Title: Harper's Round Table, September 17, 1895
Author: Various
Language: English
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*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Harper's Round Table, September 17, 1895" ***


[Illustration: HARPER'S ROUND TABLE]

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

       *       *       *       *       *

PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 17, 1895. FIVE CENTS A
COPY.

VOL. XVI.--NO. 829.       TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.

       *       *       *       *       *



[Illustration]

A CARGO OF BURNING COAL.

BY AN OLD SHIPMASTER.


The reader may think that while coal must be a dirty cargo it is in
other respects an innocent one; but there is no shipmaster who does not
dread a long voyage with this kind of freight, for many a fine vessel
has been lost owing to the coal taking fire through spontaneous
combustion; therefore the greatest care is exercised in carrying it, and
whenever the weather will permit, the hatches are opened in order to
give the gases in the hold an opportunity to escape. The regular
coal-carriers are fitted with ventilators set in different parts of the
deck, and the holds of the vessels are kept pure and wholesome by
turning the gaping mouths of a number of the huge funnels so that the
wind will pour into and down them to the interior of the ship, and keep
up a circulation by escaping through other ventilators that are turned
in a contrary direction.

A good many years back, when I was an able young sea-man on board the
bark _Raleigh_, I had an experience that was both exciting and strange.
Our vessel was loaded with coal, and bound from Philadelphia to
Australia. The run down to the equator had been a slow but pleasant one,
owing not only to the mild, beautiful weather that we had held right
along since sailing, but because the _Raleigh_ had what was something of
a novelty in those days, in the way of an excellent and kindly set of
officers. We were what is called a "happy ship."

After reaching about the parallel of twenty degrees south we got a
stress of weather for over a week, in which several of our sails were
blown away and a number of our light spars were wrecked. All our
live-stock of pigs and chickens were drowned, owing to the flooding of
our decks, for we sat very low in the water.

On the day that we ran into pleasant weather again we started to take
off the hatches, when a gassy, choking smell poured out of the opening.
The cargo was on fire. There was only one thing to do--to replace the
hatches, bore holes through them, and pump streams of water into the
hold, endeavoring to drown the fire before it gained additional headway.
All hands were called to the task, and for twenty-four hours we worked
for our lives, the crew being divided into relief gangs so that the
deck-pumps might be kept constantly going.

Before another morning came, however, we knew that the ship was doomed,
for the decks grew hot under our feet, and through various crevices the
weakening, nauseating fumes of coal-gas poured, overpowering us at times
as we plied the pump-handles. The wind died away, leaving the ship
becalmed, and over and around her hung a sickly blue pall of vapor. Then
the order was given to provision the boats and desert the _Raleigh_. We
pulled a little way from the vessel and rested on our oars, watching the
noble ship. As long as she floated there we seemed to have something to
cling to on the wide desolate reach of waters.

Shortly afterward the mainmast swayed like a drunken man, then with an
awful crash it pitched over the side, dragging with it the
foretop-gallant mast and the mizzen-topmast. Through the broken deck a
column of winding sulphurous flame shot into the air. The pitch ran
wriggling out of the seams of the _Raleigh_'s planking, and fell hissing
in little showers into the water alongside as the vessel rolled
sluggishly on the swells. An hour later the bark was a mass of flames,
and we pulled away to escape from the heat.

There were two boats, the Captain commanding one and the chief mate the
other. Each had been provided with a chart and compass, and, in addition
to these instruments, the two officers had carried away their sextants
in order to navigate by the sun and stars. Into each boat had been
stowed food and water, which it was calculated would last about ten days
by putting all hands on short allowance; but it was hoped that before
the provisions were consumed we would either be picked up by a passing
vessel or successful in sailing to Rio Janeiro, distant from us
something less than six hundred miles. The Captain's boat being the
larger of the two carried the second mate, steward, cook, and eight
seamen, while the mate's boat held the carpenter and four seamen--myself
included among the latter.

The boats laid alongside of one another while the Captain and mate
decided upon the course to be steered; then we separated, made sail to
the southeast breeze that had set in, and stretched away into the
northwest, the Captain's boat in the lead. The wind gathered strength
from the southeast, giving us a following breeze for the port toward
which we were steering, and both boats made good weather of the moderate
sea then running, sweeping along at the rate of five knots to the hour.

All that afternoon the boats kept within sight of one another, and when
night fell not over a quarter of a mile divided us. With the first flush
of dawn we swept the expanse of waters, but nothing was to be seen. We
were alone. Every little while during the day that followed we would
scan the horizon, hoping to lift the long-boat's sail into view; but in
vain. We never saw her again, or heard tidings of the twelve brave souls
from whom we had parted only a few hours before. That she never reached
port is certain; but what her ultimate fate proved, no one knows.

It blew up a gale of wind that afternoon, and I heard the mate say that
the storm experienced during the week that was past had recurved, and
that we would get it worse than ever on its back track. To prevent the
boat from foundering, we unstepped the mast, made a span to it by
securing a length of rope to each end, and to the middle of this bridle
we bent the boat's painter. Then we dropped this sea-anchor over the
bows, and rode to it, the strain upon the painter keeping the head of
the boat to the seas that rolled down on us.

When night settled upon the deep it shut out one of the wildest sights
of ocean-lashed waters that I had ever seen; but the darkness only
intensified the terror, for in the blackness we would feel the frail
boat swung with dizzy velocity up and up and up on some mountainous sea,
as though she was never going to stop; then, while the great seething
crest was roaring in a thousand diabolical voices about us, she would
drop down, down, down with a motion that was like falling through space.

It might have been the middle of the night when, worn out from the labor
of bailing without intermission for many hours, I threw myself down in
the bows of the boat, and locking my arms around one of the thwarts to
keep from being pitched about, I fell into an exhausted sleep. I don't
know how long I slept, but I was brought to my senses by a sea bursting
into the boat, and I found my legs wedged under the seat as I sat half
suffocated on the flooring with the water up to my armpits. Looking aft,
I could see by the phosporescent glow of the breaking seas that no
shapes of men were visible against the background of sky. My companions
were gone.

The gunwale of the boat was within a few inches of the water, and it
needed only the spume of another wave falling in the boat to sink her.
There was no time for indulging in grief over the loss of my
shipmates--there was time only for work, and very little for that, if I
was to save my life. Tearing off my cap, I used it as a bailer and
worked desperately.

At last another morning came, and with it the gale broke; but I allowed
the boat to remain hove to during that day and following night, so as to
give the seas a chance to go down.

The second morning dawned clear and beautiful, with the ocean subsided
into long even swells, and the wind settled down again to the regular
trades. Most of the provisions had been ruined by the sea that had
filled the boat, but I found two water-tight tins filled with
pilot-bread that promised to supply my needs for some time to come. The
fresh water in the boat-breakers had kept sweet owing to the bungs being
in place.

I had opened one of the tins, and was sitting on a thwart making a
breakfast from its contents, when, happening to look astern, I made out,
not more than a mile away, the wreck of a small vessel. Everything about
the foremast was standing below the cross-trees, but only the splintered
stumps of her main and mizzen masts were to be seen above the deck,
while the spars themselves, together with their gear, were hanging in a
wild confusion over the side. I got in my drag, restepped the mast, set
the sail, and bore down upon the wreck. As I drew close to her I
expected to see some signs of her crew, for the vessel sat fairly high
in the water, and looked seaworthy enough to be navigated into port by
making sail upon the fore, and rigging up jury-masts on the two stumps
abaft--plenty of material for such to be found in the raffle alongside.
No evidence, however, of life showed itself when I rounded under the
stern, reading the name _Mercedes_ in large white letters. Letting fly
my sheet, I caught the leeward chain-plates, and jumping on board with
the painter, I secured the same to a belaying-pin, and looked about me.

I was at once sensible that there was some water in the hold by the
peculiar motion of the vessel as she rose and fell to the seas that
underran her; but at the same time it was apparent that there could not
be anything like a dangerous quantity, otherwise the plane of the deck
would have floated much closer to the surface of the sea. Without
regarding the nationality of the name, it was clear to me that the
vessel was either a Portuguese or Italian trader by the rainbow
character of her paint-work, the slovenliness of the rigging, that was
yet almost intact upon the fore, and, in spite of the drenching that she
had received, the unmistakable evidences of dirt everywhere. There were
no boats left, but whether they had been crushed in the wreck of the
masts or had received the crew of the barkentine--for such I saw had
been her rig--I could not tell.

Entering the cabin, I overhauled the four state-rooms it contained,
finding in three of them nothing but such odds and ends as are peculiar
to sailors' chests, and in the fourth room, which had been used as a
pantry, quite an assortment of boxes and barrels of provisions, although
there was proof that some of them had been broken into and rummaged
quite recently.

Then I went on deck again and lifted off one of the main hatch covers.
No cargo of any nature was to be seen, nothing but a mass of black oily
water washing from side to side. It was plain that the vessel was in
ballast, that she had sprung a leak in the last gale of wind, that her
crew had become frightened, had given her up for lost, and taken to the
boats. It was also clear that the leak had stopped itself in some
manner--possibly when the old tub had ceased straining after the sea
went down--and that if I could pump out the hull I might be able to put
her before the wind by making sail on the fore, and so, with the
favoring trade winds, let the _Mercedes_ drift along to the port dead
away to leeward.

A sailor is never idle long after laying out his work. First I emptied
my boat of its water-breakers and provisions, then let it tow astern.
Next I got an axe out of the boatswain's locker and chopped away the
rigging that held the broken spars to the bark, then when the vessel was
clear I squared the topsail-yard by the braces, ran aloft, cast off the
gaskets that held the sail, descended to the deck, where I sheeted home
the topsail as well as possible, and carried the halyards through a
leading block to the capstan, on which I hove away until I had lifted
the yard as high as my strength allowed. Next I ran up the jib, sheeted
it down, and raced aft to the wheel. I put the tiller up, and the old
bucket at once answered her helm. When I got her fairly before the wind
I lashed the wheel, and seeing that she would steer herself, with only a
little watching, I got to work at the pumps.

By the time night arrived I had sunk the water in the hold to half its
original depth. Then I settled away the topsail and let it hang. The jib
I left standing, knowing that it would help to keep the vessel out of
the trough, even if it did little or no good in the way of forcing the
bark ahead. The weather promised to continue clear and moderate, so I
built a fire in the galley range, brought a quantity of stores from the
pantry, and made a hearty meal. I "turned in all standing," as seamen
say when they go to bed without undressing, and slept long and heavily.

The next morning I again set my topsail, and scudded away to leeward
while I finished clearing the bark of water.

It was about four o'clock in the afternoon. I had gone up on the little
top-gallant-forecastle to have a look at the _Mercedes_ ground-tackle,
when I made out, about two points on the bow, and less than a mile away,
a ship's boat filled with men. They had discovered the bark, for they
were pulling to get in her path. As soon as I appeared to them there was
a waving of hats and a confusion of cheers and calls. By the time that I
had settled away the topsail-halyards and pulled the jib down the boat
was alongside, and her late occupants were tumbling over the rail. The
first one to touch the deck was a fat little man, almost as swarthy as a
Malay, and twice as dirty, who wore enormous gold hoops in his ears, and
a dilapidated red fez upon a mop of greasy black hair. He rushed up to
me so wild with excitement that he kept hopping up and down like a
jumping-jack, while he smote his breast and screamed something in
Portuguese.

I shook my head and said, thumping my own breast, "No speakee
Portuguese; me American!"

At this he yelled, accompanying his words with such a tremendous smiting
of his poor ribs that I thought he would beat them in.

"Me speakee Americano! Me Capitano! Me Capitano this sheep! How you
come? me say!"

I saw how it was. I had picked up the crew of the _Mercedes_ three days
after they had abandoned the vessel to which they had just returned.

I held up my hand as a sign to the frantic, jabbering monkeys to keep
silence, then I explained partly by broken English and the rest by signs
how I had found the bark deserted, had pumped her out, and was trying to
reach the coast of South America in her. I ended by telling the Captain
that I was glad to see him, and to give him back his vessel.

He was so overpowered with gratitude and joy at such an unexpected and
happy ending to his troubles that he flung his dirty arms around my neck
and kissed my cheeks effusively in the fulness of his heart. I was an
honored guest on board the Captain's "sheep" from that time forth, and
several days later when, crippled and torn, the poor old _Mercedes_
staggered into the beautiful harbor of Rio Janeiro, and I took leave of
the uncouth but kindly and grateful sailor, he repeated his kissing act,
and forced into my hand a small bag of gold pieces, representing
probably all his savings, while he said,

"You take dees. Me love brave Americano sailor who save me sheep."



CARRIER-PIGEONS.

BY ANNE HELME.


In the middle of the square around which the _Herald_ building is built
in New York city is a carrier-pigeon house on a level with the roof. It
is a square house, large enough for a good-sized play-house, and has a
piazza, a porch fenced in with wire, where the birds can exercise until
they have learned enough to be allowed to fly around the city, for
pigeons require a great deal of exercise not only in flying, but in
walking. Just notice the next time you see a flock of pigeons when they
light on the ground, or on the roofs of buildings, how they walk up and
down for a long time.

Great care is taken with the pigeons. Their pedigree is kept and they
are all named. Then, too, a mark is stamped on their under wings, so
there shall be no mistake, and by this means they have often been
recovered and sent home when they have lost their bearings or have been
stolen. The man whose duty it is to attend to them takes a personal
interest in each and every bird.

[Illustration: THE INTERIOR OF THE PIGEONS' HOME.]

At night, when they come home, he looks to see that all are there, and
to prevent any strangers from mixing with his own particular flock.
Pigeons are very homelike in their tastes, and rarely does a day pass
that several strange birds do not join them. They are fed chiefly on
cracked corn, but they require more water than food--and water is
absolutely necessary to their health and happiness. The amount they
consume is almost incredible--more than double that of other birds.

Their home instinct, which is, of course, their distinguishing
characteristic, is very marvellous. So strongly developed is it that it
is impossible to keep the older birds away, and the gift of a pair of
old birds is a very thankless one, as they will inevitably fly home the
moment they are liberated, although they may be carried miles and miles
away, and in a covered basket. The birds chosen to carry the messages
from the yachts or steamers are sent down the Bay for several days, so
that they may prove how swiftly they can fly back, and each day are
liberated, and a record kept of the time they make in getting back to
the office.

When a newspaper tug starts down the bay for the yacht-races which are
taking place just now, one of the principal articles taken aboard is the
big basket filled with carrier-pigeons, and each bird has a brass band
on its foot. At different times during the race messages are written on
the thinnest of paper and made into small parcels. These are attached to
the band, and the birds thrown up into the air. A pair are usually sent
off together, as they fly better, it is thought, in that way.

For a moment they wheel about apparently dazed, poise themselves for
perhaps a second, and then fly straight for home.

