. Such teams are bound to be a good thing for the
institutions that have them, as there is no better way of developing
material which will eventually prove of vast benefit to the first team.

The kicking game of the present will be taken advantage of by the
Cambridge M.T.S. eleven, for Captain Murphy has among his new men as
good a punter as there is on any team. This man is Yeager. Last year he
made some reputation by returning for Brewer and Fairchild of the
Harvard eleven in their practice before the Springfield game. After
catching the longest punts he would return the ball by a punt of the
entire distance. As a rusher Yeager has not such a good reputation, but
with White and Thompson as side partners he will easily be brought up to
the standard. Another good man that Captain Murphy may rely upon is
Seaver, who used to go to Brown and Nichols'. He has of late been
practising with C.H. and L., and will try for an end on the C.M.T.S.
team. Last year he broke his arm at the first of the season, but his
play improves daily. Brown, who tried for an end in '94, is out again
for the same position. Francis and Young are other candidates for end.
All these men are light, wiry fellows, but seem to have ability, which
needs only careful coaching to bring it out.

The other men behind the line give promise of developing into clever
players--Sawin especially. He did well at quarter-back a season ago, but
his light weight makes him practically useless in interference, and
easily stopped when running with the ball. But he is plucky, and that
counts for much. White and Thompson will be the halves, the latter
coming in from full-back, where Yeager's punting makes it necessary to
keep him. White developed into a speedy rusher last year, and was always
in place in the interference. He has a peculiar style of running, and
when he strikes the line whirls around; but nevertheless he proved a
ground-gainer in last season's games. Thompson is a veteran. He gains
the most ground when figuring in centre plays, but this year he will be
trained for runs around the end.

The players for the vacancies are an enterprising lot, who, with proper
training, can be moulded into shape. The men for the forward positions
are Hazen, Hayman, and Burns for centre, and Frye, Gray, and Whitney for
guards. Hazen is a big fellow, but has never played much, while Burns,
though eight pounds lighter, has played off and on for the last two
years. Frye played full-back on the Salem High-School team last year,
but is better qualified for a line position. He is a strongly built
fellow, and weighs 168 pounds. Gray, a substitute in '94, will try for
guard again this year. Whitney, another candidate, tips the scales at
162 pounds. This is a light team, take it all in all, but there are lots
of good stuff in it, and with good coaching ought to carry the C.M.T.S.
colors pretty well to the top by November.

  THE GRADUATE.



RASPBERRY AND COCOANUT CREAMS.


Here are two receipts for delicious candies that you will like to make,
but they will require, as many candies do, confectioner's sugar for
kneading purposes. A pound of this will be enough to buy at first. Add
to a dessert-spoonful of raspberry jam enough confectioner's sugar to
make a paste. If the flavor is not acid enough add a tiny bit of
tartaric acid, crushed very fine. Roll the sugar and jam into small
balls with the palms of your hands. Then take some of the hardest
fondant that you have and melt it in a cup in boiling water, just as you
did in making chocolate creams. Add a drop or two of cochineal coloring
to make it a pale pink. Now dip your balls in this exactly as in the
chocolate creams. If the little balls are not smoothly or neatly covered
they can be dipped twice, allowing time enough for the first coat to
harden. For cocoanut creams take two table-spoonfuls of grated cocoanut
and dry it in a cool oven, or you can use desiccated cocoanut instead.
Work the cocoanut well into half as much fondant candy, and then shape,
into balls, using confectioner's sugar to stiffen the mass sufficiently
for handling. Melt some fondant, flavor it with vanilla, and dip the
balls in it, as directed in the other receipts. Dipping the candies
twice will probably be the rule, as they will rarely look smooth enough
after the first coating.



A CLEVER SUGGESTION.


The book-agent who really means to make his way in the world has to be a
person of an inventive turn of mind. People rarely want to buy the books
he has to sell, and it is his hard fate often to have to argue long and
strongly in favor of his wares. The most ingenious of these hard-working
people that has yet come to notice is the one told about by one of the
London papers. The agent in question had a volume to sell that did not
go off exactly like hot cakes, and at one particular house he was met
with a most decided rebuff.

"It's no use to me. I never read," said the householder.

"But there's your family," said the canvasser.

"Haven't any family--nothing but a cat."

"Well, you may want something to throw at the cat," suggested the agent.

The book was purchased.



