Home
  By Author [ A  B  C  D  E  F  G  H  I  J  K  L  M  N  O  P  Q  R  S  T  U  V  W  X  Y  Z |  Other Symbols ]
  By Title [ A  B  C  D  E  F  G  H  I  J  K  L  M  N  O  P  Q  R  S  T  U  V  W  X  Y  Z |  Other Symbols ]
  By Language
all Classics books content using ISYS

Download this book: [ ASCII ]

Look for this book on Amazon


We have new books nearly every day.
If you would like a news letter once a week or once a month
fill out this form and we will give you a summary of the books for that week or month by email.

Title: Harper's Round Table, May 12, 1896
Author: Various
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

*** Start of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Harper's Round Table, May 12, 1896" ***

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



[Illustration: HARPER'S ROUND TABLE]

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

       *       *       *       *       *

PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, MAY 12, 1896. FIVE CENTS A COPY.

VOL. XVII.--NO. 863. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.

       *       *       *       *       *



[Illustration]

A WILD-OLIVE WREATH

BY S. SCOVILLE, JUN.


Thronged to the gates is the little town of Elis on this the night
before the Olympic Games. Here are present not only men of every Grecian
city and province, but strange wanderers from the uttermost corners of
the world have assembled to view the games that honor the Ruler of the
Gods.

Far away across the plain--so far that the many-voiced tumult of the
crowded city is but an echo--in dark silence stand the sacred olive
groves. Against the grayish-green foliage gleam the white tents of the
athletes, chosen from all Greece, who are to compete on the morrow.
Close to where towers the vast temple of Olympian Zeus, the world-wonder
that Lidon made, is a little group of tents that shelter the men of
Croton, famed for the might of her athletes. One of all the competitors
lies wakeful. Dion, the son of Glaucus, gazes from his couch with
wide-open eyes out into the night, sees the glimmer of the stars through
the flickering leaves, listens to the whisper of the boughs overhead,
and sleeps not. On the morrow he, a youth of eighteen, is to run in the
dolichos, the hardest race of the games. His breath comes in gasps and
the blood drums in the boy's ears as for the hundredth time in fancy he
runs his race. The horrible waiting, the strain of suspense, have
unnerved many an athlete more seasoned than Dion. A short hour before,
Hippomaches, the grizzled old trainer of Croton, had made a final visit
to see that all was well with his charges. Close on his departure came
Glaucus, the boy's father, a man well past three score, yet with massive
frame seemingly untouched by time as when, forty-four years ago, the
mighty Milo of Syracuse had fallen before him under such a deadly
cestus-stroke that the "blow of Glaucus" passed into a proverb. Dion,
who had inherited the slighter frame and almost girlish beauty of a
Thessalian mother, has always felt more of awe than affection for his
silent Lacedæmonian father, little knowing what a wealth of love for
his latest-born the grim old Spartan concealed under his impassive
coldness.

To-night Glaucus stands for long without speaking, gazing down at his
son, while the stern, unflinching eyes become very soft. Then, to the
amazement of Dion, the hand that for nine Olympiads had won the wreath
from the world's mightiest rests on his yellow hair, tenderly as a
woman's.

"Dion, my son," and the deep voice trembles a little, "thou knowest how
that our blood has ever brought glory to Croton. That the statues of thy
grandfather, thy father, and thy two brothers all stand in this grove
among the winners of Olympiads. Now thy turn hath come. Oh, my son, my
son, for the love thy father bears thee, for the honor of city and
blood, win the wreath to-morrow!"--and Glaucus is gone.

Through the black tree-trunks steals a wavering glow from where the lone
priestess of Hestia tends the eternal flame that forever burns on the
Prytaneum. From either side of Dion's tent he hears the deep, regular
breathing of his twin brothers, men of tremendous strength and stature
like to their father, who have won fame almost equal to his--one as a
wrestler, the other as a boxer. Veterans are they in many a hard-fought
contest at the great games--Olympic, Pythian, Nemean, and Isthmian--and,
certain of success, rest untroubled by any feverish imaginings.

Dion's thoughts go back to that Olympiad in which his brothers scored a
double victory for Croton. Before the silent multitude that day Glaucus
blessed his sons for the glory they had brought him.

Every honor was heaped on the winners that Greece had to bestow. World
poets and singers gave of their genius to adorn the names of the sons of
Glaucus. Phidias himself made them immortal in snowy marble. The journey
homeward was one long series of triumphs; and when at last the
Olympiad-winners reached distant Croton, a breach was made through the
solid masonry of the city wall for their entry, no mere gateway
sufficing. Met by the assembled Council of Croton, they were formally
installed in the Prytaneum as guests of the city for life.

And Dion, still thrilling at the remembrance of that day, falls asleep.

In the gray hour just before dawn Hippomaches rouses the boy from an
uneasy slumber, and then with the clear oil rubs out every trace of
stiffness from the lithe polished limbs of his charge. The nude youth
stands in his manly beauty like a statue to Speed carved in ivory, his
white skin crimson-tinged where the friction has brought the warm blood
to the surface, while the coiling muscles ripple with every movement
across the slim sinewy frame, from which years of training have taken
away every ounce of useless fat.

"Ah, my lad," exclaims the old trainer, admiringly, as he gives the
white back a farewell pat, "you are fit to-day to run a brave race for
old Croton; and forget not all I have taught you!"

Dion dresses, and after a hurried meal proceeds to the temple, there to
take the oath of the games--that he is qualified to run, and will use no
guile in his race. Thence they go to the Metroön, rich with its
treasures of art, to await the triple trumpet-note that shall announce
the dolichos. For there are three races to be run this day--two short
ones, the aulos and diaulos, and lastly the terrible dolichos, in which
the runner covers the course twenty times. During the weary waiting
Hippomaches heartens the boy by stories of the performances of his
grandfather and father in Olympiads long past. The sun is well up before
the first races are over, and the shrill trumpet-tones give the signal
for the last of the running events.

At the northwestern corner of the Altis, by the station-entrance that
only judges and competitors are privileged to use, the two separate, and
Hippomaches hastens away to take his place among the men of Croton, who
have their station near the base of the hill Kronion. Dion, with a crowd
of other competitors, passes through the vaulted tunnel between long
lines of brazen Zanes, and finds himself on the stadion in the full
glare of the early sunlight. The heights around are thronged far as the
eye can see with a vast crowd. To-day Dion runs before an assembled
world. The long straight expanse of the stadion stretches before him. At
either end are sunken slabs of white marble. Ten times must a runner
touch each block to cover the full twenty courses. High above the stone
which marks both start and finish are ranged the ten Hellenodikæ, the
judges, while on the opposite side the white-faced priestess of Demeter
Chamyrne sits alone--the only woman whose eyes may behold the games.

A great hush has fallen on the multitude as the competitors take the
places assigned them by lot. It is broken by the voice of the herald.

"Let him that knows of any stain on the life or blood of a competitor
speak now!" it thunders. A moment of tense silence, and then----"Let
every runner place his feet on the mark!" echoes along the hill-side.

Each nude figure bends forward; a clear trumpet-note, and they are away,
a rushing mass of bodies that gleam in the sunlight.

A little apart from the crowd in the seats of honor sit Glaucus, his
twin sons--whose events do not come until late afternoon--and
Hippomaches, the trainer.