On one of these races from half an hour to thirty-five minutes was the
longest time taken from the moment they were thrown into the air until
they arrived at their destination, and the messages were taken from
their feet. It was a beautiful sight, and a wondrous one, to see these
birds arrive. Curiously enough, in some instances they brought back with
them strange pigeons who had joined them on the trip, evidently much
interested to know the outcome of the yacht-race. The strange birds did
not stay at the cote after nightfall, and apparently felt themselves
quite out of place with pigeons of such intelligence.

It is now well proved that carrier-pigeons can be used to good purpose,
for the news of the yachts was by their aid conveyed much sooner to
headquarters than otherwise would have been possible, and the question
is now being discussed as to whether it will not be advisable for all
ocean steamships to carry them, so that if any vessel were disabled at
sea, and, as has often happened, met with no other steamer, by their
means word might be sent back to shore. An interesting article on this
very subject was published recently in one of the daily papers, giving
an account of an experiment that was tried and with great success. Five
thousand pigeons were put on board the _Manoubia_, sailing from Saint
Nazaire, and at distances varying from one hundred to five hundred miles
were liberated.

[Illustration: CARRIER-PIGEONS COMING TO THEIR COTE.]

The results were beyond the most sanguine hopes, for within a shorter
time than had been deemed possible they had all, almost without
exception, returned to their pigeon-houses.

It would not mean a great addition, either in money or care, to have
these birds on every ship that left the port, and certainly great good
might be done and endless anxiety saved in many instances, if
intelligence as to a disabled ship's whereabouts could reach her owners.

In order to make carrier-pigeons at home in any place they must be taken
there very young. Even birds six weeks old will make their way back to
the nest, the instant they are liberated, as distance is as nothing to
them. One pair sent out to Wilmington, Delaware, were kept shut up for
six weeks, fed and watered with the utmost care and regularity. The
seventh week they were set free, and at once disappeared. Their owner
telegraphed to their old home, and received an answer that the birds had
arrived there before his telegram was received.

One pair of the pigeons, which were named Annie Rooney and McGinty, were
given to a boy of eleven who lives in New York city. They were very
young when they were given to him, and he determined to train them so
that they would always make their home at his house. For six weeks he
kept them in his room in a mocking-bird cage, and was very careful about
the food and water. In the day-time he put the cage outside the window,
and when it rained covered it with a cloth, for pigeons, while they use
a great deal of water both to bathe in and to drink, do not like to be
out in the rain.

When six weeks were passed he opened the cage door and fastened it so
that the birds could go out. At first they were contented to poke their
heads out of the open door, but finally, after a great deal of
conversation (pigeons are great conversationalists), out they flew. They
seemed hardly to know the use of their wings at first, and circled
around in a dazed way, alighting on the top of a neighboring roof, where
they apparently had again a great deal to say to each other. For twenty
minutes they talked, then seemed to have made up their minds to try a
long flight, for with one graceful swoop into the air, off they flew.
Hours went by, and they did not return, and when it was nearly dark all
hope was abandoned; but suddenly there was a whir of wings, and Annie
Rooney came home. McGinty still was absent. Annie Rooney perched herself
on her roost, every feather rumpled up most disconsolately, while the
boy who owned them went to bed very low in his mind. At daylight next
morning he was awakened by such a cooing as he had never heard before.
Rushing to the window, there he saw McGinty, in the wildest excitement,
and with his head almost buried in the little dish which held the
drinking water.

From that day the cage was left outside, and the door taken off, so that
the birds might come and go as they chose.

Then, alas! began their troubles. So pleased were they with their little
journey into the world that they at once set out to explore the houses
near by, and every day a note was sent in from some neighbor to the
effect: "Extremely sorry, but your pigeons fly into my bedroom and knock
down all the ornaments." "Your birds insist upon walking up and down
under my bed, making most unearthly sounds; I am afraid of birds and
cannot stand having them in my house." "Again your birds have flown into
my windows, and are in the children's doll-house. They refuse to come
out, and make such a hideous noise as to alarm the children."

[Illustration: McGINTY, ANNIE ROONEY, AND A GUEST.]

These three notes were only samples of others, and after a family
conclave it was decided the pigeons must be sent away. Summer was coming
on, and it was finally concluded the country was the best place for
them.

Their owner took them in a covered basket to a farm on Long Island,
where they were put into a pigeon-house, and provided with water and
food. The next day they were apparently happy, so with many regrets they
were told good-by, and the boy returned to town.

It was a long journey--some hours--and it was rather a sad-faced youth
who mounted the steps and told his mother he had left his birds in the
country. It was then six o'clock in the evening. At ten minutes past six
there was a great fluttering of wings, and lo and behold, Annie Rooney
and McGinty had returned, and prouder and happier pigeons never were
seen.



ON BOARD THE ARK.

BY ALBERT LEE.


CHAPTER VII.

It seemed to Tommy as if the Gopher would never get enough. The little
boy had never before witnessed such voracity. By actual count he had
seen seventeen plates of soup vanish into his neighbor's system, and yet
there was no apparent ill effect. The Gopher threw each empty dish under
the table, so that the pile of crockery was now so high in front of his
chair that he could rest his feet on it.

"Really," said Tommy at last, "I never saw such a greedy thing as you in
all my life."

"I can't help it," answered the Gopher, complacently; "the eating
question is a most important one, and I'm afraid they'll all get up and
say dinner is over before I've had half enough."

"It seems to me that you have had more than enough. And, besides, I have
an aunt who says one should always arise from the table hungry."

"Never you mind that Ant," said the Gopher. "Ants don't count. They are
so little they can't hold anything, anyhow. As for getting up from the
table hungry, that is something I cannot understand. I always sit down
hungry: and it would never do to be hungry at both ends of the meal, now
would it?"

On reflection Tommy did not think it would, and as he had been more than
half inclined at the outset toward the Gopher's view of the case, they
soon agreed on this point. Then the little animal said,

"Thtsnawflyfnnyunsnt?"

"I can't understand you when you talk with your mouth full," replied
Tommy.

The Gopher made a great effort, and swallowed so hard that his eyes
fairly bulged. Then he said,

"That's an awfully funny one, isn't it?"

"What one?"

"The one next to you."

"Him?" said Tommy, pointing at the ex-Pirate.

"Um," continued the Gopher, nodding his head, for his mouth was full
again. "Ain't he?"

"He is a very nice gentleman," remarked Tommy, for lack of anything more
definite to say.

"What kind is he?" asked the Gopher.

"He's an ex-Pirate."

"A Pie Rat? Goodness, how he has changed!"

"Oh yes, he has changed," continued Tommy. "He is very good now. He has
entirely reformed."

"I should say he had. His form is entirely different. I knew a Pie Rat
once, but he was not at all like this one. _He_ does not look like a Pie
Rat at all."

"Oh yes he does!" exclaimed Tommy, eagerly, although he realized as soon
as he had spoken that he had never seen any real active pirate. But he
added, "He is all fixed up just like a real pirate."

"Well, he isn't," said the Gopher, dictatorially. "The Pie Rat I knew
looked like any other rat, but he only ate pie. Does this one eat pie?"

"Did you say rat?" asked Tommy.

"I said Pie Rat," answered the Gopher.

"Well, you don't want to let him hear you say rat. You must say
ex-Pirate; that means that he is not a pirate any more."

"That's just what I said," persisted the Gopher. "I said he did not look
like a Pie Rat, and so he is not a Pie Rat, and that's all there is to
it." Then he threw up his hands and shouted, "Oh my! look at that!"

Tommy glanced up toward the head of the table, and saw that the Lion was
helping himself to fully half of what had been placed before him.

"What a lot he takes!" remarked the little boy, in surprise.

"Always," said the Gopher. "But it's the Lion's share, and I suppose he
is entitled to it. I wish I was a Lion."

"I don't," said Tommy, hastily, for he felt that he much preferred a
small animal like the Gopher for a neighbor to a possible Lion.

"Well, I don't really believe I would like to be a Lion, after all," the
Gopher went on to say. "If I could make myself all over again, I should
be part Elephant, part Camel, and part Giraffe."

"What a funny-looking creature you would be!"

"Oh, I would not mind that. I don't care much about appearances. Eating
is what interests me."

"I should think so," commented Tommy.

"And then think of the advantages of such a combination," pursued the
Gopher. "If I were part Elephant I should be as big as any animal; and
if I were part Camel I should have four stomachs; and then I should want
a Giraffe's neck. Just think of how long things taste good in a
Giraffe's throat. Why, it's two yards long! And mine is only about half
an inch. How many times better does a piece of pie taste to a Giraffe
than it does to me?"

"I don't know," answered Tommy Toddles, very promptly.

"Well, I've figured it all out many a time," added the Gopher, "and I
can tell you. A throat two yards long is twice thirty-six inches long,
isn't it?"

"Yes."

"That's seventy-two inches. And if my throat is only half an inch long,
the Giraffe's throat is one hundred and forty-four times as long as
mine, and so the pie tastes one hundred and forty-four times as good."

[Illustration: THE LION CALLED THE ASSEMBLED MULTITUDE TO ORDER.]

Tommy marvelled at the Gopher's proficiency in arithmetic, but his mind
soon reverted to the question at hand, and he began to wonder how much
better pie would taste if his own neck was one hundred and forty-four
inches long. He was going to ask his neighbor for further information on
the subject, but when he turned around toward the Gopher he saw that the
little animal had in some way gotten possession of the soup-tureen, and
had thrust his head into it, and was almost drowning because he could
not get it out. And then, just as the ex-Pirate and Tommy had rescued
the Gopher from a soupy grave, the Lion arose at the head of the table,
and pounded loudly on the board and called the assembled multitude to
order.

When silence had spread over the room, the King of Beasts announced that
the Goat had eaten the passenger list and other important notices off
the bulletin board, and that it was thus impossible for him as
toast-master to know who was present and who was not, and so he could
not call on any one by name to make a speech. He added, however, that
any one who desired to make a speech might do so, or, instead of a
speech, any animal could sing a song or tell a story. Having made this
announcement, the Lion sat down again; and all the animals glared
frowningly upon the Goat, who stroked his whiskers nervously and looked
embarrassed, either because of these rebuking glances or possibly
because of the antediluvian ink on the passenger list.

"I feel awfully sorry for that Goat," whispered the Gopher to Tommy.

"Why don't you get up and make a speech then, and distract the general
attention?"

"I don't know any speech," answered the Gopher; "but I know a joke."

"Tell the joke," urged Tommy; and so the Gopher stood up in his chair,
and took off his pink sun-bonnet, and said he wanted to tell his joke.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]



A STORY OF CORN-BREAD AND CROWS.

BY DORA READ GOODALE.


  Two sportsmen one morning, right dashing to view
  In velvet and buckskin from helmet to shoe.
  Were passing the field where the river runs by,
  When they chanced in the distance a figure to spy--
  Such a figure as farmers, from time out of ken,
  Convinced that in clothes is the measure of men,
  Have fashioned in spring-time of brushwood and hay
  For the cheating of Solons more crafty than they.

  "Sir Scarecrow; behold him!" the first hunter cries--
  "What a marvel of rags which a Jew would despise!
  Here's a fig for the bird that so witless appears
  When he's lived among Yankees a good fifty years--
  If the fowl really flies that his corn-bread would miss
  For a wooden-legged, broken-backed puppet like this!
  Come, choose a few nubbins to roast on the spot,
  While I pepper his crown with a capful of shot."

  Now the farmer that morning was tilling his soil,
  Flushed, ragged, and sunbrowned, and grimy with toil,
  When pausing a moment, as all farmers will,
  He spied our two friends coming over the hill.
  "Good land!" quoth the rustic, "a nice thing it is
  Fer two city fellers to ketch me like this!"
  Then, dropping his hoe, he exclaims with a grin,
  "Young chaps, I'll be blessed ef I don't take you in!"

  So, urging his slow wits to cope with the case,
  He jerks his old hat down to cover his face,
  Stretches limb like a windmill that spreads to the breeze,
  Draws his fists up like turtles and stiffens his knees;
  Yet a tremor of fun through the homespun appears
  As the sound of that parley floats back to his ears,
  And the honest ears burn as it calls up the words
  Which declare that in plumes is the making of birds!

  One moment the huntsman his target surveys,
  While his laughing companion is gleaning the maize,
  When that fetich of bumpkins, that burlesque in bran,
  Starts, twitches, grows limber, shouts, moves--is a man;
  "Git enough fer a roast, while ye're gittin'," drawls he.
  "Ef I ain't quite the blockhead you tuk me to be.
  W'y, it's nater sence Adam to run arter clo'es,
  But _I'd go sort o' slow as to corn-bread an' crows_!"



HOW REDDY GAINED HIS COMMISSION.

BY CAPTAIN CHARLES A. CURTIS, U.S.A.


Part II.

When Reddy found himself in the water, he realized the impossibility of
swimming to the shore, and began to struggle in an effort to reach the
jam. This jam had its origin in a group of sandstone bowlders in the
centre of the river, on the edge of the rapids. The river débris had
collected and compacted about them into several square yards of solid
surface. To the corporal and his fellow soldiers, now gathered on the
shore and watching the swimmer, it seemed that the boy must be carried
past to certain death.

They were about giving him up for lost when they saw him snatch at a
branch attached to the edge of the jam and swing himself about, then
reach a protruding log and climb out. Instantly he ran to the outer end
of the log and reached his floating oar. With the oar he caught the
prow of the boat, and swinging it within reach of his hands, drew it out
of the water.

The soldiers gazed at the stranded boys in perplexity. There seemed no
chance of rescuing them. They knew of no other boat nearer than the next
government post, nor would a raft be of use at the head of the roaring
fall. The stream was too deep for wading and too near the plunge for
swimming. The corporal quickly mounted the mule and rode to the fort to
report the lads' plight to the commanding officer.

As soon as possible an ambulance containing the officers and Mrs.
Maloney started for the river. They brought some tools, a spare oar, and
several coils of rope. A few moments later nearly all the men of the
garrison not on duty lined the southern shore. Mrs. Maloney's worst
fears seemed to be realized when she saw her son clinging helplessly to
the snag in mid-stream. Her anguish was heart-rending.

"Ah, Teddy b'y!" she screamed, oblivious to the fact that he could not
hear her voice above the roar of the water, "don't ye let go the tray,
darlint! Howld on till hilp gets t' yez!"

But how to get to them, or to get anything to them, was a serious
question. The soldiers were brave and willing men, but they did not
possess the skill of river-drivers nor the appliances and tools of the
craft. If the boys were only a mile farther up stream, clear of the
rapids, a score of swimmers could take lines out to them; or, for that
matter, the boys could swim ashore without assistance. The close
vicinity of the snag to the plunging and tumultuous descent in the river
made all the difference.