A NOVEL FLY-CATCHER.


Every year some new scheme is brought forth for the purpose of catching
flies and relieving housekeepers of the buzzing little nuisances. But up
to date nobody has ever thought of employing a mouse in that capacity,
until a certain ambitious mouse proved his talents for that sort of
thing. It is not known positively whether all mice have a taste for
flies, but it is certain that one particular little representative of
the mouse family has gained great fame by the able manner in which he
has disposed of all the insects within reach. The _Shepherdstown_ (West
Virginia) _Register_ has sung his praises, and he is quite a noted
character in that town. This mouse made a hole for himself inside the
show-window of a drug-store in Shepherdstown, and when a number of flies
were about his mouseship appeared from his abiding place. It mattered
not how many people stood within the store or blocked the pavement
outside. He seemed to know that he would not be molested, and devoted
himself exclusively to the fly-catching business. Standing on his
hind-legs, with his forepaws resting against the glass, he would grab a
fly and then retreat behind some boxes and eat it. Again he would catch
the insect while on the wing, jumping into the air and dealing it a blow
with one tiny paw, but quick as thought in securing his prey. He would
eat all of the fly except the wings with the greatest relish, and after
one of his raids the window would be covered with the discarded wings of
his victims. It would be quite interesting to get the opinions of this
little hunter in regard to his unusual diet, and find out whether he
looked upon flies in the light of ordinary beefsteak, or regarded them
as delicacies, such as quail on toast or terrapin.



ADVERTISEMENTS.



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

[Illustration: Royal Baking Powder]



Arnold

Constable & Co

       *       *       *       *       *

GLOVES

_"Courvoissier," "Dent, Allcroft & Co.," and "Fownes."_

"Courvoissier's" four-button Glacé Kid, all shades, $1.50 per pair.

       *       *       *       *       *

MEN'S DRIVING GLOVES

       *       *       *       *       *

Broadway & 19th st.

NEW YORK.



Say, Boys!

We have been telling you about the

"Rugby" Watches

for some time.

     If you have not sent for the "Rugby" Catalogue, you are pretty
     late. It is your misfortune.

Turn over a new leaf and send at once. You will have your eyes opened
when you see the beautiful designs on the cases. The catalogue tells all
about them.

The Waterbury Watch Co.,

Waterbury. Conn.



[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.



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



[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.]

The fourth stage of the shore-line trip from New York to Boston is a
short one, of not more than twenty-eight miles, extending from New
London to Shannock. Leaving the Pequot House, if that is the point where
you have put up at New London, you should proceed into the city of New
London along the trolley-car route, go at once to the ferry near the
railway station, and cross to Groton. There are two routes from here
eastward. It is possible for you to either turn to the left immediately
on arriving on the Groton side of the Thames, and proceed some distance
up the river (less than a mile, altogether), turn to the right, and run
over through Centre Groton, Burnets Corner, and so on, following the
secondary route marked on the map through Mystic, and joining the main
bicycle road again at Stonington. This route is, however, not only more
hilly, but the road is in a poorer condition, and passes through a less
picturesque country.

The rider should therefore proceed direct from the ferry along the
turnpike-road to Mystic Bridge, passing over Poquonock Bridge. Crossing
the Mystic River at Mystic Bridge, the road continues direct to
Stonington, a distance of about ten miles from New London. If you are
making the journey to Shannock in one run--in a morning, for
example--and if you have determined to reach Providence before night,
you can make a short-cut, after crossing the bridge leading into
Stonington and before crossing the railroad, by turning to the left and
joining the turnpike-road again a mile or more out from Stonington. From
here on the road through Wequetequock is in fair condition, though it is
not of the best. In case you run into Stonington and make a stop, you
should run out onto the main road by Matthews Street. The road from
Groton to Stonington is in parts remarkably good, and, especially at
this time of year, the whole route as far as Westerly will be found to
be a good bicycle run, if the side path is occasionally resorted to
between villages. Crossing the river at Westerly you are now in the
State of Rhode Island. Thence proceed through Potters Hill, Laurel Dale,
Ashway, to Hopkinson. From Hopkinson on to Shannock, a distance of
between seven and eight miles, the road is hilly in parts, and by the
time the rider has passed through Woodville and Caroline Mills, and run
into Shannock, he will be ready for a rest, at least for some time,
especially if he has ridden all the hills at a good speed.