"'Tis an easy game, this running," remarks one of the twins, the boxer,
a little disdainfully.

"I say to you, oh winner with the cestus," Hippomaches responds,
sternly, "that the most grievous blows on the palæstra are not to be
compared with the suffering of the last five courses of the dolichos!"

But Glaucus hears nothing of this, nothing of the ejaculations and
murmurs of excitement, pleasure, and disappointment that sound from all
the throng. But for one thing has he eyes--a slim lithe figure far in
the rear of the others, yet which moves with a smooth effortless gait
like the swoop of a swallow. His iron grip tightens like a vise on the
trainer's shoulder. "I know little of contests wherein men trust to
their feet," he mutters. "Why lags the boy so far behind? He--he is not
losing heart?"

"Watch the first turning, O Glaucus, and thou wilt see why Dion holds
back," Hippomaches answers, grimly. "'Tis the bitter stadia that comes
last by which thy son's courage will be proven."

Now the crowd of runners are at the end of the first course. The madness
of the race is upon most of the novices. Forgetting the long stadia that
come after, they strain every muscle to be the first to touch the white
stone, and, instantly turning, retrace their course. In the wild jostle
that results, Polymnestor, the Platæan runner, is thrown headlong, and
though he rises instantly, and limpingly follows the others, never is
the lost ground regained. A little group of the older runners, including
Dion, who races with all the judgment of a veteran, have held back, and
now, avoiding the returning rush, complete the course with no danger of
interference, and are soon close upon the heels of the leaders.

It is to this little group that the knowing ones look for the winner.
There is Philoctetes, the Spartan, a grim, black-bearded man in the
prime of life, who won the dolichos at the last Olympiad. Near him are
formidable rivals--Listhenes, Athens's speediest runner, who defeated
Philoctetes by a desperate effort at the recent Nemean Games, and
Antenor of Corinth, the winner of the event at the Pythian Games, is
just at his shoulder. Then come two runners from distant provinces in
Asia, who are rumored to have done marvellous racing over their native
stadia. Back of them all is Dion, with the smouldering flame in his eyes
and the long graceful stride. At the end of the second course the same
scene of confusion is repeated, and two more runners go down. Stadion
after stadion are traversed, and slowly the leaders drop back. By the
end of the tenth the six that had brought up the rear are now in the
van. Another course, and they begin to draw away from those who have
exhausted their strength during the first half of the race. At last
there are but five stadia more--the stadia in which the real race is
run, the stadia that are the supreme test of a runner's courage and
endurance.

Hippomaches tugs at his grizzled beard excitedly. "Fourteen Olympian
dolichoi have I seen run in my day," he exclaims to Glaucus, "but never
a faster than this. Flesh and blood cannot stand that pace much longer;
some one will drop soon, and--the gods send it be not our Dion!"

Philoctetes is in the lead. His teeth are clinched, and the foam lies
white on his black beard. A fit embodiment is he of the grim
Lacedæmonian spirit which is yet to dominate all Greece. Faster and
faster he runs, hoping to exhaust his rival from hated Athens--none
other does he fear. A deep-throated roar of encouragement rises from the
tiers of stern-faced, impassive Spartans as their champion flashes past
them. Shrill cries come from the excitable Greeks of the Asiatic
provinces as they cheer on their representatives, who are beginning to
waver. But it is vain. Very different is an Olympic dolichos from any
race of the provinces, and though struggling desperately, they drop
back, unable longer to stand the tremendous strain. One stadion, two
stadia, are passed, and the third begun, nor does Philoctetes falter
aught in his even, rapid gait. Right at his shoulder glare the eyes of
Listhenes, who would gladly give his life this day that Athens might
win. There is a great hush as the runners traverse the third course. The
supreme moment of the race is drawing nigh. All in a moment Antenor the
Corinthian, who has held the third place just ahead of Dion, plunges
forward in the very midst of a stride, and falls to the ground with the
bright blood gushing from his mouth--his last dolichos run.

"Dion! Dion! See our Dion!" roar the men of Croton; for the boy is
gaining. Inch by inch the gap between him and the leaders lessens, and
soon Listhenes hears a sobbing breath at his ear, and knows that there
is another to dispute the victory with Athens and Sparta.

"'Tis thine own son, O Glaucus!" cried Hippomaches, clinching his hands.
And indeed the boy's features have changed. On the white drawn face
appears that same intense look of deadly earnestness that made the
fiercest boxer fear to stand before Glaucus in the old days. Fatigue,
pain, danger, death itself count for naught; the race! the race! and his
city's honor! are all that Dion knows. They touch the white stone, and
turn back for the last course almost in line.

Back and forth among the hills roll the waves of sound, "Athens!"
"Athens!" "Philoctetes for Sparta!" But high over all echoes the cry of,
"Croton! Croton! Speed thee, O Croton!" Unhearingly Dion runs. There is
a sickening pain in his breast, a taste of blood in his mouth; but the
boy's will yet upholds the overtaxed body, dead from the waist
downwards, and the gap between him and the leaders widens not.

Far, oh, so terribly far, in the distance is the white stone, the goal
of all his life. Above it are the calm uneager faces of the ten
Hellenodikæ and the pale priestess, who gazes down at the struggling
trio with unseeing eyes from which a thousand sacrifices have seared all
of human tenderness. Nearer and nearer the snowy gleam approaches, and
still the three runners are almost in line, with Dion a little behind.
Suddenly from out of the misty cloud of faces that wavers before the
boy's hot unwinking eyes Dion sees his father's, the stern features all
convulsed, hears a voice cry brokenly, with a world of anguished
pleading in its tone,

"On, Dion! on! Oh, my son--for your city!"

"Dion! Dion! for your city!" echoes the mighty voice of thrice ten
thousand men--and at the cry the boy's face comes up even with the black
beard of Philoctetes, the tense countenance of the Athenian.

Neck by neck, stride for stride the three stagger on, and the finish is
but a few steps away. The multitude is mad with excitement. Even the
Hellenodikæ forget their stoicism, and lean forward, for who touches the
stone first, if by only a hair's-breadth, is the winner. Then above the
deep roar of the crowd sounds a voice like a trumpet-peal, the
tremendous voice of Hippomaches, wisest of the sons of men in every wile
of the stadion.

"The finish! Dion, the finish! Remember!--Now!"

Through the dimness that is slowly clouding Dion's senses the voice
pierces. Almost in the last stride of the race the boy, with arms
extended, throws himself forward like a diver, and the hands,
outstretched, are on the goal-stone a fraction of a second before the
feet of the others. And with the feeling of the smooth coolness of the
marble at his finger-tips comes a great darkness, and Dion knows nothing
more until he finds himself standing in the temple of Zeus on the
chryselephantine table that Zeuxis made--the most beautiful in the
world. Around him are the strong arms of his father. He hears the
pealing chant, "Tenella! Tenella!" "Hail to the victor!" and on his
forehead feels the light pressure of the hardly won olive wreath that
crowns him before the world the winner of the dolichos.



GRANDFATHER'S ADVENTURES.

BY CAPTAIN HOWARD PATTERSON.