Experiment after experiment was tried. Several brave fellows in turn
tied the end of the rope to their waists and swam out; but the current
pulling at the slack between them and the shore drew them back. Another
went far up stream and swam out, while the shore end of the rope was
carried down by comrades at the same rate as the flow of the current. He
succeeded in grasping the snag; but the instant he paused the titanic
force of the water tore him away, burying him beneath the surface. He
was drawn ashore nearly drowned.

The commanding officer was about to send to the fort for material for a
raft and an anchor, when his attention was called to the boy on the jam.
After the failure of the last attempt to rescue his friend, Reddy was
seen to approach the boat and launch it. He then drew it to the end of
the log previously mentioned, held it by the stern, with the prow
pointed downward, and appeared to be looking for a passage through the
submerged bowlders. Presently he turned towards his friends on shore,
swung the oar over his head, stepped on board, and was quickly out of
sight.

A cry of alarm went up from the soldiers when Reddy disappeared, and
they with one accord started on a run down the shore. At the foot of the
steep descent they found the brave boy paddling his skiff into a quiet
eddy.

He was greeted with vociferous enthusiasm, and a dozen men shouldered
him and the boat, and carried them back to the landing. There a line was
attached to the stern of the skiff, and a strong man rowed out toward
the snag, but the current dragged it back precisely as it had the
swimmers. Captain Bartlett next ordered the boat to be towed a quarter
of a mile up stream, and as it floated down and was rowed outward he
directed the shore end of the line to be carried along with it.

It became quickly evident to the spectators that the skiff would reach
the snag, and an involuntary cheer went up, Mrs. Maloney waving her
apron and screaming with tearful joy. But through some blunder, or lack
of skill, the original accident was repeated. The wherry dropped
sideways against the tree and was swamped. This time, however, a line
being attached, the skiff was drawn free, and swung back to the shore by
the pull of the current. The man clung to the boat and was landed at the
crest of the rapid.

The anguish of the poor mother at the failure of what had promised to be
a certain rescue of her son was pitiful. She fell upon her knees, wrung
her hands, and sobbed in abject despair. Reddy approached, stooped
beside her, and placing an arm about her neck, said:

"Do not cry, Mrs. Maloney; I'm going to ask the Captain to let me go to
Teddy, and I'll have him here with you in no time."

"No, no, child. Don't ye be dhrownded, too. Nothing can save me b'y now
ahl the min have failed."

"But I mean to try it, Mrs. Maloney. Dry your tears and watch me do it."

Teddy Maloney on the snag in mid-stream was now suffering intensely.
Seated upon a tree trunk barely ten inches in diameter, and kept from
flipping down its slope by a rugged knot, his position was almost
unendurable. For five hours he had clung there hatless and coatless,
with his back to a broiling sun. Dazed by suffering and dizzied by the
leaping, gliding, and wrinkling water that gurgled and pulled at his
half-submerged legs, he was still conscious of the efforts being made
for his rescue. He saw Reddy shoot the rapids, and with a growing
conviction that he could not hold on much longer, he wondered why his
boy friend did not come to his aid. "He is the only one in the whole
crowd that knows anything about a boat. Why don't they let him do
something?" thought poor Teddy.

As if in answer to this silent appeal, Redmond Carter at the same moment
approached Captain Bartlett and begged permission to go for his comrade.

"But, Carter, how can you expect to accomplish what these older and
stronger men have failed to do?" asked the Captain.

"They do not know what to do, sir. I was born on the Kennebec, sir. I
have run barefooted on booms, rafts, and jams, and have boated in birch
canoes, dugouts, punts, and yawls, and I can run a rapid, as you have
just seen."

"A Kennebec boy, Reddy!" said the officer, for the first time using the
boy's pet name. "I know what Kennebec boys could do when I was one of
them. Yon may try it; but be careful."

Reddy sprang into the boat and began rowing up stream in the shore eddy.
Reaching the desired distance he turned into the middle of the river,
and changing his seat to the stern and using an oar for a paddle, he
dropped down the current toward the snag. As he neared it, he saw
Teddy's hands relax and his body sway slightly to the right.

"Hold on, Teddy!" he shouted. "Keep your grip! I'm right here!"

Gliding along the right side of the trunk he stayed the motion of the
skiff by grasping it with his left hand.

"Tumble in, Teddy--quick!" he said.

Teddy obeyed, literally falling into the bottom of the boat, limp and
sprawling between the thwarts.

[Illustration: DOWN, DOWN THE BOILING, FOAMING, ROARING DESCENT HE
SPED.]

Reddy let go the trunk, went towards the rapids, raking the crest at the
same place he had taken it before. Down, down the boiling, foaming,
roaring descent he sped, plying his oar with all his might, lest in
turning a frothing Scylla he might be hurled upon a threatening
Charybdis. His former success attended him.

Again the soldiers ran to meet him at the foot of the watery slope,
filling the air with shouts as they ran. But the sight of Teddy lying
senseless in the bottom of the boat, checked further joyous
demonstration. He was tenderly lifted in stalwart arms and borne to a
grassy knoll near by, where he was received by his anxious mother and
the surgeon. Restorative treatment brought him back to consciousness,
and he was taken at once to the fort. The wherry was again carried to
the landing before the hay-camp, and the crowd of soldiers dispersed
through the ravines and groves in the direction of their barracks.

Captain Bartlett accompanied Redmond Carter to the place where the mule
and pony were picketed, and, saying that he would ride Puss to the post,
ordered one of the men to saddle her, and entered into conversation with
the boy.

"I think you are out of place in the army, Carter," said he.

"What, sir! Have I not always done my duty well?" asked Reddy, in
dismay.

"Much better than the average soldier. But that is not what I mean. You
seem qualified for something better than the position you occupy. You
are not of the material from which the army is usually recruited. This
slip of paper, found beside the orderly bench at the office," observed
the officer, handing the boy his sketch of the Trojan horse with the
accompanying Latin sentence, "shows that you have been a student. I do
not know what accident brought you here, but I think school is the
proper place for you."

"Nothing would please me better, sir, than to be able to return to
school; but it is not possible at present."

"Are you willing to tell me how you come to be in the service?"

"Yes, sir; it is not a long story," replied the young soldier. "My
father and mother died when I was too young to remember them, and I was
left to the care of a guardian, who sent me to school, and afterwards to
an academy, where I prepared for college. I passed my entrance
examination to the Freshman class in June, and expected to go on in
September; but the failure of companies in which my property had been
invested left me destitute, and I gave it up."

"But you have relatives?"

"Lots of them; but they showed little inclination to help me. There had
been some family differences that I never understood, and I was too
proud to go begging for assistance. I shipped on a granite-schooner for
Philadelphia. I was miserably seasick the whole trip, and was discharged
by the master of the vessel without pay. Having no money I could not
find food while looking for work. I obtained an odd job now and then,
but soon wore my clothes to rags, so that no respectable establishment
would think of hiring me. I slept on the streets, and frequently passed
a day without proper food. One day I passed a recruiting-office, and it
suggested a means of escape from destitution. I enlisted as a fifer, and
was assigned to your company."

"And you have been with me ten months," said the Captain. "I suppose
your relatives cannot trace you?"

"They might trace me to Philadelphia," replied Reddy; "but the trail
becomes dark there. Even if they suspected I had enlisted--which is not
likely--they could not find me, for the recruiting sergeant blundered in
registering my name. He put me down as Redmond A. Carter, when he should
have written it Raymond J. Corser."

"Not a rare mistake of the recruiting officer. So you are of the General
Corser family?"

"He was my grandfather."

"Then you have only to communicate with your relatives in order to get
out of the army. Yours is an influential family."

"I shall serve out my enlistment, sir. The army has served me a good
turn, and when I am discharged I shall be in better condition to find
employment than in Philadelphia."

"But what has become of your college aspirations?"

"It will still be possible to accomplish that. Sergeant Von Wald and I
are studying together, and I think I shall be able to enter Sophomore.
Poor boys have worked their way before."

"I have noticed Von Wald. Is he a scholar?"

"Please not to mention it, sir; he is a German university man. When I am
discharged I shall have most of my five years' pay, and considerable
savings on clothing not drawn. I expect it will amount to nearly eight
hundred dollars."

For a few moments the officer said nothing, but gazed reflectively
across the rushing and roaring river. At last he turned again toward the
boy and asked, "How would you like to be an officer in the army,
Carter?"

"I should like it above all things, sir; but it is not possible. While I
might make a struggle single-handed through college, I could scarcely
hope to secure an appointment to West Point."

"Still there is a way. The late Congress passed a law allowing men who
have served two years in the army, and been favorably recommended by
their officers, to be examined for appointment to the grade of second
lieutenant. Yon have a little more than four years to serve. In that
time you will have reached the required age, and Lieutenant Dayton and I
can give you the necessary instruction. What do you say?"

"I'll make a hard struggle for it, sir, if you will afford me the
chance."


       *       *       *       *       *

Five years later Sergeant Redmond A. Carter passed a successful
examination for a second lieutenantcy in the army, and was commissioned
in the artillery under his proper name, Raymond J. Corser.

Edward Maloney, who excelled in physical rather than intellectual
attainments, continued in the service, becoming at the time of his
second enlistment first sergeant of Captain Bartlett's company.



OAKLEIGH

BY ELLEN DOUGLAS DELAND.


CHAPTER XIII.

During these early months of the year a change had come over Miss Betsey
Trinkett's life. Silas Green had died.

Mr. and Mrs. Franklin went to Wayborough for the funeral, and found Miss
Betsey quite broken.

"To think that the day was fixed at last," she said, "and he died only
the week before. Well, well, it does seem passing queer, after all these
years. It doesn't do to put a thing off too long. And yet, perhaps, it's
all for the best, for if I'd given up and gone down there to live, I
should have had nothing now to look at but the Soldiers' Monument, and
I'd have felt real lonesome without the Merrimac."

And with this consolation the old lady took up her life again, and found
it very much the same thing it had been before, with the exception of
Sunday night. On that evening she would not have the lamps lighted, but
would sit in her favorite window and look out across the valley at her
beloved view, her eyes turned in that direction long after it became too
dark to see.

Sometimes then she regretted that she had not yielded to Silas's
arguments, and gone to live in the house in the village. It would have
pleased him. And it seemed very lonely Sunday night without Silas.

After a while--it was a day or two after the communications came from
Bronson--Mr. Franklin received a letter from his aunt. She was pretty
well, but felt as if she had not heard from them for a long time. She
would send Willy's present soon. Had Janet's been placed in the
savings-bank? She had not heard from Janet since she sent it. Why did
not the child write?

As nothing had come to Janet from Miss Trinkett, this caused some
surprise.

"I am afraid Aunt Betsey has trusted to government once too often," said
Mr. Franklin, "for evidently the package has gone astray. I wonder what
was there besides the gold dollars?"

"Something to make it an odd-looking package, you may be sure, papa,"
said Cynthia.

Mr. Franklin inquired of the postmaster. That personage was a nervous
little man, much harassed with the responsibilities and duties of his
position.

"Something lost, Mr. Franklin? Now that's very strange. I can't think
it's lost. Yes, I remember a number of odd-looking packages that have
come for your family from Wayborough. There may have been one lately,
though I can't say for sure. Let me see. I remember young Gordon coming
for the mail one day, and getting--no, he didn't get one, he sent it--a
money-order. Happen to remember it because he paid for it in gold.
That's all I can safely say about anything, Mr. Franklin. There may have
been a package. What did you say, miss? Stamps and postal-cards? Yes,
yes." And the busy little man turned to the next comer.

Mr. Franklin left the office with a thoughtful face. He was a very
impulsive man, too apt to say the first thing that occurred to him,
without regard to consequences. Therefore when he got into the carriage
and, taking the reins from Edith, drove hurriedly out High Street
towards Oakleigh, he exclaimed:

"I am almost inclined to believe that Neal knows more about Aunt
Betsey's present to Janet than any of us."

Janet, who was perched on the back seat, heard her own name mentioned,
and proceeded to listen attentively. Both her father and sister forgot
that she was there, and she took especial pains not to remind them of
her presence.

"How do you mean, papa?" asked Edith.

"I think it is a remarkable coincidence, if nothing more. I had a letter
the other day from young Bronson, stating that Neal owed him fifty
dollars. The same night I had another letter from him, saying that he
had received a money-order from Neal for the amount. We questioned Neal,
and he would give no satisfactory answer as to where he got the money.
The postmaster tells me that Neal paid for his money-order in gold. Aunt
Betsey's present to Janet is missing; we all know that Aunt Betsey
always sends gold. The postmaster seems to think that a package may have
come through the office to us, though he is not absolutely certain of
it. What more natural than to suppose that the gold Neal had was meant
for Janet? He may have called for the mail that day, recognized the
package from Aunt Betsey, and the temptation was too much for him."

"Oh, papa!" cried Edith, much shocked. "I can't believe that Neal would
do a thing like that."

"I can't either," said her father, cutting the air with his whip in his
impatience, and making his horse prance madly--"I can't either, and I am
sure I don't want to! Let us forget that I said it, Edith. Don't think
of it again, and on no account repeat what I said. The idea came into my
head, and I spoke without thinking. I wouldn't have Hester know it for
the world. But it is strange, isn't it, that Neal paid gold for his
money-order. Where did he get it?"

"It is strange, papa, but indeed I think Neal is honest. I am sure--oh,
I am very sure--that it couldn't have been Janet's."

"Then where did he get it?" repeated Mr. Franklin, with another cut of
his whip.

"Perhaps Mrs. Franklin gave it to him."

"Of course she didn't," exclaimed her father, with irritation, "and I
wish you would oblige me, Edith, by not calling my wife 'Mrs. Franklin.'
If you do not choose to speak of her as the rest of my children do, you
can at least call her 'Hester.' You annoy me beyond measure."

Edith turned very white as she said: "I am sorry, papa. Then I will call
her nothing. I can't possibly say 'mamma' to her, and I don't feel like
speaking to her by her first name."

"What nonsense is all this!" said Mr. Franklin. "I am thoroughly
disappointed in you, Edith."

"I don't know why you should be, papa. I have nothing to do with it. If
the Gordons had not come here this would never have happened. The money
would not be missing, you wouldn't have had the letters from Tony
Bronson, and I--oh, I would have been so much happier!"

"If you are not happy, it is entirely your own fault," said her father,
sternly. "Now let me hear no more of these absurd notions of yours. I
have too much to think of that is of more importance."

Edith wanted to cry, but she controlled herself. She was to drive with
her father over to Upper Falls, where he had to attend to some business,
and now she had made him seriously angry, she knew. She swallowed the
lumps that rose in her throat, and presently she managed to speak on
some indifferent subject; but her father made no reply, and they soon
turned in at Oakleigh gates. Janet, the small, quiet person on the back
seat, could scarcely wait to get home. She must find Neal at once.