It should be remembered, as was said last week, that this run, which is
not more than twenty-eight or twenty-nine miles at the most, can be made
half a day's run, and the journey thence continued to Providence.
Shannock would be about half-way, and the two routes might be done in
one day, and can easily be so done by any rider who cares to do between
fifty-five and sixty miles. It is by no means a long ride, and probably
you will be much more comfortable in Providence overnight than in
Shannock. At the same time, following out our plan of making short, easy
trips, and taking it for granted, as we have done, that the average
rider goes for pleasure, with time enough at his disposal, we shall
divide this distance into two stages.

     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; Second Stage in No. 826. Philadelphia to Vineland--First
     Stage in No. 827. Second Stage in No. 828. New York to
     Boston--Second Stage in No. 829; Third Stage in No. 830.



SOME DON'TS FOR BICYCLERS.

BY WILLIAM HEMMINGWAY.


Don't try to do too much. Ambition to shine as a "scorcher" has
seriously injured the health of many a good, strong rider. Probably no
form of exercise is so full of temptation to over-indulgence as is
wheeling. Except during the moments of hill-climbing, it is so easy to
send the machine spinning along.

How often you hear riders say, "I'm feeling languid and draggy to-day.
Can't imagine what's the matter. Had a splendid ride of sixty miles
yesterday." Isn't that explanation enough? The effects of too great
fatigue often last as long as life itself. If the muscles alone were
concerned it wouldn't matter so much, but the great trouble lies in
another quarter. There is always danger of injuring the heart. One can
recover from a strained muscle or sprained joint or broken bone, but let
the heart be once badly strained, and you may be sure that the evil
effects will last a lifetime.

Is there a way of knowing when one has ridden enough? Yes. Whenever you
feel that you couldn't dismount and run a quarter-mile at good speed, it
is time to stop wheeling. Better get off and take a rest. Better still,
put away the wheel for the day. There will be many other days, and you
can enjoy them all the more if you have a sound heart.

Don't wheel up a steep hill. Leave that sort of thing to fellows who
haven't enough sense to go in when it rains. What gain is there in it,
anyhow? You can walk up and push your wheel just as fast, and with
one-quarter of the exertion. If too much wheeling on the level road is
bad, too much hill-climbing is ten times worse. If you could look into
the minds of the smart hill-climbers, you would find that they half kill
themselves to make bystanders think they are wonderful riders. Really,
that sort of thing is too silly to talk about with patience.

Don't coast too much. If you feel that life without coasting is a
mockery, then go to some hill that you are thoroughly familiar with,
where there are no crossings, where you can watch the road for at least
one hundred miles ahead, and then take care. No matter whether you have
coasted down the hill a hundred times before or not, the danger is
always just as great. Perhaps we are never in so great peril as when we
think we know it all.

Don't "scorch" in the streets. At any crossing you are liable to run
over some pedestrian or to collide with a big truck or carriage. Either
one may mean a life lost, or at least broken bones. You wouldn't drive a
horse at a 2.40 gait through the streets. Remember a bicycle is quite as
dangerous.

Don't ride on the left side of the street. Your place is on the right
side, because a bicycle is a vehicle in the eyes of the law, having the
same rights and subject to the same rules as any other vehicle. If
anything happens to you because you are on the wrong side of the street
you cannot recover damages.

Don't think, because somebody you know has wheeled a "century," that you
must do it too. There is really very little satisfaction in riding one
hundred miles merely for the sake of saying that you have done it. If
any other wheelman chooses to tire his muscles and overstrain his heart
for a mere bit of boasting, let him do it. I know that most of us are
sorely tempted by the "century" folly. But think a moment. If you owned
a fine thoroughbred horse, would you run the risk of ruining him forever
by speeding him to the utmost limit of his strength for a whole day? Yet
is not your own health more valuable to you than all the horses in the
world?

Don't let your cyclometer be your master. Make it your servant. Don't
think, "I have wheeled thirty-seven miles to-day, now I'll run a mile
and a half up the road and back so as to make an even forty." Use the
cyclometer to find out how soon you must stop, not how much further you
must go.

Don't neglect your wheel. Because it doesn't eat is no reason why it
should be starved. It needs oil. It should be cleaned regularly after
every ride. Be sure that all the bearings are oiled at least once for
every one hundred miles travelled. In hot weather the oil runs off
faster. Lubricate your chain every time you go out for a spin. See to it
that the dust-caps are all in perfect order. Dust wears out bearings
much faster than ordinary use.