"Grandpop," said Ralph Pell, "a little while ago I asked Sam if he had
seen many sharks in his lifetime, and he said that he saw more sharks
the night he first joined your vessel than he ever saw before or since.
When I asked him to tell me the story he shut up as tight as a clam. Do
you know what he means?"

"Yes, Ralph, I know what he refers to, and I'll tell you the yarn. It is
a good many years ago since I was made proud by receiving as my first
command a fine, tight little bark called the _Northern Light_. I carried
out a general cargo to Matanzas, on the north side of Cuba, and loaded
sugar for my return voyage.

"The day that I received my clearance papers and was ready to sail, our
agent, a Spanish gentleman of the name of Gonzales, invited me to take a
farewell dinner.

"The time spent at the table was exceedingly pleasant, and after the
dessert had been served we adjourned with the ladies to the veranda for
our coffee, which was served by a powerfully built negro who answered to
the name of Antonio. I have often thought how different that poor
slave's life would have been had I not asked for a second cup.

"As Antonio extended the tray toward me he struck its edge against my
chair, and emptied the hot black liquid over my white duck coat and
trousers.

"My host jumped to his feet in a passion.

"'You worthless black scoundrel!' he cried, 'I'll cure you of your
carelessness." Then he turned to me, and with an air of great politeness
said, 'I ask you pardon, Señor Capitan, for my slave's miserable
clumsiness.

"Immediately following, two of the plantation overseers, whom he had
called, dragged the negro on to the lawn before us, stripped off his
jacket and shirt, and produced short cruel-looking whips.

"'Señor,' I said, 'I beg of you to pardon him this time; it was purely
an accident, for which I excuse him.'

"'I cannot allow your generosity to be taken advantage of, Señor
Capitan,' replied my host. 'You have received an indignity under my
roof, and I must render you ample proof of my regret.'

"At a sign from the master, the two plantation hands were about to ply
their whips upon the back of the house slave, when, jumping over the
railing to the lawn, I interposed between the negro and the overseers,
bidding them to hold. My interference angered our agent, for he
approached me, and said, haughtily:

"'The Señor Capitan will remember that he is not master here, that this
is my slave, and he will oblige me by not concerning himself in the
management of my affairs.' Then he added, sneeringly, 'Besides, I
understand that Yankee shipmasters are not so humane in the treatment of
their crews as to be shocked because a clumsy slave receives a sample of
what American captains enjoy to inflict on their own men for little or
no provocation!'

"'Señor Gonzales,' I answered, hotly, 'your brutality is only equalled
by the discourtesy and contempt that you show to me as your guest. I
demand an immediate apology for your language in the presence of these
overseers and this slave, before whom you have insulted me!'

"As I ended he snatched a whip from one of the men, and raised it as
though to strike me, but changing his mind, he half turned and slashed
it across the naked shoulders of the negro.

"Before they could seize him, Antonio lurched forward, struck his
master a stinging blow with his fist, and the next instant had scaled
the garden wall and plunged into the cane-fields close by.

"Disgusted with the way in which my visit had ended, and scorning, under
the circumstances, to make use of a conveyance belonging to the
plantation, I left the grounds without seeing the señora and her
daughters, and made my way to the plaza in the city. Later on I made my
way to the wharf where I had ordered the bark's boat to meet me.

"Several times, as the men pulled easily toward the ship through the hot
night, I thought I heard, between the intervals of the strokes, a sound
like that of labored breathing and the noise of broken water just
astern; but in the darkness that prevailed I could see nothing, and
thinking perhaps that it was caused by the sharks which abounded in the
harbor, I paid no further heed to it.

"We had run alongside the bark, and I had stood up in the stern-sheets
to leave the boat, when a black hand reached out of the water and seized
the gunwale of the boat; then as one of the sailors uttered a note of
alarm and raised his oar threateningly, an agonized negro's face was
lifted above the rail, and a pitiful voice cried in Spanish, 'Save
Antonio, master!'

"I didn't like the idea of stealing another man's property, but I
trembled to think of his fate should he be caught, so I took the poor
fellow on board the _Northern Light_, and when morning came I lifted
anchor and carried him away from cruelty and slavery forever. To cut him
adrift from the past I rechristened him 'Sam.'"



PRACTICAL GOLF.

BY W. G. _van_ TASSEL SUTPHEN.

(_In Five Papers._)

III.--THROUGH THE GREEN, AND BUNKER PLAY.


The "green" is used generically to designate the whole course,
specifically it is the putting green. Now we know that after the
tee-shot we must "address" and play the ball _as we find it_. We are not
permitted to tee it again, nor must we touch it with anything except a
club, under penalty of one stroke. The choice of club naturally depends
upon the distance from the hole, but more especially upon the "lie" of
the ball. Should it be resting cleanly on close firm turf, we may be
able to use the driver again; but, generally speaking, our American
courses are too rough and cuppy to permit the employment of so fragile
an instrument as the wooden driver. On some of the English "greens," and
notably Westward Ho, the lies are so good that one's ball seems to be
always teed, and proficiency with the wooden club is consequently at a
premium. But on ordinary courses the "lie" is pretty sure to be more or
less bad, and the play-club, as the driver is sometimes called, must be
laid aside in favor of a coarser and more effective weapon. Speaking
roughly, the brassy is first choice, followed by cleek, medium iron,
lofter, mashie, and niblick, the last being used only in the most
desperate of straits, and where nothing more is expected than to get the
ball upon the course again.

[Illustration: THE WAGGLE.]

The fascination of golf lies in its variety and difficulty. If it were
only a question of holing balls, one long hole laid out over a smooth
meadow would be all that would be necessary. But it would be very
monotonous and uninteresting kind of work, and certainly not golf. Given
six or nine or eighteen holes of different lengths, and the task at once
becomes interesting through the introduction of the element of variety.

But a simple variation in distance is not enough; the game is still too
easy. We must have difficulties to avoid or overcome, and these
difficulties, lumped under the general name of "hazards," may be either
natural or artificial. The idea is that these hazards should be so
placed as to punish only poor strokes, and that with perfect play we may
avoid them altogether. But for present purposes we may ignore their
existence, and assume that the way is clear, and that our only
difficulty is the particular position, or "lie," of the ball.

Now there are many kinds of bad lies, but the one oftenest encountered
is the "cupped" ball. Here the ball is lying in a shallow hole or
depression, making it very difficult to get the club well under it. If
the cup be not too deep we may take a brassy, but the stroke will differ
slightly from the regular full drive. It should be what is called a
"jerked" shot, although the "jerk" has nothing to do with the swing
proper. That must be as smooth and regular as possible, but it may be
permissible to keep the arms in a trifle, and thereby bring the club up
straighter. The principal difference is that the club head cuts into the
ground instead of sweeping cleanly over it. The ball is struck in
precisely the same manner, and the jerk is simply the after impact of
the club head upon the turf. This stroke is particularly effective with
the iron clubs, and indeed many players use it for all their iron shots.
It certainly drives the ball almost if not quite so far as the clean
swing; but the author of the _Art of Golf_ thinks that its constant use
tends to unsteadiness at the tee. Nevertheless, it is the only effective
treatment for a cupped ball, and it must be learned. When playing the
stroke do not think about the jerk. Swing down so as to nip in between
the lip of the cup and the ball, and let the club head make its own
explanations to the ground. Should the ball be badly cupped you may have
to take the mashie or even the niblick to get it out; but the cleek will
generally do the work if you hit accurately.