But Neal was not easily to be found. She trotted up to his room, but he
was not there. She went to the cellar stairs and called, but Neal had
neglected his duties of late as partner in the poultry business; in
fact, he had retired altogether, and the eggs reposed there alone. Janet
was not allowed to descend the stairs because of her misdemeanors last
year.

She went to the workshop, but all was quiet. Looking out from the upper
window, however, she spied Bob in the pasture; perhaps Neal was with
him. She went down and unfastened the big gate that opened into the
barn-yard.

Country child though she was, Janet was sorely afraid of venturing
through the barn-yard alone. Were there any pigs there? Yes, there were
a great many. Janet detested pigs, ugly-looking creatures! And there
were some cows also, and she had on her red jacket. She promptly laid it
aside and made a bold rush through the yard.

On the whole, she rather enjoyed the excitement. She was alone, for
Willy had gone to Boston with her mother, and Cynthia and Jack were at
school. Janet felt herself enjoying an unlooked-for holiday owing to the
illness of her teacher, and she was about to fulfil the proverb which
tells of the occupation that is found for idle hands to do, though in
this case it was an idle tongue.

The dangers of the barn-yard overcome, Janet pursued her way along the
cart-road that led to the far meadow, and there, sitting on a rock near
the river, she found the object of her search. He was whittling a boat
while he pondered moodily about his affairs.

"Neal, Neal!" she called, breathless from excitement and haste, "I want
to speak to you. What have you done with my present?"

"Where did you come from, you small imp?" said Neal, with lazy
good-nature. Preoccupied though he was, he was fond of children, and
particularly of mischief-loving Janet, and he was not sorry to have his
solitude relieved by her coming.

"Where's my present?" repeated Janet; "I want it dreadful bad."

"Your present! What do you mean, young one? You don't suppose for an
instant that I'm making this boat for you, do you?"

"Boat!" cried Janet, disdainfully; "I don't want any old boat; I want
Aunt Betsey's present."

"I suppose you do. I would myself if I were so lucky as to own an Aunt
Betsey. But I'm afraid I can't help you in that line, my child."

"Yes, you can," said Janet, tugging at his elbow; "you can too. You've
got it. Papa said so."

"Got what?"

"Aunt Betsey's present. He and the postmaster man said you took it."

"Said I took it?"

"Yes. Come, Neal, give it to me. I don't want the gold dollars--you can
have those--but I'd like the funny thing she sent with them. Aunt Betsey
allus sends funny things. Come along, Neal. Give it to me."

"Did your father say I took that money?"

"Yes, he did. Didn't I say so lots of times? Edith said you didn't, and
papa said you did. What's the matter with your face? It looks awful
funny."

"Never mind what it looks like. Tell me what your father said."

[Illustration: "OH, I DON'T KNOW WHAT HE SAID, AND I'VE TOLD YOU TEN
HUNDRED TIMES."]

"Oh, I don't know what he said, and I've told you ten hundred times.
Don't hold my arm so tight; it hurts. Let me go, Neal."

"I won't, till you tell me what he said."

"I'll never tell unless you let go. I'll scream, and people'll know
you're killing me dead, and then you'll get punished."

She opened wide her mouth and gave a long, piercing shriek.

"Oh, hush up!" exclaimed Neal, roughly; "if I let go will you tell me?"

"Yes, if you'll give me that boat. I think I'd like it, after all."

Neal released her and thrust the boat into her hand.

"Now what?" he said.

"Oh, nothing much, except papa came out of the post-office and told
Edith the postmaster man said maybe you'd taken Aunt Betsey's package,
'cause you gave him some gold dollars. And papa said it must have been
my present,'cause you couldn't get gold dollars any other way, no-how,
and papa was mad, I guess, 'cause his face looked the way it does when
some of us chillens is naughty, with his mouth all shut up tight. There,
that's all. Now, Neal, give me the thing Aunt Betsey sent."

"I haven't got it and I never had it. And now good-by to you, every one
of you, forever! Do you hear? Forever! I'm not going to stay another
minute in a place where I'm insulted."

He strode away, and Janet, frightened at she knew not what, sat down on
a rock and began to cry. How very queer Neal was, and how queer his face
looked! She wondered what he was going to do. Perhaps he was going down
to the cellar to smash all the eggs. He looked that way.

She sat there awhile, but it was cool without the red jacket, left on
the other side of the barn-yard--for although it was spring according to
the almanac, there was still a sharpness in the air--and very soon she
too went towards home. She had not found Aunt Betsey's present, after
all, and she had nothing to repay her for her search but a half-made
wooden boat and an aching arm.

And there were those pigs, still at large. She got through safely, but
left the gate open, thereby allowing the animals to escape, and
incurring the wrath of the farmer.

When she reached the house Neal was not to be found. There was no one at
home, for Edith and her father had driven over to Upper Falls on
business, after leaving Janet at the door. There was nothing to do but
to go out and tease the good-natured kitchen-maid into giving her a huge
slice of bread and butter and sugar. Mary Ann and Martha, the old
servants, would never do it, but the youthful Amanda was more lenient.

"Where's Neal, 'Manda?" asked Janet, as she munched the delicious
portion which was placed before her. They were in the pantry, beyond the
sight of the other maids.

"I don't know. He came a-stalkin' past the kitching windies a little
while ago, an' I heard him run up stairs an' down like a house a-fire,
an' out the front door with a bang."

"Guess he's excited," murmured Janet, with her mouth full; "guess that
must be it. He's gone off mad. We had a fight out in the pasture."

"La, child! What do you mean?"

"Oh, I'm not going to say any more, 'cept me and Neal, we fit a fight in
the pasture. I made him awful mad," with another huge bite.

"La, child, you do beat everything! But there's Mary Ann calling me.
Don't you take a bit more sugar. Now mind!"

But Janet, left to herself in the pantry, made a fine repast.

The family came home to dinner, with the exception of Mr. Franklin and
Edith, and although Neal's absence was commented upon, no one thought
anything of it. He frequently went off for a long day alone on the
river.

When the meal was nearly over and dessert had been placed upon the
table, Janet thought that she would announce what had taken place. She
felt quite important at being the cause of Neal's disappearance.

"Guess Neal's awful mad with me," she said, suddenly. No one paid much
attention. She would try again. "Guess Neal's awful mad with me 'bout
what I said 'bout Aunt Betsey's present."

"What did you say about it?" asked Jack, who sat next to her. There was
a lull in the conversation, and every one heard her reply.

"Oh, I told him to give it to me. I said papa said he took it, and he
could have the gold dollars, but I wanted the funny thing. Why, maybe it
was a doll or a purse or some other nice thing. Course I wanted it. My,
though, Neal was mad!"

"What did you tell him, Janet?" asked Mrs. Franklin, in much
astonishment; "that your father said Neal had taken your present? When
did he say so, and what do you mean?"

"Goody, mamma, you're asking 'most as many questions as Neal did. Guess
you're excited, like he was. I told him papa said he'd taken my present
from Aunt Betsey. The postmaster man said so this morning. And Neal
looked awful queer when I told him, and he hurted my arm awful bad. And
then he went off and left me."

Mrs. Franklin became very white. "I think you will have to excuse me,
children. I--I do not feel very well. I will go lie down. Jack, your
arm, please."

Jack sprang to help her, and led her from the room. Cynthia only wailed
to scold Janet for her idle chatter, and then followed.

"But it's true, Cynthia," her small sister called after her. "It's true,
and you're real mean to say it isn't. You just ask Edith."

When Mr. Franklin returned and learned that his hastily uttered words of
the morning had been repeated to his wife and to Neal, he was distressed
beyond measure. "My dear, I never meant it," he said. "Hester, you must
know that I could not really believe that Neal would do such a thing. It
was impossible to help remarking upon the singular coincidence. I never
thought the child would hear me. What shall I do with her? She ought not
to have repeated what I said."

"Do nothing, John. Janet is not to blame; naturally, a child of her age
would get it wrong. But oh, I am relieved to find you did not really
think it! It gave me such a shock to hear that you thought him capable
of such an action."

"Where is the boy? I want to tell him myself."

But Neal could not be found. Cynthia and Jack hunted over the place,
looking for him in all his haunts. He was not on the river, for his
canoe was in its place. He had not gone to the village, for no horse was
out, and whether he had walked or driven, his sister would have met him
when she returned from Boston. He could not have gone for a walk, for
Bob had been left at home, and Neal never walked without Bob.

A horrible foreboding seized Cynthia. What if Neal had run away? But no;
surely he would never do such a thing. The idea of her even thinking of
it, when such a course would only make people believe that he had really
taken the money. Cynthia scolded herself severely for having allowed the
supposition to come into her mind. But where was he? As a last resource
she called Janet to her and again questioned the child closely. They
were standing on the drive in front of the house.

"What did Neal say to you, Janet, when he went off?"

"Oh, he was awful mad, I told you, Cynthia. He was just mad."

"But did he say anything?"

"Oh yes, lots. But I forget what."

"Can't you remember anything, Janet? Not one word? Did he say where he
was going?"

"No-o," drawled Janet, "he just said-- My, Cynthia, look at that
bluebird! It's a real bluebird, sure's you're alive. Wish I could catch
him."

"But, Janet, never mind the bird. What did Neal say?"

"Oh, he said good-by and he was going. Cynthia, I b'lieve if I had some
salt to put on that bird's tail I could catch him. Mayn't I, Cynthia?
Mayn't I get some salt and put it on his tail?"

"No, you can't!" cried Cynthia, stamping her foot. "I do wish you would
tell me all Neal said."

"There, now, you're in an angry passion," observed her small sister,
gazing at her calmly; "you've let your angry passions rise. You
frightened that bird away, a-stampin' of your foot that way. Aren't you
'shamed!"

"Oh, Janet, never mind. Please tell me. Did he really say good-by?"

"Will you give me your coral necklace if I tell you all he said?" said
Janet, who was ever prompt to seize an opportunity.

"Yes, yes! Anything!"

"Well, he said-- Are you sure you mean it, Cynthia? I want the coral
necklace with the nice little gold clasp and--"

"Yes, I know," groaned Cynthia. "I've only got one coral necklace, you
dreadful child! Go on, _do_ go on!"

"My, Cynthia! You're terrible impatient, and I guess your angry passions
have riz again. Well, he said, 'Good-by forever; I'm going away;' and
off he went."

"Was that all? Truthfully, Janet?"

"Yes, truthfully all. He said he wouldn't stay any longer 'cause he was
salted, or something."

"Salted!"

"Yes, or 'sulted, or some word like that."

"_In_sulted, do you mean?"

"Yes, I guess so. And now where's the necklace?"

[TO BE CONTINUED.]



STORIES OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.

BY HENRIETTA CHRISTIAN WRIGHT.

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.


[Illustration: Decorative L]

Late on almost any summer day early in this century a blue-eyed,
brown-haired lad might have been seen lying under a great apple-tree in
the garden of an old house in Portland, forgetful of everything else in
the world save the book he was reading.

The boy was Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, and the book might have been
_Robinson Crusoe_, _The Arabian Nights_, _Don Quixote_, all of which
were favorites; or possibly it was Irving's _Sketch Book_, of which he
was so fond that even the covers delighted him, and whose charm remained
unbroken throughout life. Years afterward, when, as a famous man of
letters, he was called upon to pay his tribute to the memory of Irving,
he could think of no more tender praise than to speak with grateful
affection of the book which had so fascinated him as a boy, and whose
pages still led him back into the "haunted chamber of youth."

It was during Longfellow's childhood that the British ship _Boxer_ was
captured by the _Enterprise_ in the famous sea-fight of the war of 1812;
the two captains who had fallen in the battle were buried side by side
in the cemetery at Portland, and the whole town came together to do
honor to the dead commanders. Long years afterward Longfellow speaks of
this incident in his poem entitled "My Lost Youth," and recalls the
sounds of the cannon booming over the waters, and the solemn stillness
that followed the news of the victory.

[Illustration: THE SPANISH SAILORS WITH BEARDED LIPS.]

It is in this same poem that we have a picture of the Portland of his
early life, and are given glimpses of the black wet wharves where were
the ships moored, and the Spanish sailors, "with bearded lips," who
seemed as much a mystery to the boy as the ships themselves. These came
and went across the sea, always watched and waited for with greatest
interest by the children who loved the excitement of the unloading and
loading, the shouts of the surveyors who were measuring the contents of
cask and hogshead, the songs of the negroes working the pulleys, the
jolly good nature of the seamen strolling through the streets, and,
above all, the sight of the strange treasures that came from time to
time into one home or another--bits of coral, beautiful sea-shells,
birds of resplendent plumage, foreign coins, which looked odd even in
Portland, where all the money nearly was Spanish, and the hundred and
one things dear to the hearts of sailors and children. It was during his
school-boy days that Longfellow published his first bit of verse. It was
inspired by hearing the story of a famous fight which took place on the
shores of a small lake called Lovell's Pond, between the two Lovells and
the Indians. Longfellow was deeply impressed by this story, and threw
his feeling of admiration into four stanzas, which he carried with a
beating heart down to the letter-box of the _Portland Gazette_, taking
an opportunity to slip the manuscript in when no one was looking.

[Illustration: HIS FIRST POEM.]

The next morning Longfellow watched his father unfold the paper, read
it, slowly before the fire, and finally leave the room, when the sheet
was grasped by the boy and his sister, who shared his confidence, and
hastily scanned. The poem was there in the "poets' corner" of the
_Gazette_, and Longfellow was so filled with exultant joy that he spent
the greater part of the remainder of the day in reading and rereading
the verses, becoming convinced toward evening that they promised
remarkable merit. His happiness was dimmed, however, a few hours later,
when the father of a boy friend, with whom he was passing the evening,
pronounced the verses stiff and entirely lacking in originality.
Longfellow slipped away as soon as possible to nurse his wounded
feelings in his own room, and instead of letting the incident discourage
him, began with renewed vigor to write verses, epigrams, essays, and
tragedies, which he produced in a literary partnership with one of his
boy friends. None of these effusions had any literary value, being no
better than any boy of thirteen or fourteen would produce if he turned
his attention to literature instead of to bat and ball.

Longfellow remained in Portland until his sixteenth year, when he went
to Bowdoin College, entering the Sophomore Class. Here he remained for
three years, gradually coining a name for scholarship and character that
was second to none. However much he enjoyed college sports and fun, he
never distinguished himself in any act that called for even the mildest
censure from the college authorities. The love of order, the instinct of
obedience to proper authority, and his naturally quiet tastes kept him
from any transgression of the rules that seemed irksome to those of more
excitable natures and less carefully trained. Through his entire college
career Longfellow kept the respect and affection of many of the students
whose natural tendencies led them often into mischief, but who none the
less highly esteemed the graver qualities of their friend.