Don't go out in the late afternoon without a well-filled lamp,
especially if you live in New York. Think of the scores of wheelmen who
have been fined for riding at night without lights, to say nothing of
the danger of going unlighted.

       *       *       *       *       *

AN OUNCE OF PREVENTION

is cheaper than any quantity of care. Don't give children narcotics or
sedatives. They are unnecessary when the infant is properly nourished,
as it will be if brought up on the Gail Borden Eagle Brand Condensed
Milk--[_Adv._]



ADVERTISEMENTS.



[Illustration: RICHARDSON & DE LONG ad]



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



[Illustration]

You See Them Everywhere

Satisfaction and Speed in

Columbia Bicycles

The famous Hartford Single-Tube Tires with which Columbia Bicycles are
equipped add much to the pleasure Columbia riders have in bicycling.
Even the dreaded puncture loses its terrors with Hartford Single-Tubes.
Repaired in a minute. Anyone can do it. Dunlop tires, best of double
tubes, if you prefer.

POPE MFG. CO.

HARTFORD, CONN.



[Illustration]

"Napoleon"

Handsome, instructive.

One of the new

Parker Games

For Boys and Girls.

       *       *       *       *       *

"Innocence Abroad,"

"Waterloo,"

"Chivalry,"

"Yankee Doodle."

ASK FOR THEM.



Postage Stamps, &c.



=1000= Mixed Foreign Postage Stamps, including Fiji Islands, Samoa,
Hawaii, Hong Kong, for 34c. in stamps; 10 varieties U. S. Columbian
stamps, 25c.; entire unused 5c. and 10c. Columbian Envelopes, 25c. the
pair. Only a limited number were issued by U. S. Government. E. F.
GAMBS, Box 2631, San Francisco, Cal. Established, 1872.



STAMPS

Send reference and 2c. stamp for our fine approval sheets at 50% com.
=PENN STAMP CO., Wind Gap, Pa.=



=100= Fine foreign stamps from China, Queensland, Tasmania, etc., all
different, only 10 cents; 25 all different, Persia, etc., only 4 cents.

JUDSON N. BURTON, Madison, New York.



[Illustration]

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



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



=25= var. foreign stamps and price-list free for 2c. stamp.

EXCELSIOR STAMP CO., Keyport, N. J.



=STAMPS.= 100 for 12c.; 40 U.S., 25c.; _no rubbish_. 50% com. KEYSTONE
STAMP CO., Lebanon, Pa.



=FREE=--25 diff. Japan, Mexico, etc. Send 2c. stamp.

J. A. WILSON, 1108 Fairmount, Phila., Pa.



Clever Camping Hints.


     The Round Table has interested me greatly. Therefore I venture to
     offer the suggestions which follow:

     When camping on beach or in the mountains, on prairie or in
     forest, it is a good plan to have in the outfit a number of iron
     pins or stakes about half an inch thick and twelve or fifteen
     inches in length. Three of these should be driven into the ground
     deep enough to ensure their staying upright, and so near together
     that pot, kettle, or pan, and perhaps the coffee-pot, will stand
     safely on the ends of the pins when the coals are glowing or the
     sticks are blazing beneath. It will be found that this simple
     kitchen range is for several reasons better than any pole on
     forked stakes can be, and is incomparably better than a camp-fire
     without some device for ensuring the uprightness of pot or pan.

     Many campers make their camp-fires by laying the sticks with the
     middle on the coals or the blaze. The better way is to put the
     ends to the fire. The fire can be managed much more easily in that
     way, by withdrawing a few sticks if the heat is too great, or by
     pushing a stick or more in between the pins and under the
     cooking-vessel if the heat is not enough. Camp-fires are often
     made too big for the needs and for the comfort of the campers.

     I have seen a camp-fire made on the surface of a broad lake, and
     far from the nearest land, yet not in the canoe. If there had been
     a couple of shovelfuls of sand or earth, the fire might have been
     made in the canoe. As it was, the Indian gathered a few armfuls of
     green sedges and grasses and threw them on the water, then made
     the fire on the top of the heap, and soon had roast duck for
     dinner.