A hanging ball is one that is lying upon a slope that runs down in the
direction of the proposed drive. It looks hard to handle, but the
difficulty is purely imaginary. The brassy, or any other club whose face
is laid back, will easily raise it into the air if you swing properly
and trust to the club to do the work. The beginner is apt to think that
he must make an extra turn with his wrists to get the ball up, but he is
mistaken. Place the club so that it rests naturally on the slope behind
the ball, and swing precisely as though you were at the tee, and the
"spoon" of the club will do the rest.

[Illustration: GETTING OUT OF A BUNKER.]

Balls lying on a side hill, whether above or below you, are best played
with an easy swing, and with the grip of the right hand comparatively
loose. Long grass is very annoying because it interferes with the swing.
You will have to take the lofter or mashie, and play with a firm grip.
But do not "press" or try to strike extra hard. Generally speaking, the
worse the lie the more particular you should be to swing and not to hit.
Accuracy and not strength is the essential thing. And get well under the
ball.

Coming now to hazards and bunkers, it may be said that bunkers are,
properly speaking, sand-pits; while a hazard is any permanent feature of
the course, such as briar-islands, roads, water, trees, or fences. Of
course you will try to avoid these difficulties, but to be successful in
doing so you must be reasonably sure of always getting your ball well
into the air. A ball trundling along the ground may often make more
yards of distance than a nicety lofted one, but then the "green" must be
comparatively smooth and clear. If there is a brook or a fence in the
way, it must be cleared on the fly, or you will find yourself in
trouble. Now the lofter and mashie, from their shape of head, tend to
raise the ball higher in the air than the straighter-faced clubs, and
the novice should especially cultivate the use of the first-named. If
the ball be struck clean and true, it may be lofted higher than is
absolutely necessary, but that is better than too low. There is a
particular stroke, called the high loft, but that need not concern us
now. Use the regular driving swing, and get well under the ball.

Being fairly in a bunker or hazard is a painful situation, and the one
thing to do is to get out with all possible expedition. If you are in a
bunker proper, or sand-pit, you will have to take the niblick or mashie,
and you must remember that you are not allowed to "sole" the club--that
is, rest it on the ground as in the ordinary address. The idea is that
the mark made on the sand by the club head is an unfair guide for the
eye, and therefore if you touch sand you lose a stroke. It is often
effective in a sand-bunker to aim at a point a little behind the ball,
rather than at the "gutty" itself. The club cuts into the yielding sand,
and, as it were, explodes the ball into the air and out of danger. An
experiment or two will make this clear to you.

With the ball in an ordinary hazard, play to get it back on the course,
rather than to make any extra distance by a little extra effort. If you
"press," you will probably leave yourself worse off than before. In a
"score" game a player has the option of lifting his ball out of a
difficulty of any description and teeing it _behind_ the same, the
penalty being two strokes. Of course you must use your judgment as to
when this course is the part of wisdom.

[Illustration: BEGINNING OF HALF-IRON SHOT.]

In match play, where the scoring is by holes, a lost ball means the loss
of the hole. In medal or score play the player must return as nearly as
possible to the point where the ball was struck, and tee a new one, the
penalty being one stroke.

There are several other contingencies noted in the rules of the game; it
is worth while to procure a copy of these and study them carefully.

[Illustration: A HAZARD.]

It is to be remembered that all of the foregoing refers to play through
the green when the hole is at an indefinite distance away, and we are
simply trying to drive the ball the greatest distance possible. But in
playing out of a hazard it is often advisable to use what is called, in
approaching the hole, a half or a three-quarter swing. Roughly speaking,
if the full distance covered by your regular drive be not desirable,
make the _length_ of your swing shorter in proportion, but do not try to
hit a little more easily. Distance is measured by the length of the
swing and not by the force applied. Let the left wrist be taut; and,
finally, _Keep your eye on the ball_.



UNDER THE GREEN-WOOD TREE.

BY EMMA J. GRAY.


"Not going to the country, did you say, mamma?" and sorrowing faces
accompanied the words.

"Not this summer, my dears."

"Then if we are _not_ going, I know just what to do."

"What's your plan, my son?"

"Simply to _make_ country for ourselves here at home."

"How, Jack? I don't quite understand," said his sister.

"Divide our big yard. You take both the side beds, and plant in them
whichever flowers you would most miss by staying home, and I will take
the back bed and surprise you with it."

"Oh, that will be fun! I'll plant one side full of daisies, and the
other just as full of buttercups. Then I can make all the daisy wreaths
I please, and find out who loves butter and who don't, just the same as
when we are up in the mountains."

John was a tree lover. It was his greatest joy to lie off with a
favorite book under wide-spreading branches. So he instantly began
devising what could be arranged to take a tree's place. He measured his
plot, and then set about collecting old brooms. When he had eighteen he
cut off the handles close to the brush, and then he sank them one foot
in the ground. From the top of each handle he drew stout cord to the
back fence, where, having driven some nails, he firmly fastened each
cord.

Then he raked the earth down about half a foot, and sowed in a straight
line from base to base of the handles a package of Japanese hops. His
mother had told him this had most luxuriant foliage and was fine for
trellises. Nothing hurt it--neither heat, drought, nor insects. However,
John carefully watched the seeds' growth and watered the tender shoots
frequently.

While the vines were growing, as he was somewhat of a carpenter, he made
a low divan on which to throw a rug and pine pillows for the use of
visitors who did not care to lie on the soft tan-bark, which served as
carpet for his cool restful greenroom, and which throughout all the hot
sultry summer gave thorough satisfaction.

Entrance was made at the extreme right, space for which was allowed at
time of building. This part was kept well sodded, as the effect was
prettier when viewed from the house. It also was in pleasing contrast
to the dark brown of the tan-bark, and made the whole more effective in
every way.

As for John's sister, she rarely missed the country, for she so very
much enjoyed the freedom of gardening on her own account--weeding,
watering, making wreaths and bouquets for her friends and herself.

But, as often happens to older gardeners, she met with disappointment in
regard to her buttercup bed. Beyond the first few weeks they refused to
bloom, so one day they were all dug up and verbena roots planted
instead. These fairly ran riot, and the fantastic gay coloring had the
veriest kaleidoscopic effect until frost came and out-of-door gardening
was over.



THREE OF US KNOW.

BY MARIE L. VAN VORST.


  Who are my playfellows?
    Wait, you shall see;
  Sometimes a little bird,
    Sometimes a bee.
  All through the summer world
  Gayly we go.
      Where is the greenest close,
      Where is the sweetest rose,
        Three of us know.

  Bee seeks the rose's heart,
    Bird seeks the tree,
  I seek a little brook
    Clear as can be.
  It singeth all day long
  Sweetly and low,
      Ballad of sun and star.
      What its song-secrets are
        Three of us know.

  Bee takes the honey home
    To the Queen bee;
  Bird seeks a nest that hides
    High in the tree;
  I seek a little house
  Where sweet vines grow.
      What in God's world is best--
      Trees, flowers, home and rest--
        Three of us know.