Immediately after his graduation he was offered the chair of modern
languages in Bowdoin, with permission from the college authorities to
visit Europe for the purpose of fitting himself for his new duties.
Accordingly at the age of nineteen Longfellow sailed for France,
visiting also Spain, Italy, and Germany, meeting with adventure
everywhere, and storing up memory after memory that came back in
after-years to serve some purpose of his art. We have thus preserved in
his works the impressions that Europe then made upon a young American
who had come there to supplement his education by studying at the
universities, and whose mind was alive to all the culture denied it in
his own land. The grandeur of the world of antique art preserved in the
museums, the works of living artists whose names were famous, the
magnificence of the cathedrals and palaces, the thousand memories
clustered around the old historic towns and cities, the picturesque
details of peasant life, the gay student life which was so unlike that
of the American youth that it seemed a different world, all struck
Longfellow with a new and pleasant feeling of richness, as if the world
had suddenly become wider, and full of stores of unsuspected wealth. One
of Longfellow's great pleasures while on this trip was the meeting with
Irving in Spain, where the latter was busy with his _Life of Columbus_.

The vividness of his impressions of European life was seen upon all his
work, and was perhaps the first reflection of the old poetic European
influence that began to be felt in much American poetry, where the charm
of old peasant love songs and roundelays, heard for centuries among the
lower classes of Spain, France, and Italy, was wrought into translation
and transcription so perfect and spirited that they may almost rank with
original work.

Longfellow returned to America after three years' absence, and at once
began his duties at Bowdoin College, remaining three years, when he left
to take a Professorship at Harvard, which he had accepted with the
understanding that he was to spend a year and a half abroad before
commencing his work. Two years after his return he published his first
volume of poems, and his romance _Hyperion_. In _Hyperion_, Longfellow
relates some of the experiences of his own travels under the guise of
the hero, who wanders through Europe, and the book is full of the same
biographical charm that belongs to _Outre Mer_. Here the student life of
the German youths, the songs they sang, the books they read, and even
their favorite foods are noted, while the many translations of German
poetry opened a new field of delight to American readers. It was well
received by the public, who appreciated its fine poetic fancy and its
wealth of serious thought. But it was not by his prose that Longfellow
touched the deepest sympathies of his readers, and the publication of
his first volume of poetry a few months later showed his real position
in the world of American letters. This little book, which was issued
under the title _Voices of the Night_, consisted of the poems that had
so far appeared in the various magazines and papers, a few poems written
in his college days, and some translations from the French, German, and
Spanish poets. In this volume occurs some of Longfellow's choicest work,
the gem of the book being the celebrated "Psalm of Life."

[Illustration: LONGFELLOW'S HOME AT CAMBRIDGE.]

It is from this point that Longfellow goes onward, always as the
favorite poet of the American people. The "Psalm of Life" had been
published previously in a magazine without the author's name, and it had
no sooner been read than it seemed to find its way into every heart.
Ministers read it to their congregations all over the country, and it
was sung as a hymn in many churches. It was copied in almost every
newspaper in the United states, it was recited by every school-child,
and years afterwards one of America's greatest men said that in one of
the darkest hours of his life he had been cheered and uplifted by its
noble spirit. To young and old alike it brought its message, and its
voice was recognized as that of a true leader. The author of _Outre Mer_
and _Hyperion_ had well touched hands with millions of his brothers and
sisters, and the clasp was never unloosed while he lived.

In the same collection occurs "The Footsteps of Angels," another
well-beloved poem, and one in which the spirit of home life is made the
inspiration.

Longfellow's poems now followed one another in rapid succession,
appearing generally at first in some magazine, and afterward in book
form in various collections under different titles.

His greatest contributions to American literature are his "Evangeline"
and "Hiawatha," and a score of shorter poems, which in themselves would
give the author a high place in any literature.

In "Evangeline" Longfellow took for his theme the story of the
destruction of the Acadian villages in Nova Scotia by the English during
the French and Indian war. Longfellow has made of this sad story a
wondrously beautiful tale that reads like an old legend of Grecian
Arcadia.

The description of the great primeval forests stretching down to the
sea; of the villages and farms scattered over the land as unprotected as
the nests of the meadow-lark; of the sowing and harvesting of the
peasant folks, with their fêtes and church-going, their weddings and
festivals; and the pathetic search of Evangeline for her lost lover
Gabriel among the plains of Louisiana--all show Longfellow in his finest
mood as a poet whom the sorrows of mankind touched always with reverent
pity, as well as a writer of noble verse.

Everywhere that the English language is read, "Evangeline" has passed as
the most beautiful folk-story that America has produced: and the French
Canadians, the far-away brothers of the Acadians, have included
Longfellow among their national poets. Among them "Evangeline" is known
by heart, and the cases are not rare where the people have learned
English expressly for the purpose of reading Longfellow's poem in the
original, a wonderful tribute to the poet who could thus touch to music
one of the saddest memories of their race.

In "Hiawatha" Longfellow gave to the Indian the place in poetry that had
been given him by Cooper in prose.

"Hiawatha" is a poem of the forests and of the dark-skinned race who
dwelt therein, who were learned only in forest-lore, and lived as near
to nature's heart as the fauns and satyrs of old. Into this legend
Longfellow has put all the poetry of the Indians' nature, and has made
his hero, Hiawatha, a noble creation, that compares favorably with the
King Arthur of the old British romances. From first to last Hiawatha
moves among the people a real leader, showing them how to clear their
forests, to plant grain, to make for themselves clothing of embroidered
and painted skins, to improve their fishing-grounds, and to live at
peace with their neighbors. From the time when he was a little child,
and his grandmother told him all the fairy-tales of nature, up to the
day when, like Arthur, he passed mysteriously through the gates of the
sunset, all his hope and joy and work were for his people. He is a
creature that could only have been born from a mind as pure and poetic
as that of Longfellow. All the scenes and images of the poem are so true
to nature that they seem like very breaths from the forests. We move
with Hiawatha through the dewy birchen aisles, learn with him the
language of the nimble squirrel and of the wise beaver and mighty bear,
watch him build his famous canoe, and spend hours with him fishing in
the waters of the great inland sea, bordered by the great pictured rocks
painted by nature itself. Longfellow's first idea of the poem was
suggested, it is said, by his hearing a Harvard student recite some
Indian tales. Searching among the various books that treated of the
American Indians, he found many legends and incidents that preserved
fairly well the traditional history of the Indian race, and grouping
these around one central figure, and filling in the gaps with poetic
descriptions of the forests, mountains, lakes, rivers, and plains which
made up the abode of these picturesque people, he thus built up the
entire poem. The metre used is that in which the "Kalevala Thean," the
national epic of the Finn, is written, and the Finnish hero Wainamoinen,
in his gift of song and his brave adventures, is not unlike the great
Hiawatha.

Among Longfellow's other long poems are "The Spanish Student," a
dramatic poem founded upon a Spanish romance; "The Divine Tragedy" and
"The Golden Legend," founded upon the life of Christ; "The Courtship of
Miles Standish," a tale of Puritan love-making in the time of the early
settlers; and "Tales of a Wayside Inn," which are a series of poems of
adventure supposed to be related by the guests at an inn.

But it is with such poems as "Evangeline" and "Hiawatha," and the
shorter famous poems like the "Psalm of Life," "Excelsior," "The Wreck
of the _Hesperus_," "The Building of the Ship," "The Footsteps of
Angels," that his claim as the favorite poet of America has its
foundation. "The Building of the Ship" was never read during the
struggle of the civil war without raising the audience to a passion of
enthusiasm; and so in each of these shorter poems Longfellow touched
with wondrous sympathy the hearts of his readers. Throughout the land he
was received as the poet of the home and heart: the sweet singer to whom
the fireside and family gave ever sacred and beautiful meanings.

Some poems on slavery, a prose tale called "Kavanajh," and a translation
of the "Divine Comedy" of Dante, must also be included among
Longfellow's work; but these have never reached the success attained by
his more popular poems, which are known by heart by millions.

Longfellow died in Cambridge in 1882, in the same month in which was
written his last poem, "The Bells of San Blas," which concludes with
these words,

  "It is daybreak everywhere."



JOHN CABOT.


  Hickety, pickety, John Cabot
  Longed to discover a brand-new spot.
  He found Cape Breton, and, well content.
  As fast as the billows would take him, he went
  Back to his home with a very high head,
  And unto King Henry the Seventh he said,
  "I have found China, that empire old.
  Give me a garment all trimmed with gold."
  Hickety, pickety, John Cabot,
  Garments and titles and honors he got.
  And he said to his barber one summer day,
  "I have an island to give away,
  An island in China, a very nice spot,
  I hope you will like it," quoth John Cabot.
  Hickety, pickety, bless my heart,
  To own an island is very smart.
  "To own an island is great indeed,"
  The barber he said, "and a title I'll need.
  And I'll wear a mantle all trimmed with lace,
  And never again will I shave a face."
  But alas for the barber, and poor John too,
  Their titles and honors and airs fell through.
  It was only a corner of Canada, not
  The Chinese Empire which John Cabot
  Had found in 1497
  And unto his barber so freely had given.
  So then this poor barber of John Cabot
  Back to his shaving went trit-ty-te-trot.
  Both of his island and title bereft,
  Lucky indeed that his razor was left.
  But hickety, pickety, John Cabot
  Really discovered a brand-new spot.



THE RACING YACHT OF TO-DAY.

BY L. A. TEREBEL.


When the _America's_ Cup was first contested for, a good many years ago,
the boats that competed for it were out-and-out yachts--pleasure craft
that could be of service to their owners for other purposes besides
cup-hunting and cup-defending. But the craft that we see taking part in
the international races nowadays are nothing more nor less than
racing-machines. These are built solely to take part in the struggle
with the Britisher, just as the Britisher is built solely to sail
against the fastest Yankee: and after the cup contests are over these
$250,000 beauties are of no further use, except, of course, to win other
races. When I say that they are of no further use, I do not mean this
statement to be taken as literally true, because the boats can be
reconstructed and remodelled for cruising purposes, and sometimes are,
but they cannot be used for anything but racing when in the condition
they appear in at the starting-line. Many people not particularly
interested in yachting cannot see why rich men should put a quarter of a
million of dollars into a boat which, after it has sailed against an
English yacht, will only bring about $10,000 in open market. They argue
that the end of sport would be just as well served by the racing of
smaller boats, and Lord Dunraven himself has been reported as saying he
thought it would be advisable to restrict the length of the racers to
seventy-five feet. A few years ago there were no such restrictions, but
when _Puritan_ was built to meet _Genesta_ it was mutually decided by
the Englishmen and the Americans that the sloops should not exceed
ninety feet on the water-line.

But the builders have to a certain extent neutralized this rule by
giving their yachts such an overhang fore and aft that they can stand
much more sail than other sloops of larger dimensions. We have probably
reached the limit in expense of yacht-building this year, however, and I
doubt if any cup defender will ever be built to cost more than the
present one. A new class, called half-raters (restricted to 15 feet
racing length), is coming into popularity, and the Seawanhaka-Corinthian
Yacht Club is to hold international races of boats of that kind next
month. This new class in international matches will doubtless claim some
of the interest that has been given to the giant single-stickers, and in
years to come the expense involved in the defense of the _America's_ Cup
ought not to be so excessive.

[Illustration: "DEFENDER."]

[Illustration: "VALKYRIE."

THE CHALLENGER AND DEFENDER OF THE "AMERICA'S" CUP IN DRY DOCK.]

But to return to the yachts themselves, and to what I said about their
uselessness as cruisers. The _Valkyrie_ that sailed against _Defender_
on September 7th was not the _Valkyrie_ that crossed the ocean in
August. The racer is an empty shell, with a towering mast and thousands
of square feet of sail, whereas the travelling _Valkyrie_ was the home
of the forty or forty-five men who constituted her crew, and she was a
two-masted craft--with stubby masts at that. As the one aim of both
_Valkyrie_ and _Defender_ is to attain the highest possible speed,
everything is done that experience and money can do to make the boats as
light and as swift-sailing as possible. The one thought of the builders
from the moment they got the orders to design the yachts was to make the
shape of each boat the best to cut through the water, and the sails the
most efficient to catch every breath of air stirring overhead.

In order that his rival might not know what kind of a boat was going to
be turned out, both the English and the American architects worked with
the greatest secrecy, and even after the boats had been launched and
seen by the public their true measurements were withheld. But enough is
known about the construction of racing sloops in general, and sufficient
has leaked out about the building of _Defender_ in particular, for us to
have a pretty good knowledge of the boat that was depended upon to keep
the _America's_ Cup on this side of the water.

[Illustration: "DEFENDER"]

About three months were required for the construction of _Defender_. She
was built at Bristol, Rhode Island. The plans were first fully discussed
by the owners and the architect and his assistants, and were then laid
out on paper to a scale, probably one inch to the foot--although this
would make a pretty large working plan. But still, the larger a plan is
the better, and in an important matter of this kind no pains are spared
to reach perfection. A model of a yacht under construction is
unnecessary, and is seldom made, except for the pleasure or curiosity of
the owner.

It was decided to give up the centreboard this year--much to the
disappointment of a great many patriotic yachtsmen, for the centreboard
is a purely American institution--and the plans were consequently
designed for a keel boat. _Defender_'s keel is of lead, and weighs 80
tons. It is 5 feet 6 inches high, 3 feet 6 inches wide, and 35 feet long
on top, and was cast in the shop where the yacht was built, for such a
weight as that could not very well be moved from one end of a ship-yard
to the other. A cross section of this lead keel would look very much
like the cross section of a pear cut lengthwise, with the bulge at the
bottom. Fore and aft it is shaped somewhat like a whale or a
cat-fish--that is, it is largest forward and tapers toward the stern.
This doubtless seems strange to a great many unobservant landsmen, who
know that ships are usually made as pointed and sharp as possible at the
bow. This is all very well for a body that is intended to cut through
the water, but for anything meant to travel under the surface the fish
shape is the proper thing. All fish are larger at the head than at the
tail, and yet they seem to find no difficulty in getting through the
water very rapidly. Following this natural phenomenon, the keel of
_Defender_ is bulging at the bow and tapering at the stern.

Just, as the size and position of every stone in a large building are
figured out before the work is begun, so was every part of _Defender_
designed and laid out in the mould loft at Bristol long before the
actual work of construction could commence. The mould loft is a very
large room, with a spacious floor and plenty of light. On the floor
every part of _Defender_ was sketched out in chalk to the actual size
required. Every beam and section was accurately laid down, and the
workmen made wooden moulds or patterns from these sketches. To these
wooden moulds the metal ribs and frames were afterwards bent. This work
was done on the "bending table" by methods fully described in an article
on ship-building published in No. 784 of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE. When the
steel ribs were satisfactorily completed, and had been found to be
exactly as designed in the mould loft, they were taken into the shed
where the yacht was being constructed. This shed, by-the-way, was a
harder place to get into than the palace of the Czar. The doors were
kept locked all the time, and watchmen were on duty day and night to
drive away intruders. Only the owners, the architects, and the workmen
were permitted to enter.