     An axe is a clumsy and a dangerous tool in canoe and in camp. It
     is awkward in shape, and heavy. It can be used for many purposes,
     but the machete can be used for all the purposes for which an axe
     is used, except for heavy pounding, and is admirably adapted for
     many other uses. Millions of people from Texas to Patagonia have
     long found the machete an ever-ready tool.

     Machetes are of many shapes and sizes. The laborer who clears
     trees and bush from land uses a broad and heavy blade. It is some
     eighteen or twenty inches in length, and may be three inches wide
     at its widest. The traveller will carry a machete which is like a
     heavy sword, and may be straight like a rapier, or curved
     somewhat, like a cavalry sword. This blade may be two feet or even
     twenty-six inches in length. For camp uses I should choose one
     like those the laborers use. A leathern sheath with belt go with
     some classes of machetes. With one of these an effective blow can
     be struck for cutting brush, trees of moderate size, or the flesh
     and bones of game. It will be useful in skinning animals or in
     cleaning fish. In short, there is scarcely any cutting about a
     camp which cannot be done far better with a machete than with the
     best of axes, and the price is the same as that of an axe.

     I have found no better bed than is made by having a wide hem
     turned along the edges of very wide canvas. Through these hems run
     slender poles, that may be used during the day in pushing a canoe
     over shallow waters. The ends of the poles may rest in notches in
     two logs, to hold them apart, or in crotched stakes driven into
     the ground, and stayed apart by sticks lashed to them. When not in
     service as a bed this cot may be used as a tarpaulin to cover the
     baggage in the canoe.

  E. W. PERRY.
  SOUTHBRIDGE, MASS.



The Music Rack.

SOME ANECDOTES OF PAGANINI.


     Nicolo Paganini was a typical violinist. He obtained a permanent
     position at the court of Luca in his twenty-first year, after
     remarkable success as a boy, and there composed such powerful
     concertos fortnightly that Napoleon's sister, Eliza Bacciocchi,
     was each time overcome when Paganini reached the harmonic sounds.
     One day Paganini announced to the court that he would shortly play
     a novel love-song. He accordingly played a wonderful sonata on two
     strings--G and E. G represented the lady, E the man. The court was
     carried away with the beauty of the piece. At the end the Princess
     Eliza remarked to Paganini, "Since you have done so finely a thing
     on two chords, can you make us hear something marvellous on one?"
     Paganini smilingly agreed; and after some weeks, on the day of St.
     Napoleon, executed a brilliant piece on the chord C, which he
     entitled "Napoleone."

     Paganini, the elder, was an avaricious and unnatural father. When
     Nicolo's gains had amounted to twenty thousand francs the father
     threatened to kill him if the whole was not given over. But the
     mother was faithful, and after the father had passed away Paganini
     said, "I took care of my mother--a sweet duty."

     Though loaded with honors given by the Pope, the Emperor of
     Austria, the King of Prussia, and others, yet the latter part of
     Paganini's life was a constant struggle. He was of a delicate
     make-up, and his whole being was wrapped, as it were, in his
     violin. He met much opposition in his last years. A favorite
     saying of his was, "One must suffer to make others feel." Schottky
     affirmed that Paganini possessed a musical secret by means of
     which a pupil could obtain a conception of the capacities of the
     violin in three years. This secret, which Paganini himself
     declared he possessed, was never given to the world.

     Many compositions have been ascribed to Paganini which are mere
     imitations. The few genuine ones contain many grotesque turns
     which make them all the more fascinating. Whatever may have been
     the faults and weaknesses of the man, as a composer Paganini was a
     star among his contemporaries. "As a composer Paganini stands very
     high. His works are rich in invention, genial, and show a mastery
     of the scientific part of the art."

  VINCENT V. M. BEEDE.



Prizes for Short Stories.


HARPER'S ROUND TABLE offers five prizes for the best stories of
adventure written by a Knight or Lady of the Round Table. Stories must
contain at least five hundred and not over fifteen hundred words, actual
count. The incident must be a probable one, and the story well told,
both in sequence of events and language employed. As far as practicable,
type-write the story, but this is not made a condition. At the top of
the first page place your name, age, and address in full, the number of
words in your story, and say where you saw this offer. Do not roll your
manuscript. Use paper about 5 by 8 inches in size, fold it or send flat.