AN "OLD-FIELD" SCHOOL-GIRL.[1]

[1] Begun in HARPER'S ROUND TABLE No. 857.

BY MARION HARLAND

CHAPTER VIII.


"Running for her life" is not too strong an expression to describe
Flea's flight. She had had experience of the temper of the man she had
injured to the extent of her ability. She believed that he would kill
her, in his fury, if he overtook her. With the instinct of a hunted hare
she made for the thickest part of the woods, tearing through matted
jungles of cat-briers and saplings, redoubling her speed as she heard a
shout behind her. She had run a mile when she stopped for breath. Her
hat was gone, and the muslin spencer worn under a sleeveless jacket,
because of the late warm weather, was torn into ribbons. Her arms and
face were bleeding; her heart beat so loudly that she could hear nothing
else distinctly; but she fancied, presently, that she distinguished from
afar off the noise of somebody crashing through the undergrowth. She
bethought herself instantly that her flight must have left a wide trail
in the forest. Winged by terror, she dashed on, but she no longer ran
straight. With an undefined idea, gained from reading Cooper's novels,
of losing trail in the water, she directed her course toward the swamp
lying on both sides of the creek near where it emptied into the river.
She could wade for a mile there, if necessary. Once in the depths of the
swamp, she could defy anybody to find her unless he had a blood-hound to
guide him. She had read and heard of blood-hounds, but had never seen
one.

In her blind haste she miscalculated distances and direction, becoming
aware of the blunder as the woods grew lighter. Long level lines of
light from the early sunsetting hit her like arrows shot from behind the
leafless trees. Where was she going? If she kept on, where would she
come out?

A new sound smote her ears. It was not the shout of the pursuer or the
bay of the hound which her imagination had conjured up. As it arose and
wailed upon the still air, she fancied something familiar in it.
Creeping cautiously nearer the road, which she espied through the
brushwood, she saw first the white top of a "tumbler-cart" crossing a
bridge laid over an arm of the creek, then the long ears of a mule,
lastly her father's one man-servant, Dick, walking alongside of the
mule, his hand on the thill of the cart. As he walked he uplifted voice
and soul in sacred song:

  "An' mus' dis body die?
    Dis martial frame de-cay?
  An' mus' dese actyve lim's o' mine--"

"Min' yo' eye dar, y'u ole buzzard!" as the mule touched the driver's
cowhide boots with his hoof--

  "Lie mould-ing in de clay?"

The truth flashed upon Flea. Chaney's sister, who had belonged to a
planter living ten miles further down the river, had died a week ago,
and word had been sent to Chaney that "a right smart chance o' clo'es
an' blankets an' things" had been left to her by the deceased. Mrs.
Grigsby had asked her husband that morning at breakfast if Dick could
have a mule and a cart and a day's holiday, in order to fetch home his
wife's legacy. The master had given his consent readily, and Dick was
now on his way home, bearing his goods with him. He was, likewise,
charged with all the particulars of his sister-in-law's sickness and
death, with which he had it in his mind to regale his faithful Chaney.
Behind him were the fertile low grounds; before him the road stretched
straight into the heart of swamp and forest.

  "I'm goin' home!"

wailed the chorus.

  "I'm going home! I'm goin' ho-o-me!
  I'm goin' ho-o-oome, to die no mo'!"

[Illustration: FLEA CREPT IN OVER THE BACKBOARD.]

Crouching low, and treading as lightly as a panther, Flea quitted the
bushes, stole up behind the cart as Dick threw up his head, to open his
mouth back to the ears in the final howl of "ho-o-o-ome," and crept in
over the backboard, unseen and unsuspected by the musician.

A feather bed filled the body of the cart, and into this the fugitive
sank, pulling the "things" over her. How soft and how safe it felt! and
how tired! tired! _tired!_ she was, now that she had stopped running and
need not fear pursuit. She had eaten nothing since breakfast, and was
giddy and faint. She was very wet, too. In emptying the bucket upon her
tormentor she had drenched herself to the skin.

Flea had not thought of going home when she ran out of the school-house.
She would have said that she dared not meet her father and mother after
what she had done. Maddened by her wrongs, she was conscious of but two
impulses--to revenge herself upon the guilty party, and then to get out
of sight of everybody. The best thing that could happen to her, she told
herself, would be to die in the woods, of starvation and exposure, and
to be found there by a search party sent out by her parents. Everybody
would cry over her lifeless remains, and the wicked cause of her death
would be driven out of the county. Perhaps he might be hanged for her
murder. He would certainly be the victim of remorse all the rest of his
days.

These thoughts had shot through her mind in little bits at a time while
she pushed through the thickets. There had been no time for connected
plans or expectations. But now, lying secure in her dark and downy nest,
she concluded that, after all, home was the only refuge for her. Her
shoulders and arms were naked, her skirts were wringing wet, her shoes
heavy with swamp mud, her legs were torn by briers and thorns, and her
head began to feel queer. Her brain swam and swung; her skull seemed to
be filled with boiling water which was trying to get out at her ears.
They were deafened by the sound of the boiling, and the steam pressed on
the back of her eyes. Her mouth was so dry that the surface of her
tongue "crazed," as crockery goes into tiny cracks when overheated.

Yes, home was the place for her. She would meet with punishment there.
In a strange half-sleep she heard herself whispering, "Not knowing the
things that shall befall me there, save that bonds and afflictions await
me." Rest and comfort could never be hers again. But home was better
than the wide, wide, wicked world.

Awaking herself with an effort, she set in order what she should say
when she got home. Her father would not believe that she had lied and
cheated. But what would he say to the revenge that began to taste less
sweet than at first? He would have to pay for Mr. Tayloe's spoiled
clothes. She might even have to go to court to answer for her misdeed.
Her spirit leaped up again at the thought. She would tell her story
boldly to judge and jury, and show what had been done by "the wretch who
was a disgrace to his cloth."

That sounded fine; but did "cloth" always mean a broadcloth coat? She
had a notion that it was only "cloth" when black and on a clergyman's
back. At any rate, she would defy the little monster. The memory of his
grinning face and insulting tone stirred up the mire and dirt anew.

The cart had no springs. It jolted and bumped over the rough road, and
rocked up and down: but she was used to the ways of the tumbler-cart,
and Dick's singing was making her drowsy again. She would put off
thinking until she got rested. Perhaps by then her ears would roar less
and her head stop aching.

Creak and rumble! Seesaw! and fainter and further away sounded Dick's
monotonous wail--

  "We'll pass over Jerdan!
    How happy we shall be!
  We'll pass over Jerdan,
    And shout de jubilee."

Snail Snead was singing that tune yesterday to what the girls said were
"wicked words." They got into Flea's head now, and would not get out:

  "We'll pass over Jerdan,
    An' drink sweeten'd tea;
  We'll passa over Jerdan,
    An' climb the 'simmon-tree."

She smiled foolishly in saying them over.

Cart and song had come to a halt. Flea put her eye to a crevice in the
cover. It was Miss Em'ly on horseback, a mounted groom leading a third
horse. Dick pulled off his whity-brown wool hat, and scraped his foot.

"Howdy, Uncle Dick!" called the sweet, shrill voice. "Have you seen Mr.
Tayloe anywhere?"

"Naw, my mistis, I 'ain' see him nowhar. Is you los' him? I moughty
sorry."