The keel, which is made of cast brass in three sections, was bolted to
the lead with great screws from six to eight inches long, and the ribs
were riveted to the keel and steadied across the top with wooden cross
spalls until the deck beams were ready to be put on. The latter are of
aluminium bronze. Everything in the make up of the yacht so far has been
metal, and everything will be metal to the end. Even the stern and stem
are brass castings, and there is no wood in the body of _Defender_,
except the deck, which is of 24-inch light pine. The two or three
partitions inside of her are made of canvas stretched on light pine
frames, and the only other wood on board is in the mast. Even the boom
is metal--that is, since _Valkyrie_ came over with a steel boom.

To the ribs were riveted the plates, which are of manganese bronze,
which is a kind of refined brass, only three-sixteenths of an inch
thick, and the upper two streaks are of aluminium. This aluminium is
said to be almost pure, and is the lightest metal known.

[Illustration: "VALKYRIE."]

_Valkyrie_ is not such a metallic boat as _Defender_. She is of the
composite type. Her stem and stern are of wood, and she is planked on
the outside with American elm below water and spruce on top. This elm is
an excellent wood for yacht construction. It will not decay if kept
under water, but spoils if allowed to be wet and dry by turns. It is
used a great deal in England, and yet, strange as this may seem, it
cannot be bought in the New York lumber market. It is scarcely known
here. It comes from Canada, in the neighborhood of Quebec, and the whole
supply is shipped to England. In Canada the elms are grown in
plantations, and cultivated so that they are straighter and taller than
those we have in the United States. Here elm is seldom used in the
construction of ships except for knees. It is also a favorite wood for
the hubs of wheels. But this elm is the common elm, not the American elm
of the English market, which, as I have said, is hardly ever seen on
this coast.

But although _Valkyrie_'s hull and stern are of wood, her frames are of
nickel steel strapped together with steel ribbons running at an angle.
Thus, before her planking was put on, she must have looked like a huge
steel basket.

The masts of both yachts are of Oregon pine. And with regard to this
Oregon pine another peculiar feature of the Atlantic coast lumber market
becomes apparent. Ten years ago Oregon pine was not known here.
Ship-builders did not use it. But the Britishers did, and all the Oregon
pine that could be purchased used to be shipped to England in
sailing-vessels that went around Cape Horn from Puget Sound. When our
ship-builders finally discovered that this pine was about the best that
could be had for masts and spars, they tried to buy some, but they found
they had to go to English markets to get it. Within the past few years,
however, more and more Oregon pine has been offered for sale on this
coast, and it is probable that _Defender_'s mast was not imported from
England. The first boom of _Defender_ was also of Oregon pine. This boom
cost nearly $2000, and was built like a barrel, or rather like two
barrels--one on the outside of the other. This was to give additional
strength. The inner boom was hooped together with steel bands, and then
the outer layer of pine staves was fitted on and hooped with brass
rings. But when _Valkyrie_ appeared in dry dock here and began to put on
her racing togs, the _Defender_ syndicate saw the Britisher's steel
boom, and forthwith set about to build one like it. _Valkyrie_'s boom is
the first of the kind ever seen in this country, and probably the first
of the kind ever made. Some of the big sailing ships of commerce have
had steel yards, and racing-boats abroad have sometimes been fitted with
spars of drawn steel; but nothing like this boom of _Valkyrie_ had ever
before been attempted. It is hollow, of course, and although of steel,
is about one ton lighter than the pine boom that _Defender_ first
carried. The American yacht's steel boom is now a counterpart of her
rival's. It is made in sections that are riveted together through
flanges that project on the outer side. It is built on the plan of an
elevated railroad pillar, and looks very much like one, being of about
the same thickness, only round instead of square, and about twice as
long as the average elevated-road pillar is high.

The sails of the racers are probably the most wonderful part of their
whole make up. _Defender_, when she has her mainsail, her jib, her jib
topsail, her staysail, and her working topsail up, carries 12,000 square
feet of canvas. And when she substitutes for these working-sails her
balloon jib, her club topsail, and puts out her spinnaker she almost
doubles that area. These sails cost thousands of dollars, because there
must be several of each in case of accident to one or another, and for
use in the different kinds of wind that may prevail in a race. There is
a heavy mainsail for strong winds, of sea-island cotton or Egyptian
cotton or ramie cloth, while the jibs are made of lighter grades of the
same material, until they come down to the constituency of a coarse
pocket-handkerchief. One of _Defender_'s spinnakers is of Scotch linen.
In 1893 it was reported that one of _Valkyrie II._'s big spinnakers was
of silk, but it was not; it was of exceedingly fine Irish linen.

Taking all these matters into account, and considering that each boat
must have from forty to fifty sailors to man her, it becomes evident
that the building and maintaining of such a yacht is a matter of no
small expense. Mr. George Gould spent no less than $40,000 to put
_Vigilant_ in condition to race with _Defender_ in the preliminary
trials this year. The crew has to be engaged and trained for weeks
before the racer is put into commission, and kept at work for a couple
of months before the great contests for the Cup are held. These sailors,
of course, cannot live on the yacht, since there is no room for bunks or
lockers or a galley on the modern racing-machine. Therefore both
_Defender_ and _Valkyrie_ have steam-tenders.

There is really something humorous about a crew of sailors leaving their
hollow unbunked boat every evening to go to bed in a tender near by. At
meal-time, too, the gallant tars have to seek their floating hotel. When
_Defender_ was with the New York Yacht Squadron on this summer's cruise
she reached port one evening ahead of most of the fleet, and of her slow
consort. She was too deep of draught to get far into the harbor, and
being a "racer" she had nothing aboard but men and sails, a small
anchor, and a small dinghy. Consequently the crew sat on the deck for
several hours, with their legs hanging over the sides, waiting for the
_Hattie Palmer_ to come along and give them their supper.

A great number of Americans--and I am one of them--would have preferred
to see _Defender_ built on the American centreboard plan, all of
American material, and without borrowing British ideas, especially as to
the boom. They were sorry to hear that Mr. Gould last year wanted Mr.
Ratsey, _Valkyrie_'s sail-maker, to make _Vigilant_'s sails, and they
were very glad when the loyal and patriotic Ratsey (credit be to him for
it!) refused to take the order. But, after all, this great number of
Americans has nothing to say in the matter, and all they--and I--want is
to see _Defender_ win by fair means the matches she was built to race
in, and the Cup she was built to defend.



[Illustration: INTERSCHOLASTIC SPORT]


The only school in this country that I know of where rowing takes the
leading position in sports is St. Paul's of Concord. There is rowing
done at other schools, of course, as at Cascadilla, near Ithaca, and at
St. John's, Delafield, Wisconsin, but at none of these institutions has
the art reached the stage of perfection which characterizes the work of
the St. Paul's oarsmen. It is doubtless because rowing has been indulged
in there for almost twenty-five years, whereas at the other schools I
have mentioned boating is a comparative novelty. It is growing in
popularity as a scholastic sport, however, and in a few years I have no
doubt that every school situated close enough to a lake or a river will
have a crew, just as almost every school nowadays has an eleven and a
nine.

It was in 1871 that the two rowing clubs were formed at St. Paul's, and
the scholars divided about evenly in the membership of each. Since then
the interest and enthusiasm in the sport have grown so steadily, that
the annual race in June between the Halcyon and Shattuck crews is looked
upon as the principal athletic event of the school year. Each club puts
three crews on the water--a first crew of eight men and a cockswain,
using a regular racing-shell; a second crew of six men and a cockswain,
using a gig; and a third crew of four men and a cockswain, also using a
gig. Captains are elected for every crew, and the captains of the first
crews are the captains of their clubs. The rowing is done on Lake
Penacook, which affords a very good mile-and-a-half course, and is
within easy distance of the school buildings.

The first race between the rival clubs was held in 1871, the year of
their organization. The crews rowed in four-oared barges over a two-mile
course. The best time made was 8 minutes and 53 seconds. In 1874 the
course was changed to 1-3/4 miles, and each club organized a second
crew, owing to the increasing number of candidates for a seat in the
boat. These crews also rowed in four-oared barges, as did the thirds,
which were organized a few years later. In 1883 the first crews rowed in
six-oared barges for the first time. The course was made two miles. This
gave a new interest to the sport, and many fine oarsmen began to
develop. The best time for the two miles was made in 12 minutes 32
seconds, which is a very good showing for a crew made up of novices. In
1891 the first crews of both clubs began to row in eights, and the
course was made a mile and one-half without a turn. The fastest eight
rowed over the course in 8 minutes 25 seconds, and although the crew of
'94 claim 8 minutes and 8 seconds, the former figure stands as the
record at the present time.

The routine of training is similar to that of the college crews. Soon
after the Christmas recess all applicants are taken in charge by the
trainer and the older men from former crews. The candidates are divided
into squads and put to work at calisthenics, weight-pulling, and the
first principles of rowing on the hydraulic rowing-machines. This goes
on through the winter, and one by one the poorer material is dropped and
the crews are chosen. As soon as the snow is off the ground the running
begins; short distances at first, increasing to two or three miles. The
gymnasium work meantime continues, and the mysteries of the stroke are
gradually unfolded at the machines, and each member of the crew is
coached, prodded, and scolded into proper form, until at Easter the men
have learned the full stroke.

When the school reopens after the Easter recess the daily work
continues, with practice in the water on a small pond by the gymnasium.
A working boat of two or four oars, with the coach for a cockswain, is
used for this purpose. As soon as the course at Lake Penacook is open
the crews row there every afternoon, except Sundays, going and coming in
four-horse barges. Here the drudgery stops, and the interesting though
hard work begins. The coach shouts and gesticulates from a pair oar, men
are changed about in the boats, cockswains are taught to use the
seemingly simple rudder, and the captains exhort their crews in language
which strangers might consider superexpressive. When hands are surer and
muscles harder the full course is attempted, and the time is taken. This
is generally represented to the oarsmen as rather poor, and the
necessity for doing better is constantly impressed upon them.

On account of the Vice-Rector's views as to how athletics should be
conducted in his school, the date for the final race in June is never
set or definitely announced much before the day of the event. This is
done so that the good people of Concord shall not know when the races
are to be, and may thus not avail themselves of the opportunity to see
some good rowing. This spring, in order to carry this principle to an
extreme, the races, as was told in this Department of July 2d, were
rowed in the morning instead of in the afternoon, as has been usual, and
only the members of the school knew of this in time to reach the shores
of Penacook. There is always a great deal of excitement and enthusiasm
displayed on the occasion of the contests, and at the close of the day
the colors of the winning club are hoisted on the school flag-pole.

[Illustration: Cochran, 3. Whitbeck, 5. Glidden, 2. Sturges, stroke.
Woodle, 7. Lockwood, bow. Small, 6 (Capt). Holly, 4.

THE SHATTUCK CREW.]

The crews this year were made up as follows:

SHATTUCK BOAT CLUB.

FIRST CREW.

                                     Height.  Weight.     Age.

  Walter K. Sturges, stroke         5  7-1/2   159       18  9
  Allan S. Woodle, No. 7            5 10-1/2   164       17  2
  George Small, No. 6 and Captain   5 11       170       17  7
  Brainerd H. Whitbeck, No. 5       5 11       164       17 10
  James K. Holly, No. 4             6          165       18 10
  William F. Cochran, No. 3         5  8-3/4   134       19  4
  John M. Glidden, No. 2            6          160       18
  Henry M. Lockwood, bow            5 11-1/2   160       18  2
                                    --------   -------   -----
  Averages                          5 10-1/2   159-1/2   18  3

  Cockswain, Parker Whitney, weight 90 lbs.

SECOND CREW.

                                            Height.  Weight.     Age.

  Howard L. O'Fallon, stroke and Captain   5  7-1/2   140       18  2
  Albert L. Nickerson, No. 5               6  1       165       18
  James D. Ireland, No. 4                  5 11-3/4   143       16  8
  Frederick H. Brooke, No. 3               6          150       18  7
  Crispin Oglebay, No. 2                   5  8-1/2   160       18
  George C Beack, bow                      5  9       140       17  5
                                           --------   -------   -----
  Averages                                 5 10-1/2   149-2/3   17  8

  Cockswain, Harold C. Neal, weight 90 lbs.

THIRD CREW.

                                       Height.   Weight.     Age.

  John J. Knox, stroke and Captain     5  7       125       18 10
  Constant D. Huntington, No. 3        6          165       18  7
  James G. Averell, No. 2              6  1       150       17  5
  Douglas Halliday, bow                5  7       130       18  6
                                       --------   -------   -----
  Averages                             5  9-3/4   142-1/2   18  4

  Cockswain, Sylvester Y. L'Hommedieu, weight 92 lbs.

[Illustration: Kerner, bow. Berger, 2. Whelen, 5. Wilcox, 3.
Niedecken, 4. Stewart, stroke. Hart, cock'n. Wheeler, 6 (Capt).
McDuffie, 7.

THE HALCYON CREW.]

HALCYON BOAT CLUB.

FIRST CREW.

                                        Height.   Weight.    Age.

  John T. Stewart, 2d, stroke            5  8      159       18
  Harry McDuffie, No. 7                  6         165       18
  Herbert Wheeler, No. 6 and Captain     6         169       17  5
  William B. Whelen, No. 5               6  3      167       17 10
  James H. Niedecken, No. 4              6         174       17  4
  Richard N. Wilcox, No. 3               5 11      153       18
  W. F. B. Berger, No. 2                 5 11      159       18
  Howard S. Kerner, bow                  5  9      145       18  5
                                         ----      -------   -----
  Averages                               5 11      161-3/8   17 10

  Cockswain, Henry G. Hart, weight 100 lbs.

SECOND CREW.

                                        Height.   Weight.    Age.

  Griswold Green, stroke and Captain     5  7      134       18 3
  Livingston L. Biddle, No. 5            5 10      155       17 6
  John Baird, No. 4                      5  9      163       18 2
  Nicholas Biddle, No. 3                 6         156       16 2
  Leonard M. Thomas, No. 2               5  8      146       17 2
  Frederick C. Bingham, bow              5  6      135       18
                                         -------   -------   --------
  Averages                               5 8-2/3   148-1/3   17 6-1/2

  Cockswain, James C. Cooley, weight 105 lbs.

THIRD CREW.

                                     Height.   Weight.   Age.