Prepay postage and enclose return postage. Address it not later than
December 25, 1895, to HARPER'S ROUND TABLE, New York, and put in the
left-hand corner of the envelope the words "Story Competition." No story
may be sent by you that is not wholly original with you, and none may be
submitted that has ever been submitted in any other contest. One person
may not submit more than one story. Criticism by grown persons is
permissible. The prizes are $25 each to the three best, provided there
are three good stories. If there are not three good stories, the prizes
will not be awarded. We shall not award a prize to and print a poor
story, even if it chance to be the best received by us in this
competition. One of the stories, either a prize one or otherwise, as we
may elect, is to be used in the Pen-drawing Contest, and printed, if
good, with its prize illustration.



Prizes for Nonsense Verses


Nonsense verses are ridiculous jingles--the more ridiculous the better.
They may be four, six, or eight lines. Five prizes are offered by
HARPER'S ROUND TABLE for the best--that is, for the most ridiculous.
Each prize is: Fifty engraved visiting-cards, in a neat box, with copper
plate for future use. Of course the cards bear the winner's name.
Competition open only to those who have not passed their eighteenth
birthday. Forward not later than December 1, 1895.



About the Patents.


The new Patents and also the Prospectuses to those who have asked for
them, in order that they may earn prizes for placing them in the hands
of families likely to be interested in them, will be mailed to all
applicants about October 1st. There has been a little delay in
publishing the ROUND TABLE Handy Book, but it will be ready October 1st
and forwarded to all who have applied for it. The Handy Book contains
thirty-six pages filled with much useful information. Those who want
Patents should ask for them, and in doing so send the names of friends
who may wish to belong to the Order. Ask for a Patron Patent for your
teacher. The Patents will be handsomely illuminated, four pages, and
bear on the last page full information about the Order.



Amateur Journalism.


The Easton, Pa., venture, which we spoke of as _Leisure Hour_, came out
at last as the _Scribbler_. The September issue is most creditable. It
is small, but hopes to grow. We hope it will. Address Norman Hart,
Robert E. James, Jun., or George F. Wilson, 203 Northampton Street. The
_Eclipse_, a bright little paper published by F. H. Lovejoy, Weldon,
Pa., is larger now than ever--and better. The following-named want to
receive copies of amateur papers. Harry H. Luther, Hotel Gordon, Jamaica
Plain, Boston, Mass.; Charles E. Abbey, Chester, N. J.; J. F. Barksdale,
Hardy, Miss.; and Harry R. Whitcomb, Umatilla, Fla.

Walter S. Beattie, 651 Madison Avenue, New York city, writes:

     "We desire original contributions for our paper, _Sports and
     Science_, and offer a handsome book, monthly, to the person
     writing the best short story, poem, or sketch. All should join the
     Sports and Science club, and receive this paper free. Send
     two-cent stamp for postage to the editor for all particulars and
     copy of paper."

  W. S. BEATTIE.



A Visit to Robbers' Cave.


     Several summers ago, when I was spending my vacation at Leon
     Springs, we were sitting on the porch toward evening when some one
     suggested a visit to Robbers' Cave for the next day. In a few
     minutes all those idle loungers had dispersed, some to see about a
     guide and horses, others to make arrangements for a lunch.

     After an early breakfast we mounted our horses and rode off,
     leaving the lunch to be brought in the surrey. When we reached the
     mouth of the cave we were a rather jolted-up crowd, for riding
     over hills in Texas is not like riding along a road in San
     Antonio. But by the time the surrey, with the rope-ladder and
     torches arrived, we were squabbling over who should go down first.
     To settle that we drew straws, and it fell to my lot to go down
     third. The entrance to the cave was not more than six feet round,
     and the bottom was reached after a descent of twenty-five feet.
     Just half-way down there was a landing that leads off to the upper
     part of the cave.

     We were first taken to the room that looks as if it were full of
     statuary that had been slightly defaced. The most natural of these
     is a bust of a veiled woman. Climbing over some rocks we came to
     the spring, which is about five feet in circumference. In the
     centre is a miniature castle, with its towers, turrets, and
     chimneys. The light from our torches made it glisten like
     diamonds. If you stand in the centre of the main cave and whisper,
     you can be heard in all parts. We threw pebbles down in a shallow
     pit where we could see frogs hopping about. May I write and tell
     how the cave came to be called by this name?

  P. V. R. LOCKWOOD.
  SAN ANTONIO.

Yes.



Questions and Answers.