His eyes twinkled, and Miss Em'ly snapped her whip at him, blushing and
laughing.

"Shut your mouth, Uncle Dick! He was to go riding with me, and he isn't
at the school-house. If you should see him, tell him I couldn't wait for
him. Good-by."

She gave her horse a smart cut and galloped down the road.

"He is looking for me all this time!" thought Flea, fearfully. Her teeth
chattered, and she pulled a blanket up over her.

Another adventure was in store for her at the next turn of the highway.
Mr. Tayloe stepped out of the edge of the woods and hailed Dick. Flea
could have thought his eye met hers as she peeped through the hole in
the cover. He stood within six feet of the cart. His hat was the only
dry thing he had on. His blue coat, buff waistcoat, and gray trousers
were discolored and streaked with wet. "Beggars' ticks" and "Spanish
needles," sticking to his clothes, told of a tramp through marsh and
field. He looked cross and ugly and fierce.

"Aren't you Grigsby's man?" he asked, harshly.

Dick touched his hat, but did not take it off. "Yas, suh. I has de honor
for to be Mister Grigsby's body-sarvant! At yo' sarvice, suh!"

The superior quality of his manners did not impress the white man. His
tone was more offensive than before.

"You tell him he must come up to the house to-night. I want to see him
on particular business. Do you hear?"

"Yas, suh!" Dick's roving gaze took in all the details of the forlorn
figure, and he grew exasperatingly polite. "You been fall in de creek,
'ain' you, suh? Carn't I give you a lif' home, suh? You mought happen to
meet somebody 'long de road. Miss Em'ly Duncombe, she done parss 'long
hyur, jes now, a-lookin' fur you. It's more'n likely she'll tu'n back at
de cross-roads. Lordy! dar's a moughty big dus' down yonder," arching
his hand over his eyes to make sure they did not deceive him. "Hit looks
mightily like dat's her now."

Flea had never heard the teacher swear until he flung a round and
abusive oath at the negro and plunged back into the woods. Sly Dick had
been morally certain that the fine gentleman would never in any
circumstances demean himself to become a passenger in a tumbler-cart. He
had not risked dampening his Chaney's "things" by the invitation, or it
would never have been given. Flea, half dead with dread lest it might be
accepted, felt the blood rush wildly from her heart to her head in the
relief of the escape, sank back upon the feather bed, and fainted away.

Dick plodded along the highway too full of wicked glee to sing any more
hymns. Twice he stopped in the middle of the road to laugh--a regular
darky "Ki-_yi_!" enjoyed by every atom of his being. Mr. Tayloe was very
unpopular with the Greenfield servants, and tales of his "high-handed,
low-down ways," had been repeated throughout the colored community. The
fall moon was high above the horizon when the tumbler-cart was driven up
to the kitchen door. Chaney bustled out with importance, becoming an
heiress in her own right, but with a decent show of indifference to her
own interests where those of her employers were concerned.

"'Ain' no time fur to tech dem things now!" she declared. "Marster's
sister done come from Philadelphy or Pennsylvany, or wharever 'tis. De
big pot's got to be put in de little one, you better b'lieve. Did you
git de baid [bed]?"

"Yas, an' a pyar o' blankets, an' a counterpin, an' a shawl, an' two
linsey-woolsey coats Dorkis never had on her back--an' I don' know what
else beside. Dars a chaney tea-pot an' sugar-dish. Jes you take a peep
in dar!"--leading the way to the back of the cart. "Put yo' han' inter
dat 'ar baid. Dem's fedders as is fedders!"

"The chamber" of the Grigsby house was ablaze with three candles and a
great fire upon the hearth. To escape from the heat of this last the
visitor, Mrs. McLaren, had drawn her chair to an open window. She was
two years older than her brother, and had worn black for ten years for
her only child, who had borne her name--Jean. Her husband, who had been
an invalid for fifteen years, had died only six months before this, her
first visit to Virginia. Her brother, of whom she was very fond, had
been to Philadelphia for a few days every summer since her marriage.
Against his wife's wish he had slipped "Jean" in after the high-sounding
name bestowed by her upon their second child. Mrs. Grigsby considered
her sister-in-law "right down hard favored," and indeed her reddish
hair, high cheek-bones, and prominent mouth robbed her of all claim to
beauty. She had, however, a sensible, kindly face, and looked and spoke
like a refined lady. She had arrived from Norfolk at three o'clock that
afternoon, and had seen all the children except her namesake.

"She had to stay for a while after school to do a sum, poor thing!" Bea
explained, with amiable unwillingness.

Mrs. Grigsby heaved her usual sigh over Flea's shortcomings. Good woman
and good mother though she was, she would not have been sorry to see Bea
in high favor with her rich aunt, even at the expense of her less
attractive sister. Bea would do her mother's training credit anywhere.
"Poor Flea," as her mother often lamented, "was nobody's pretty child,
and too odd for anything."

"Is she often out as late as this?" asked Mrs. McLaren. "Is it quite
safe for her to come home alone from school after sunset?"

Mrs. Grigsby repeated her sigh. "Flea takes after her father in
headiness," she remarked, in sickly jest.

Her husband paid no heed to the fling.

"If she is not in soon, I shall go to look after her," he said, peering
through the window at the darkening landscape. "Mr. Tayloe is an
excellent teacher, but, as you say, Jean, it is not right to keep a girl
out after dark. She wasn't kept in over the sum she did last night, was
she?"--looking at Bea. "I know that was right."

Bea was discreet and mysterious. "I didn't ask any questions, sir. I
only heard Mr. Tayloe say she must stay in for an hour after school."

Mrs. McLaren glanced at Dee. He sat upon a cricket in a corner near her,
apparently asleep; but at Bea's reply he unclosed his eyes in languid
surprise upon his sister.

"The laddie knows something he could tell, if he would," said his aunt,
laying her hand upon the bullet head.

"'Twould be tellin' tales out o' school," muttered the boy, reddening
bashfully. "If 'twouldn't, I could tell a heap o' things."

Mrs. McLaren's hand, passing gently over his head, was checked by
something she felt there.

"How came this big bump here?" she inquired. "Have you had a fall?"

"Naw,'m."

"A fight, perhaps, then?"

"Naw,'m."

She raised his chin to search his eyes.

"Would it be telling tales out of school to answer _that_ question?"

Dee nodded, got redder and more bashful.

"Ef you had a tole me, I'd 'a' rubbed it with operdildoc," said the
mother. "Boys that won't steddy mus' look for hard knocks."

"Does Felicia study?" pursued the visitor.

"I can't exac'ly say she don't steddy," returned the mother. "But she is
the greatest one fur gittin' inter scrapes--"

Her husband interrupted her again, as if he had not heard what she said.

"Study! She's the best scholar of her age I or you or anybody else ever
saw. She has more brains than all the rest of them put together. You'll
be proud of your name-child some of these days, Jean."

"How happens it then that she was kept in?" was the next and natural
question. "Perhaps she is not industrious?"

"She works like a horse!" came from Dee, who had laid his head back
against the wall, and sighed and turned white behind his freckles. The
boy looked ill.

Mr. Grigsby was troubled.