  Seaman D. Sinkler, stroke         5  7-1/2    143      16 8
  Francis S. Goodwin, No. 3         5 10        150      16 5
  Augustus B. Berger, No. 2         5  6        126      16 5
  Joseph D. Forbes, bow             5  8-3/4    149      17 9
                                    --------    ---      --------
  Averages                          5  8-1/2    140      16 9-1/2

  Cockswain, Ben-Ali H. Lounsbery, weight 75 lbs.

[Illustration: SHATTTUCK. HALCYON.

THE ST. PAUL'S CREWS IN THE WATER.]

It is apparent at once from these tables that both of the first crews
were made up of exceptionally tall and heavy young men. Of the two
eights, the Shattucks, however, proved themselves the better. Their time
and blade-work were poor, but in spite of this they travelled through
the water faster than their rivals. Holly and Whitbeck, Nos. 4 and 5,
will certainly be heard from in college, as they are both good athletes
and fine oars. The former goes to Yale and the latter to Harvard. The
Halcyons excelled over the Shattucks in general form, but still their
blade-work was hardly satisfactory. Of the Halcyons, Wheeler, who goes
to Princeton, and Stewart, who goes to Yale, were the best oars. Both
crews were made up of old men who had rowed before, and consequently a
very close race was expected when they met on Lake Penacook. It was
thought by the Halcyons that they would win on their even stroke and
smooth finish. And the backers of the "Shads" maintained that the
strength of their crew would pull them out ahead. The race was rowed on
the morning of June 11th, the "Shads" winning by five lengths. They lost
the second after a plucky race, and also the third. The Halcyons were
rather out of it most of the time. They had not the lasting power to
keep up their pace, and so while their form grew poorer, that of the
Shattucks improved. The time, 9 minutes 30 seconds was very poor; but as
the crews had never rowed in the morning before, this must be taken into
account.

The great fault of the crews at St. Paul's is that they are very liable
to lose their form in the excitement of a race, and each man gets to row
his own stroke. This is not so noticeable in the first crews as in the
seconds and thirds. Nevertheless the Concord School turns out the best
oarsmen that go to the universities, some of the best known being Phil
Allen, George Brewster, Stillman, Goetchius, Hickock, and Fenessy. But
it is to be regretted that with such fine men, and such well-trained
crews and football teams, and baseball nines, it should be the policy of
the school to prohibit interscholastic contests. St. Paul's never meets
any other school on field or water.

THE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO INTERSCHOLASTIC LAWN-TENNIS TOURNAMENT.

SINGLES.

Preliminary Round.          First Round.               Second Round.

                         W. Beggs (C.M.).          }
                         Anderson (P.Y.).          } Beggs, 6-1, 7-5.

H. H. Lay (M.P.A.).    }
H. Poppen (H.P.H.).    } Lay, 6-3, 3-6, 6-0.       }
                                                   } Lay, 6-1, 6-3.
P. D. McQuiston (C.A.).} McQuiston, 2-6, 7-5, 6-1. }
M. A. Warren (L.F.A.). }

W. C. Powell (L.V.H.). }
C. M. Raymond (H.S.).  } Powell, 6-4, 6-0.         }
                                                   } Staley, 6-1, 6-3.
P. Staley (N.D.H.).    } Staley, 6-1, 6-1.         }
R. White (E.H.).       }

                         A. Vernon (E.H.M.).       }
                         A. Johnston (W.D.).       } A. Vernon, 6-1,8-6.


  Second Round.           Final Round.            Winner.


Beggs, 6-1, 7-5.    }
Lay, 6-1, 6-3.      } Beggs, 6-1, 6-3.       }
                                             } Beggs, 2-6, 6-2, 6-2,
Staley, 6-1, 6-3.   } Staley, 6-4, 4-6, 6-3. }      3-6, 6-2.
A. Vernon, 6-1, 8-6.}

DOUBLES.

Preliminary Round.              First Round              Second Round.

                         McQuiston Brothers (C.A.).  } McQuiston Brothers,
                         Warren-Stearns (L.F.A.).    }    6-1, 6-2.

Beggs-Goble (C.M.).    } Beggs and Goble,
Gore-Garnett (H.P.H.). }   3-6, 6-3, 6-4.            }
                                                     } Beggs and Goble,
Boyce-Puillson (H.S.). } Boyce and Puillson,         }    6-2, 6-2.
Vernon-Clark (E.H.M.). }   default.                  }

Staley-Keith (N.D.H.). } Staley and Keith,           }
Anderson-Halsey (P.Y.).}   7-5, 3-6, 6-3.            } Staley and Keith,
                         Powell and Fallon (L.V.H.). }    6-1, 9-7.

                         Drake and Blackwelder       } Drake and
                                (M.P.A.).            } Blackwelder,
                         Wallace and Johnston        }    2-6, 6-3, 6-3.
                                 (W.D.H.).

      Second Round.                Final Round.          Winners.

McQuiston Brothers, 6-1, 6-2. } Beggs and Goble,
Beggs and Goble, 6-2, 6-2.    }     6-2, 9-7.      }
                                                   } Staley and Keith,
Staley and Keith, 6-1, 9-7.   } Staley and Keith,  }   8-6, 6-2, 6-4.
Drake and Blackwelder, 2-6,   }     default
                 6-3, 6-3.

  C.M.--Chicago Manual Training School
  P.Y.--Princeton-Yale School.
  M.P.A.--Morgan Park Academy.
  H.P.H.--Hyde Park High-School.
  C.A.--Chicago Academy.
  L.F.A.--Lake Fort Academy.
  L.V.H.--Lake View High-School.
  H.S.--Harvard School.
  N.D.H.--North Division High-School.
  E.H.--Englewood High-School.
  E.H.M.--English High and Manual Training School.
  W.D.--West Division High-School.

The Interscholastic Tennis Tournament of the University of Chicago was
held in that city last June, the results being shown in the accompanying
table of scores. Points counted as follows: First in singles, 5; second
in singles, 3; first in doubles, 7; second in doubles, 4. The North
Division High-School took the championship by winning first place in the
doubles, and second in the singles, earning thereby a total of 10
points. Second place went to the Chicago Manual Training School, whose
representatives took first in the singles and second in the doubles,
total, 9 points. The school winning the greatest number of points in
three years will obtain permanent possession of the trophy. The
tournament was a success, and the formation of the association is bound
to stimulate the growth of the game in the schools in the neighborhood
of Chicago. It is to be regretted that Beggs was not sent to Newport.
The winner of next year's tournament should certainly come East.

  THE GRADUATE.

       *       *       *       *       *

TEACHER (_to class in philosophy_). "What are the properties of heat,
Willie?"

WILLIE. "The properties of heat are to bake, cook, roast--"

TEACHER. "Stop--next. What are the properties of heat?"

JOHNNY. "The properties of heat is that it expands bodies, while cold
contracts them."

TEACHER. "Very good. Can you give me an example?"

JOHNNY. "Yes, sir. In summer, when it is very hot, the day is long; in
winter, when it is cold, it gets to be very short."



ADVERTISEMENTS.



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

[Illustration: Royal Baking Powder]



Arnold

Constable & Co

       *       *       *       *       *

Fall Importations of

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Exclusive Novelties

       *       *       *       *       *

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Good Music

Franklin Square Song Collection.

=GOOD MUSIC= arouses a spirit of good-will, creates a harmonious
atmosphere, and where harmony and good-will prevail, the disobedient,
turbulent unruly spirit finds no resting-place. Herbert Spencer puts his
final test of any plan of culture in the form of a question, "Does it
create a pleasurable excitement in the pupils?" Judged by this
criterion, Music deserves the first rank, for no work done in the school
room is so surely creative of pleasure as singing. Do we not all agree,
then, that Vocal Music has power to benefit every side of the child
nature? And in these days, when we seek to make our schools the arenas
where children may grow into symmetrical, substantial, noble characters,
can we afford to neglect so powerful an aid as Music? Let us as rather
encourage it in every way possible.

_Nowhere can you find for Home or School a better Selection of Songs and
Hymns than in the Franklin Square Song Collection._

Sold Everywhere. Price, 50 cents; Cloth, $1.00. Full contents of the
Several Numbers, with Specimen Pages of favorite Songs and Hymns, sent
by Harper & Brothers, New York, to any address.



[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.]

We have now finally to turn to the eastward of New York, and take up the
route from New York to Boston. The trip from New York to Stamford (see
map in No. 811) has already been given in the ROUND TABLE, and for an
ordinary rider who is taking the trip easily this might serve as the
first day's trip, being a distance of about twenty-eight miles. On
leaving Stamford the next morning, proceed by the Post Road and turnpike
direct to Darien. The road itself from Stamford to New Haven is along
the shore, which, at the same time that it necessitates the crossing of
several bridges during a day, also offers many beautiful views of the
Sound, and, as a usual thing, is one of the coolest rides in summer. The
road-bed, as a rule, is in reasonably good condition; but, where
available between villages, the side path may be taken to advantage,
except in one or two instances, which are especially mentioned. From
Darien to South Norwalk, a distance of four miles, is one of these,
where the rider should avoid side paths. Crossing the railroad at
Darien, the road runs direct to South Norwalk. At South Norwalk again
cross the railroad on the east of the station, and the road turning
northward, to avoid an inlet, should be followed along the shore to
Saugatuck Church, which is close by the railroad. Here the rider should
take Riverside Avenue, and, following the horse-car tracks, proceed to
Westport to the drawbridge, which he should cross, and thence,
proceeding straight ahead, run into Southport, passing by Green's Farm,
and always following the main road as laid down on the map.

By referring to this map, moreover, the rider will see that it is
possible to turn to the left about one and a half miles out of Westport
after crossing the drawbridge, and run up a more direct road to
Southport. The road, however, is not as good, and the rider will do well
to follow the bicycle route exactly as marked on the map. At Southport
the railroad is again crossed at the station and the direct road for
Fairfield taken, which continues without many turnings to Bridgeport. At
Bridgeport more than half the journey to New Haven is done, a distance
of twenty-two or twenty-three miles, and you can put up for dinner.
After finishing dinner, cross the river at Bridgeport near the depot,
and take the turnpike to Stratford, thence to Naugatuck to Milford, a
distance of nine miles. Running out of Milford turn to the right and
keep to the shore road always. About two and a half miles out of
Woodmont you pass into the turnpike road direct to West Haven, and from
here the run into New Haven is easily found and but a short distance,
and here you may put up very comfortably at the New Haven House, and
take the opportunity that afternoon, if you arrive in town early enough,
or the next morning before you start on the next stage, to go over the
grounds and through the buildings of Yale University.

This trip from New York to Boston is a capital one for any one to take
during the fall, and we shall therefore follow it out by the following
stages: 1. From New York to Stamford; 2. From Stamford to New Haven; 3.
From New Haven to New London; 4. From New London to Shannuck; 5. From
Shannuck to Providence; 6. From Providence to Boston.

     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.



[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.


I am going to have a little chat with you, girls, on the obligations of
good breeding, and first I will begin by relating an incident.

A friend of mine was in a Broadway cable-car the other day. You girls
who live in New York know just how the big cable-cars swing along, how
fast they go, and how many people they can accommodate. Most of you have
taken rides in electric cars which to-day are to be found all over our
country, scurrying along like mail in some of the rural places, where,
once out of sight of the village, and on a level stretch of road, they
fairly fly. I could tell you of one line where the cars rush along over
a down grade at a furious rate of speed, while the smiling passengers
cling to the seats or frantically hold on to their hats and parasols,
and once safely out, everybody takes a long breath of relief. But this
is diverging. I was going to tell you of my friend's adventure in the
New York car, a sober-moving thing in comparison with its country
cousin. And my tale has nothing in the world to do with the speed or
slowness of the car, anyway.

My friend took his seat, and presently began to be very uncomfortable.
For everybody seemed amused at him, glances were levelled in his
direction, girls giggled, elderly ladies drew their faces into a pucker,
and the atmosphere of the place was as electric as the fluid which sent
the car through space. After a short interval the puzzled gentleman
discovered that it was not he who was the object of mirth to his
comrades on the road, but a poor, shy, blushing, tearful, trembling,
frightened girl who was sitting by his side. She, poor child, was
dressed in an outre fashion, which did not please the set of people in
that conveyance, and, evidently, she had met with an accident, for her
clothing was tumbled and torn, her face was bruised and cut, and one
hand had been wrenched and seemed to be paining her very much. I can
imagine nothing more brutally ill-bred and rudely ignorant and unfeeling
than the behavior of those silly girls and boys, and still more silly
grown-up people in that car. Can you? They were laughing at a child who
had met with an accident on her wheel!

Now, for an opposite picture. One afternoon lately, at the terminus of a
great railroad, in a crowded waiting-room, a foreign lady with her
attendants attracted some observation, but was neither stared nor
laughed at. Yet her costume was really extraordinary. Around her neck
she wore a dozen chains of gold, linked together and sparkling with rare
gems. The chains hung to her waist, and gleamed like a gorgeous
breast-plate. Pendants of diamonds hung from her small brown ears. Her
small dark hands were loaded with jewelled rings; her head was enveloped
in many folds of white silken gauze. Open-worked silk stockings covered
her little feet, and she wore high-heeled slippers with painted toes.
Her travelling-gown was a rich shimmering brocade, ill fitting and with
a long train. Her maids, one fair and white, the other black as ebony,
were loaded with baskets and bundles, and her servitor held in leash two
magnificent collies, while a green and yellow parrot chattered from his
perch on the man's arm.

All this was a sight to arouse attention and excite curiosity, but
_this_ was a well-bred throng of people gathered in the waiting-room,
and the lady, probably a princess from some tropic island, was annoyed
by no looks, laughter, or remarks.

One of the first rules to be adopted by a thoroughly polite person is
this: Never show surprise, except of the genuinely gracious kind, the
kind that expresses cordial interest and pleasure. Never laugh at an
awkward predicament, at, for example, a fall, or a mistake made by
another. Be careful never to pain any one, friend or stranger, by
ridicule, or by thoughtlessly plain speaking.

[Illustration: Signature]

       *       *       *       *       *

ILL-TEMPERED BABIES

are not desirable in any home. Insufficient nourishment produces ill
temper. Guard against fretful children by feeding nutritious and
digestible food. The Gail Borden Eagle Brand Condensed Milk is the most
successful of all infant foods.--[_Adv._]



ADVERTISEMENTS.



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"=Authors=," "=Napoleon=," "=Yankee Doodle=," and 100 others, for
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There are two classes of bicycles--

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[Illustration]

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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. Colombian Envelopes, 25c. the
pair. Only a limited number were issued by U. S. Government. E. F.
GAMBS, Box 2631, San Francisco, Cal. Established, 1872.



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=500= Mixed Australian, etc., 10c.; =105 varieties=, and nice album,
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[Illustration]

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Camera, Latest Wire Puzzle, Spook Photos, Book of Sleight of Hand, Total
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for postage.

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



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



A Very Generous Offer.