Jules L. Steele: One competitor in the poem contest may send only one
poem. The rule is so made because it is better for competitors to put
their efforts upon one production than to attempt to pen two or more.
Harry H. Luther thinks the Order should hold a reunion every year. Other
members say they think the same way.

A.F. McC.: You may send only one poem in the prize competition. It may
be the one mentioned as having been printed in a local paper. Send it in
manuscript, however.



[Illustration: STAMPS]

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


Interest in the newly discovered varieties of the U. S. stamps
continues, and has led to the closer examination of all other U. S.
stamps, resulting in the discovery of still other varieties. The latest
is the 10c. green of 1861, a stamp catalogued at 5c. only, as it is to
be found in large quantities, and almost every collector has or has had
many duplicates.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

The first die was made with the five stars at the top of the stamp in
white on a background composed of fine perpendicular lines. It seems the
plate soon showed signs of wear at the top, and a new die was made in
which the perpendicular lines ran into a solid curved line, something
like this.

The stamps printed from the original plates are quite rare, one dealer
finding three only out of a lot of nearly five hundred. The new variety
is selling at various prices, from $5 upward. A curious result of the
new discovery has been the find of some copies with the 1868 grill. Of
course the grill is counterfeit.

New recruits are made daily to the ranks of those who are devoting
themselves to the collection of unused U. S. stamps in blocks showing
the imprint and plate numbers on the margin. Some of the scarcer 1890
and 1894 plate numbers are to be sold at auction in New York within a
few weeks. This branch of collecting offers special facilities to those
living in the smaller towns, as the post-offices in such towns
frequently have sheets of stamps issued many years ago, whereas in the
large cities the stamps on hand are usually of the very latest printing
only.

The Duke of York is reported to have sold his collection of
postage-stamps to Baron Ferdinand de Rothschild for $300,000.

     F. L. POTTS.--Dealers offer 1857 half-dime at 10c.

     E. V. G.--Oiled paper, or paraffine paper, will prevent stamps
     from sticking to each other. But the ordinary "hinges" or
     "stickers" will not adhere to such paper.

     A. L. EVANS.--U.S. cents are quoted as follows: 1817, 10c.; the
     variety with fifteen stars at 50c. The other cents mentioned from
     5c. to 15c. each. Half-cent, 1851, 10c. Half-dollar, 1830, 75c.

     W. F. T.--There are three varieties of the 1799 silver dollar,
     worth $2, $3, $4 respectively.

     RAM.--1842 dimes are quoted at 20c. The 1799 and 1858 cents at 5c.
     each.

     C. E. STEELE.--See answer to "Ram."

     B. MAGELSEN.--Perforated stamps from the centre as margin of a
     sheet, thus showing one side without perforations, are not so
     desirable as stamps having all four sides perforated. As a rule
     stamps should have all paper soaked off the back. The only
     exception is in the case of valuable stamps, when the entire
     envelope should be kept.

  PHILATUS.



[Illustration]

Copyright, 1894, by The Procter & Gamble Co., Cin'ti.

Elisabeth Robinson Scovil, Associate Editor of The Ladies Home Journal,
and a Hospital Superintendent of experience, 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."



[Illustration]

CARD PRINTER =FREE=

Sets any name in one minute; prints 500 cards an hour. YOU can make
money with it. A font of pretty type, also Indelible Ink Type Holder,
Pads and Tweezers, Best Linen Marker, worth $1.00. Sample mailed FREE
for 10c. stamps for postage and packing on outfit and large catalogue of
1000 Bargains in household articles and novelties.

COMICAL RUBBER STAMPS.

[Illustration]

More fun than a barrel of monkeys. A complete set of SIX grotesque
little people, Policemen, Dudes and Devils, with everlasting Ink pads.
With them a boy can make a circus in a minute. =Postpaid for 10 cents.=

Address =R. H. INGERSOLL & BRO.=

Dept. No. 27. 65 Cortlandt St., New York.



SPALDING'S

OFFICIAL FOOT-BALL GUIDE

[Illustration]

Edited by =Walter Camp=. Contains the =OFFICIAL RULES=, with the =Yale=
and =Princeton= and the =Harvard=, =Pennsylvania= and =Cornell=
amendments, under which they will play. Also pictures of all the leading
players and valuable information. 10 cents.

Handsome catalogue devoted to all out-door sports, and containing over
700 illustrations, sent free.

A. G. SPALDING & BROS.,

New York. Chicago. Philadelphia.