"I have had thoughts," he said, more hesitatingly than he was accustomed
to speak, "about Mr. Tayloe's management of that child. She's
high-strung and sensitive, and so little like most girls of her age,
that an ordinary teacher would not know how to get on with her. But she
learns so fast under him, and is so eager about her lessons, that it
doesn't seem wise for me--"

A piercing yell from without broke the sentence in the middle. Another
and another, with never a breath between, drew the whole party to the
back door, from which direction the screams had come.

The moonlight showed the cart and mule at the door of the kitchen, which
was built twenty yards or so from the house. The moon also showed Chaney
jumping up and down like a crazy thing at the back of the cart, and
screeching at the top of her lungs. Two children clutched her skirts and
screeched in sympathy.

"What is to pay out there?" shouted the master, angrily. "Stop that
noise!"

"Dar's somefin' 'live in dar, suh!" Dick called back in trembling
accents.

Mr. Grigsby stepped back into the house for a candle; his sister
followed him with another. He pulled aside the cover of the cart. Mrs.
McLaren held the light above his head, and leaned forward with him to
look in.

When Chaney had thought to thrust her hand into her feather bed, it had
encountered something that moved and moaned. That something now sat
upright and stretched out two naked arms encrusted with dried blood. A
voice nobody there would have known cried out: "Father! father! don't
let that man get me! He wants to _kill_ me."

Such was Mrs. McLaren's introduction to the namesake of whom she would
some day be proud.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]



RICK DALE.

BY KIRK MUNROE.

CHAPTER XXIII.

ALARIC TODD'S DARKEST HOUR.


"Hello, Rick Dale! Hold on!" was the hail that caused Alaric to halt in
his flight from the most recent of the chasings that were becoming so
common a feature of his life.

It was Bonny who called, and who now came running up to him. "Where have
you been all this time?" he asked. "I've waited and watched for you ever
since we got in, a good two hours ago, and was getting mighty uneasy for
fear you'd fallen overboard or got left at Seattle, or something. You
see, I feel in a way responsible for you, seeing that I got you into all
this mess."

"That's queer," said Alaric, with a faint smile, and sitting down
wearily on a huge anchor that lay beside one of the warehouses, "for
I've been thinking that all your troubles were owing to me. I'm awfully
sorry, though, I kept you waiting, but I suppose I must have been
asleep."

"You had better luck than I did, then," growled Bonny, seating himself
beside his friend, "for I haven't had a wink of sleep since we left
Seattle. I was just getting into a doze when a miserable deck-hand
swashed a bucket of water over me. Then they found me out, and set me to
work cleaning decks and polishing brass. They kept me at it every minute
until we got here, and then fired me ashore."

"Did they give you any breakfast?" inquired Alaric, with an interest
that betrayed the tendency of his thoughts.

"Not much, they didn't. Have you had anything to eat?"

"Not a bite; and do you know, Bonny, I think I am beginning to realize
what starving means?"

"I know I am, and what being entirely worn out means as well. Do you
suppose it's just hunger that makes a fellow feel sick and light-headed
and weak as a cat, the way I do now, or is it that he is really in for
something serious, like a fever or whooping-cough or one of the things
with big names?"

"I expect it's hunger, and nothing else," replied Alaric, "for I feel
just that way myself, and I've been really ill times enough to know the
difference."

"Then it must be starvation, and something has got to be done about it,"
exclaimed Bonny, starting to his feet with a resolute air, "for I don't
believe any two fellows are going to be allowed to starve to death in
this city of Tacoma. So I'm going to get something for us to eat, even
if I have to steal it."

"Oh no, Bonny! don't steal. We haven't quite come to that," objected
Alaric. "Did you say this was Tacoma, though?"

"Yes, of course. Didn't you recognize it?"

"No, I didn't, for I wasn't given much chance to get acquainted with it
last evening, you know. But if this is Tacoma, I've an idea that I
believe will bring us some money. So suppose we separate for a while?
You can go one way looking for something to eat, and I'll go another in
search of that which will mean the same thing. When the whistles blow
for noon we'll both come back here and compare notes."

"All right," agreed Bonny. "I'll do it, and if I don't bring back
something to eat, it will be because the whole city is starving, that's
all."

So the two set forth in opposite directions, Bonny taking a course that
would lead him among the shipping, and Alaric walking up the long easy
grade of Pacific Avenue toward the city proper. His pride, which no
personal suffering nor discomfort could overthrow, had given way at last
before the wretchedness of his friend. "It is I who am the cause of it,"
he said to himself, "and so I am bound to help him out by the only way
I can think of. I hate to do it, for it will be owning up that I am not
fit to care for myself or able to fight my own way in the world. I know,
too, just how John and the others will laugh at me, but I've got to do
something at once, and there doesn't seem to be anything else."

The scheme that Alaric so dreaded to undertake, and was yet determined
to undertake, was the telegraphing to his brother John for funds. Of
course John would report the matter to their father, who had probably
been already notified of his younger son's disappearance, and our lad
would be ordered to return home immediately. Or perhaps John would come
to fetch him back, like a runaway child. It would all be dreadfully
humiliating, and on his own account he would have undergone much greater
trials than those of the present rather than place himself in such a
position. But for the sake of the lad who had befriended him and
suffered with him, it must be done.

The only telegraph office in the city of which Alaric knew was in the
Hotel Tacoma, where he had passed a day on his northward journey, and
thither he bent his steps. As he entered its open portal and crossed the
spacious hall in which was located the telegraph station, the well
dressed who paced leisurely to and fro or lounged in easy-chairs stared
at him curiously. And well they might, for a more tattered, begrimed,
unkempt, and generally woe-begone youth had never been seen in that
place of luxurious entertainment. Had Alaric encountered a mirror, he
would have stared at himself and passed by without recognition; but for
the moment his mind was too busy with other thoughts to allow him to
consider his appearance.

The boxlike telegraph office was occupied by a fashionably attired young
woman, who was just then absorbed in an exciting novel. After keeping
Alaric waiting for several minutes, or until after she had finished a
chapter, she took the despatch he had written, and read it aloud:

     "_To Mr. John Todd, Amos Todd Bank, San Francisco:_

     "DEAR JOHN,--Please send me by wire one hundred dollars. Will write
     and explain why I need it.

  "ALARIC."

"Dollar and a half," said the young woman, tersely, and without looking
up.

Although many telegrams had been forwarded at various times and from
distant parts of the world in Alaric Todd's name, he had never before
attempted to send one in person. Now, therefore, although somewhat
startled by the request for a dollar and a half, he replied, calmly:

"Send it collect, please. It will be paid for at the other end."

"Can't do it; 'gainst the rules," retorted the young woman, sharply, now
glancing at the lad before her, and contemptuously scanning him from
head to foot.

"But," pleaded poor Alaric, "this is so very important. The money that I
ask for is sure to come, and then I will pay for it a dozen times over,
if you like. It will certainly be paid for, though, in San Francisco, at
the Amos Todd bank, for my name is Todd, Alaric Todd."

"It wouldn't make any difference," remarked the young woman, "if your
name were George Washington or John Jacob Astor; you couldn't send a
despatch through this office without paying for it. So if you haven't
any money you might as well make up your mind not to waste any more of
my time."