     I would be glad to send to members about the Table specimens of
     the slate schists and gold-bearing quartz from this section of the
     Appalachian Range, the oldest geological formation of the
     continent. My father is engaged in gold-mining in this country,
     and I have collected a large number of beautiful specimens.

     We have no express office near, but as much as four pounds can be
     sent by mail at one cent an ounce. All I ask is that whoever sends
     for quartz enclose postage-stamps for as many ounces as they
     desire. I will label the specimens, pack and mail them for the
     sake of giving to my fellow-readers of the ROUND TABLE an
     opportunity of possessing some rare geological specimens of this
     almost undiscovered country.

  MARGARET L. JOHNSON.
  MARGANNA, VA.



Junior $50 Word Hunt.


Fifty dollars will be given by HARPER'S ROUND TABLE to the persons,
under eighteen, who make out of the letters composing "Harper's Round
Table" the greatest number of English words found in Webster or
Worcester. Letters may be used in any order. No proper names or plurals
allowed. $25 to first, $10 to second, $5 to third, and $1 each to next
ten. Write words one below another, and number them. Put your own name
and address at top of sheet. Post lists not later than November 25,
1895, to HARPER'S ROUND TABLE, New York.



Senior $50 Word Hunt.


Fifty dollars will be given by HARPER'S ROUND TABLE to the persons (any
age) who make out of the letters composing "Harper's New Monthly" the
greatest number of English words found in Webster or Worcester. Letters
may be used in any order. No proper names or plurals allowed. $25 to
first, $10 to second, $5 to third, and $1 each to next ten. Write words
one below another, and number them. Put your own name and address at top
of sheet. Post lists not later than November 25, 1895, to HARPER'S ROUND
TABLE, New York.



Lunar Attraction.


     Jacques Ozanam, the famous French mathematician, invented this
     startling illusion, which I will describe for the benefit of the
     Round Table.

     Make a box three feet square, or of any convenient size, and place
     a board of the same dimensions in the bottom, slightly inclined,
     with a serpentine groove in it, so that a ball of lead can roll in
     it freely. Extend a plain mirror from the elevated end of the
     board to the opposite upper corner, with the reflecting side down.
     Cut a small hole in the end of the box facing the mirror, and in
     such a position that the grooved board itself cannot be seen. If a
     ball of lead rolls along the groove, it will appear to ascend.

  VINCENT V. M. BEEDE.



For Lovers of Figures.


Here are two ingenious problems, of French origin, which mathematically
inclined members will enjoy:

1. Fifteen Christians and fifteen Turks were at sea in the same vessel
when a dreadful storm came on which obliged them to throw all their
merchandise overboard. This, however, not being sufficient to lighten
the ship, the captain informed them there was no possibility of its
being saved unless half the passengers were thrown overboard also. He
therefore arranged the thirty in a row, and by counting from nine to
nine, and throwing every ninth person into the sea, beginning again at
the first of the row when it had been counted to the end, it was found
that after fifteen persons had been thrown overboard, the fifteen
Christians remained. How did the captain arrange these thirty persons so
as to save the Christians?

KEY.--The method may be deduced from this Latin sentence:

_Populeam virgam mater regina ferebat._ Or from this French couplet:

  _Mort, tu ne failliras pas,_
  _En me livrant le trepas._

2. Three gentlemen and their valets desiring to cross a river find a
boat without a boatman; the boat is so small that it can contain no more
than two of them at once. None of the masters can endure the valets of
the other two, and if any one of them were left with any of the other
valets, he would infallibly cane them. How can these six persons cross
the river, two and two, so that none of the valets shall be left in
company with any of the masters except when his rightful master is
present?

The answers to these problems will be given next week.



Amateur Journalism.


Many hundreds of young persons having literary taste write stories and
verses for the amateur journals. A few hundred young persons more
ambitious than the others publish these miniature newspapers. These
publishers, editors, and contributors have long been organized into the
National Amateur Press Association--the "N.A.P.A.," for short. Every
year a national convention is held, at which a great deal of time is
spent discussing methods and men, and a great deal of enthusiasm
displayed in behalf of favorite candidates for president and other
offices. Of course there is the social side, and scores of delightful
acquaintances are formed that have been known to last a life-time.

[Illustration: WILL HANCOCK, President N.A.P.A.]

The last national convention was held in Chicago, when Mr. Will Hancock,
editor of the _Prairie Breezes_, which "blow monthly," was elected
president. He lives at Fargo, N. D., and will send a copy of his paper
to any member of our Order who asks him to do so. He wants to get
acquainted with as many members as possible, in order to invite you to
join the ranks of the N.A.P.A. The other officers are: First
Vice-president, Arthur J. Robinson, _Bohemia_, Chicago, Ill.; Second
Vice-president, Zelda R. Thurman, _Chicagoan_, Chicago, Ill.; Recording
Secretary, Albert E. Barnard, _Writer_, Chicago, Ill.; Corresponding
Secretary, Edward A. Hering, _Evergreen State_, Seattle, Wash.;
Treasurer, George L. Colburn, _The Mirror_, Pekin, Ill.; Official
Editor, Edith Missiter.

Judiciary Committee: Ex-president, John L. Tomlinson, editor
_Commentator_, Spokane, Wash., Chairman: Miss Stella Truman, Opelousas,
La., editor _The South_, ex-President Southern A.P.A., Secretary; and
Charles R. Burger, Jersey City, N. J., editor _Progress_.

National Laureate Recorder, Mabel C. Lucas, editor _Searchlight_,
Spokane, Wash.

Secretary of Credentials, Nathan Hill Ferguson, Level Plains, North
Carolina, author.

Chairman Recruiting Committee, Harrie C. Morris, editor _Ocean Waves_,
San Francisco, Cal.

Librarian, Ella Maud Frye, Halifax, Nova Scotia.

The convention of 1896 is to meet in Washington, D. C. Dues in the
N.A.P.A. are small. Address Recruiting Committee or Mr. Hancock. There
is also a New England Press Association, of which Miss Susan D. Robbins,
Abington, Mass., is president. She will give information concerning it
to all who ask.



Celebrating the "Fourth" Abroad.


     The other day we went in the cars to a little town on the Elbe's
     bank, and there took a steamboat and went up the river. The view
     was lovely, and looked like a mixture of the Rhine and the
     palisades on the Hudson, with high cliffs on each side--some green
     with trees, and others with the bare gray rocks worn by the wind
     and rain into a thousand queer shapes. In some places there were
     quarries for the soft buff sandstone of which these cliffs are
     composed, lending another color (yellow) to the cliffs of gray and
     green. You can well imagine how lovely it was.

     As we neared the town the country changed, and now it resembled
     the Thames, with villas here and there among the trees. The King
     of Saxony has his summer palace here, with pleasure-boats moored
     to the wharf. We reached the brightly lighted city on our return
     just at twilight, wishing our journey was not over so soon.

     We went to the Belvedere on the Fourth of July. It is a large
     garden by the river. It is crowded every night, a good half of the
     people being English and Americans. Of course the "Fourth" was a
     great American night, the programme being printed in English. The
     band played everything it knew of American music, with some of the
     English composers for the English part of the audience. You should
     have heard the clapping for "Hail Columbia." The musicians played
     the beautiful "Largo" too, and the hush that fell over every one
     was nice to see, even a lot of students who sat at the next table
     stopped talking and laughing.

     Last of all came a great mixture of all the American tunes.
     Everybody, or at least a great number, sang; and you can well
     imagine the noise when "Yankee Doodle" came. "Marching through
     Georgia" was sung loudly, every one clapping in time. By everybody
     I mean the Americans. "Old Black Joe" was most highly appreciated,
     and when it came to "Way Down upon the Suwanee River," the voices,
     it seemed to me, beat any opera chorus in the world. A great many
     voices were "quavery" at "Home, Sweet Home," and my sister and I
     indulged in rather a "watery" smile.

     I never knew the pathos of that song till I was in a German
     garden, with some of my countrymen around me, three thousand miles
     from "home." I could just hear the waves beating on the beach at
     dear old East Hampton, with the moonlight shining over all; the
     light in the dear little "chalet," and our footsteps sounding on
     the board walk, as we came in, in time for dinner, with the bright
     table and father just in from town. And I could see the funny old
     house with the willows in front, and the quiet old graveyard
     bright in the still white light. Across the way Daisy's house with
     the yellow lamplight shining through, and Daisy's black shadow
     passing across the light through the window. John Howard Payne
     must have seen the same "Home, Sweet Home" as I did that minute.

  EDITH S. MILLS.
  DRESDEN, GERMANY.



A South Carolina Plantation.


     We live on a plantation. The clearing is about 400 acres in
     extent. On the east is a salt-water river, and on the north,
     south, and west is the forest. On the other side of the river is a
     marsh. On this marsh there grows a kind of grass. In the winter
     the marsh dries and breaks off, and in spring, when we have high
     tides, the grass floats upon the beach, and people haul it away to
     put in the stables for the horses and cows. There are many large
     live-oaks scattered over the clearing, with lots of moss hanging
     from them. The moss is lovely. Along the river-shore on our side
     are palmettos, oak-trees, and bushes.

  MILLIE MITTELL, R. T. L.
  BLUFFTON, S. C.



[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.


[Illustration]

[Illustration]

Corean money is made of copper or brass, each piece about as large as
our old copper cents, with a square hole in the centre. It takes six
hundred of these coins to equal in value one of our silver dollars. Ten
dollars would be a good load for a man to carry about, and fifty dollars
would be a good load for a horse.

Where does the capitalist keep his money? We have to build immense
vaults in Washington to store away our silver bullion and silver dollars
that no one cares to carry about as we prefer good gold or paper money.
There are no banks or safe-deposit companies with fire-proof vaults in
Corea, so the Corean capitalist is forced to devise a method, and has
hit upon a very novel one. He lends out the money early in the spring at
50 per cent. or 60 per cent. per year, all loans to be repaid in full
with interest late in the autumn. The money, therefore, comes back about
the beginning of winter. The Corean digs a big hole in his yard the
first freezing night and spreads out a layer of cash on the bottom. On
top of this he throws some earth and wets it thoroughly. As soon as this
is frozen hard, he spreads out another layer of cash and covers it with
wet earth; this freezes in turn and another layer of cash is put away.
When he gets through the whole is wet again and it naturally freezes
solid. Thus each Corean capitalist has his own security vault, and the
winter is such that there is no danger of any one trying to dig up the
money until warm weather in the spring.

     W. J. MCGARVEY.--Continental and Confederate bills have little
     value, owing to the enormous quantity still in existence. A
     collection of these would be of at least as much interest as a
     collection of stamps, and the expense would not be very great.

     H. H. LUTHER.--The Columbian half-dollar is in regular circulation
     at face value. There is little prospect of its increasing in
     value.

     F. S. B.--The dealers sell the 1830 half-dollar for 75c.

     R. STARKE.--Ten-cent stamp albums are not recommended to even a
     beginner. A very good album can be bought for $1.

     S. A. DYAR.--The coin described is Spanish, and is worth about
     12c., face value. Dealers quote one-dollar gold pieces at $1.50,
     quarter eagles at $3, 1828-32 half-cent 15c., 1858 copper cents
     5c.

  PHILATUS.



[Illustration]

One can be genteel and neat, and still indulge a love of outdoor sports.

A fall with nothing worse than mud stains is not serious; Ivory Soap
will remove troublesome spots and restore the original freshness to a
good piece of cloth.

Copyright 1895, The Procter & Gamble Co.



[Illustration: RICHARDSON & DE LONG BROS. ad]



[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



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]



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TWILIGHT LAND.

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THE STORY OF BABETTE.

     A Little Creole Girl. By RUTH MCENERY STUART, Author of
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HARPER & BROTHERS, Publishers, New York



"A SEEMINGLY EXTINCT VOLCANO."


[Illustration: VIEW OF A SEEMINGLY EXTINCT VOLCANO.]

[Illustration: STARTLING CHANGES IN SAME CAUSED BY A SUDDEN ERUPTION.]



TOMMY'S SUGGESTION.


MAMMA. "You should always take the smaller piece of anything offered.
You just took the larger piece of cake, and left the smaller piece for
your elder brother."

TOMMY. "But, mamma, as Willie is my elder, I think the plate should have
been passed to him first."



HARD TO TELL.


"What on earth is that baby crying for?" asked the baby's father.

"He says he wants a wolly-bully-um," said mamma.

"Well, for goodness' sake give it to him."

"I will, if you'll tell me what it is," said mamma.



VERY LIKELY.


"I can't understand why it is that the baby keeps putting his hands in
his mouth all the time," said Bob.

"I guess he's trying to hold his tongue," suggested Mabel.



A SPAT AT THE MUSEUM.


"You are a fraud," cried the Fat Man to the Living Skeleton. "I can see
through you."

"Of course you can," retorted the Living Skeleton. "That merely proves
what a living skeleton I am."



HE WAS WONDERING.


"Mamma," said little Willie the other day, "don't some people think that
when folks die they turn into animals and birds?"

"I believe so, Willie," replied his mother; "but why do you ask that
question?"

"Only," said Willie, "because I was wondering if all the negroes turn
into chicken-hawks."



CHOP LOGIC.


TILLIE. "A man who keeps a bakery is a baker, isn't he?"

BILLY. "Of course. And a man who keeps cellery is a seller, but a man
who keeps a buttery isn't a _butter_, is he?"



TOMMY'S NOSE.


TOMMY. "Papa, I wish you would buy me a set of boxing-gloves."

PAPA. "I'll do no such thing. Do you want to get your nose broken?"

TOMMY. "No; I only want to learn how to keep it from getting broken."



DREAMS.


MABEL. "Don't dreams always go by contraries?"

MAMMA. "I have heard so."

MABEL. "Well, last night I dreamed that I asked you for a piece of cake,
and you wouldn't give it to me."



THE VENDER'S HORSE.


When little Rupert saw a vender's horse whose ribs were plainly visible
the other day, he said to his nurse:

"Oh, Ellen, just look at the horse with corduroy skin!"



HIS OBJECTION.


"I simply wish we'd never had any American Revolution," sighed Tommy,
after school the other day. "It's made my life miserable."

"How so?" asked his uncle.

"So many more history dates to remember," said Tom.



LIKE THE REST.


"Ah, Jack, I hear you go to kindergarten."

"Yes."

"What do you do there?"

"Oh--we make things."

"Indeed? And what do you make chiefly?"

"Noise," said Jack.



[Illustration: HE KNEW.]


TEACHER. "NOW WHICH OF YOU BOYS CAN TELL ME WHAT SEA WATER CONTAINS
BESIDES THE SODIUM CHLORIDE JUST MENTIONED?"

TOMMY TATTERS. "MCGINTY!"





*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Harper's Round Table, September 17, 1895" ***

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