[Illustration]

THE

BALTIMOREAN PRINTING-PRESS

has earned more money for boys than all other presses in the market.
Boys, don't idle away your time when you can buy a self-inking
printing-press, type, and complete outfit for $5.00. Write for
particulars, there is money in it for you.

THE J. F. W. DORMAN CO.,

Baltimore, Md., U.S.A.



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



PLAYS

Dialogues, Speakers, for School, Club and Parlor. Catalogue free.

=T. S. Denison=, Publisher. Chicago Ill.



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



BY MARGARET E. SANGSTER


=Little Knights and Ladies.= Verses for Young People.

     Illustrated. 16mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25.

A volume of poems which are wholly suitable for children's reading, and
which will be quite as welcome to the children's mothers. There is a
womanly touch which will win for Mrs. Sangster hundreds of
admirers.--_N. Y. Times._

A volume of ballads and lyrical pieces for young people by an author who
never tires her readers.... All are of high quality.--_Philadelphia
Bulletin._

The verses in this collection are excellent; all of them are sweet and
rhythmical.... Poetry like this is delightful; it pleases and educates,
charms and inspires. "Little Knights and Ladies" will meet with a hearty
welcome.--_Brooklyn Standard-Union._

       *       *       *       *       *

Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York



[Illustration: HOP LEE AND HIS FAITHFUL MULE--AN EXCITING SCENE AT THE
HOANG-HO FERRY.]



JOHNNY'S IDEA OF A JOKE.


"Pa," said Johnny, as he watched his father filling cartridges for his
shot-gun, "wouldn't it be a joke to load one of those cartridges with
quinine pills and shoot a bear with 'em."



AN ERROR SOMEWHERE.


  My pa says if I don't keep still
    Some time, I won't get strong;
  But when I watch the moving sea,
  And think how strong the waters be,
    I sort of think he's wrong.



EXPLAINED.


"Why, Howard, child, how did you cut your lip that way?" cried Mrs. B.

"Playing," said Howard. "I was playing I was a goat, an' I tried to eat
a tomatter can."



BOBBIE'S COMPLIMENT.


  My sister screws her face up
    At all times when she cries;
  But she can't make it ugly
    However hard she tries.



BOBBY. "If you fell overboard while on an ocean steamer, what would you
do?"

JACK (_four years old_). "I'd go to sleep on one of the ocean's
pillows."



NOT A QUESTION OF POVERTY.


"Speaking about little folks," remarked the B shop, after the dry-goods
man had gotten through with his story of the bright thing which his
little four-year-old daughter had said at dinner that day--"speaking of
smart little folks, I had an experience with one quite a good many years
ago. It was when I was candidating for my first parish that I preached
at a little village down in Pennsylvania. I was entertained at the home
of one of the wardens. As I look back at that sermon now it must have
been pretty vealy, but I was well pleased with it then, and my host
praised it so enthusiastically on the way home that I felt tolerably
sure of an invitation to occupy the rectory.

"My host had a bright little five-year-old daughter, and she and I got
to be pretty good friends. While I was waiting for the depot wagon to
come and bear me away from the scene of my triumph, the next morning,
the little girl suddenly ran up to me with her little tin savings-bank.
The dear little thing wanted me to open the bank and take one-half of
the money for myself. I thanked her and declined.

"What makes you think I need the money, dear?" I asked.

"Why, nuffin much, only when papa came home from church yesterday I
heard him tell mamma that you was a _mighty poor preacher_."



TEACHER. "Astronomy is a wonderful science, Harry. Men have learned
through it not only how far off the stars are from the earth, but what
they are made of."

HARRY. "It seems to me a great deal more wonderful how they found out
their names."



PAPA. "Are you sorry you hit Wilbur?"

BOBBY. "Yes, papa, and he is sorry too."



A GENEROUS LAD.


"Tommy!"

No answer.

"Tom-mee!!"

"Well?"

"What are you doing to your brother Willie?"

"Nothin'."

"Yes, you are. You are making him cry."

"No, I ain't--I'm bein' generous. I'm givin' him half o' my
codliver-oil."



A VERY GOOD REASON.


"Wisht I was a codfish," said Jack.

"Why do you wish that?" asked his mother.

"They don't have to take codliver-oil. They're born with all they need
already inside of 'em," said Jack.





*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Harper's Round Table, October 1, 1895" ***

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