With this she resumed the reading of her novel, while Alaric moved
slowly away, stunned and despairing. Now was he indeed cut off from his
home, his people, and from all hope of assistance. He hadn't even money
enough to pay for a postage-stamp with which to send a letter. As he
realized these things, the reaction from his confidence of a few moments
before, that his present trouble would be speedily ended, was so great
that he grew faint, and mechanically sank into a leather-cushioned chair
that stood close at hand.

He had hardly done so when an alert porter stepped up, touched him on
the shoulder, and pointed significantly to the door.

The boy understood, and obeyed the gesture without remonstrance. Thus it
came to pass that a son of Amos Todd, the richest man on the Pacific
coast, was driven from a hotel of which his father was one of the
principal owners, and in spite of the fact that he had just acknowledged
his own identity.

Once outside, Alaric walked irresolutely, and as though unconscious of
what he was doing, for a short distance, and then found himself seated
on an iron bench at the edge of a broad asphalted driveway. Here he
tried to think, and could not. He closed his eyes and wondered vaguely
if he were going to die, or, if not, how much longer he could live
without food. It wasn't worth worrying about, though, one way or the
other. He had made such a complete failure of life that no one would
care if he did die. Of course Bonny might feel badly about it for a
little while, but even he would get along much better alone.

From such terrible thoughts as these the lad was aroused by the sound of
cheery voices: and glancing listlessly in their direction, he saw a
well-dressed young fellow, apparently not much older than himself, a
little boy in his first suit of tiny knickerbockers, and a big dog. They
had just come from the hotel and were playing with a ball. It was Phil
Ryder with little Nel-te, an orphan whom he had rescued from the Yukon
wilderness, and big Amook, one of his Eskimo sledge dogs that he was
carrying back to New London as a curiosity.

While Alaric watched them, wondering how it must seem to be as free from
both hunger and anxiety as that happy-looking chap evidently was, the
ball tossed to Nel-te escaped him and rolled under the iron bench. As
the child came running up, the lad recovered it and handed it to him.

"Fank you, man," said the little chap, and then ran away.

After a while the ball again came in the same direction, and, as the
child did not follow it, Alaric picked it up and tossed it to Phil.

"Hello!" cried the latter. "It seems mighty good to be catching a
baseball again. Give us another, will you?" With this he threw the ball
to Alaric, who caught it deftly and flung it back.

The ball was one that had been found in a certain canvas dunnage-bag the
evening before, and begged by Phil Ryder as a souvenir of his experience
as a smuggler. After a few passes back and forth Alaric became so dizzy
from weakness that, with a very pale face, he was again forced to sit
down.

[Illustration: "WHAT'S THE MATTER?" ASKED PHIL, ANXIOUSLY.]

"What's the matter?" asked Phil, anxiously, coming up to the trembling
lad. "Not ill, I hope?"

"No; I'm not ill. It's only a little faintness."

"Do you know," said Phil, as he noted closely the lad's mean dress and
hollow cheeks, "that you look to me as though you were hungry. Tell me
honestly if you have had any breakfast this morning."

"No," replied Alaric, in a low tone.

"Or any supper last night?"

"No."

"Did you have any dinner yesterday?"

"I can't exactly remember, but I don't think I did."

"Why, man," cried tender-hearted Phil, horror-stricken at this
revelation, "you are starving! And I've been keeping you here playing
ball! What a heedless brute I am! Never mind; just you wait until I can
carry this little chap inside, and don't you stir from that seat until I
come back." With this Phil, picking up Nel-te and bidding Amook follow
him, hurried away, leaving Alaric still holding the baseball, and filled
with a very queer mixture of conflicting emotions.


CHAPTER XXIV.

PHIL RYDER PAYS A DEBT.

In a very few minutes Phil Ryder hastened back to where Alaric awaited
him. "Now you come with me," he said, cheerily, "and we'll end this
starvation business in a hurry. I won't take you to the hotel, for those
swell waiters are too slow about serving things, and when a fellow is
hungry he don't care so much about style as he does about prompt
attention to his wants. I know, for I've been there myself. There's a
little restaurant just around the corner on the avenue that looks as
though it would exactly fill the bill. Here we are."

Almost before he realized what was happening Alaric found himself seated
before the first regular breakfast table that he had seen in weeks,
while the young stranger facing him, who had so unexpectedly become his
host, was ordering a meal that seemed to embrace pretty nearly the whole
bill of fare.

"Bring the coffee and oatmeal first," he said to the waiter, "and see
that there is plenty of cream. If they burn your fingers, so much the
better, for you never saw any one in quite so much of a hurry as we are.
After that you may rush along the other things as fast as you please."

Alaric attempted a feeble protest against the munificence of the order
just given, but Phil silenced him with:

"Now, my friend, don't you fret; I know what you need and what you can
get away with better than you do, for I've experimented considerably
with starving during the past year. As for obligation, there isn't any.
I am only paying a debt that I've owed for a long time."

"I don't remember ever meeting you before," said Alaric, looking up in
surprise from a dish of oatmeal and cream that seemed the very best
thing he had ever tasted.

"No, of course not, and I don't suppose we have ever been within a
thousand miles of each other until now; but I have been in your debt,
all the same. Just about a year ago I was in Victoria without a cent in
my pocket, no friend or even acquaintance that I knew of in the whole
city, and so hungry that it didn't seem as though I had ever eaten
anything in my life. Just as I was most desperate and things were
looking their very blackest, an angel travelling under the name of Serge
Belcofsky came along, and spent his last dollar in feeding me. I vowed
then that I'd get even with him by feeding some other hungry fellow, and
this is the first chance I've run across since. You needn't be afraid,
though, that I am spending my last dollar on you, glad as I would be to
do so if it were necessary. That it isn't is owing to one of the best
fathers in the world, who hasn't had a chance to keep me in funds for so
long a time that he is now trying to make up for lost opportunities."

"You must be very fond of him," said Alaric, who was now at work on
beefsteak and fried potatoes.

"Well, rather," replied Phil, earnestly, "though I never knew how much a
good father was to a boy until I lost him, and had to fight my way alone
through a whole year before I found him again. It's a wonder my hair
didn't turn gray with anxiety while I was hunting him up in the interior
of Alaska; but it's all over now, and I have him safe at last right here
in Tacoma, along with my aunt Ruth and little Nel-te and Jalap--"

"Is he the dog?" asked Alaric, beginning an attack on the omelette.

"Who?"

"Jalap."

"Not much he isn't a dog," laughed Phil. "He is one of the dearest of
sailormen. He's one of the wisest, too, only he lays all of his wisdom
to his old friend Kite Roberson. Besides all that, he is one of the most
comical chaps that ever lived, though he doesn't mean to be, and it's
better than a circus to see him on snow-shoes driving a sledge team of
dogs. I should have brought him over here to cheer you up, only he's off
somewhere among the ships this morning. He says he got the salt-water
habit so badly that he can't keep away from them. Are you ready now for
the buckwheats? Here are half a dozen hot ones to top off with, and
maple-syrup too. Don't they look good, though! I say, waiter, you may as
well bring me a plate of those buckwheats. I forgot to have any at
breakfast."

So Phil rattled on, talking of all sorts of things to keep his guest
amused, and allow him ample opportunity to attend strictly to the
business of eating, without feeling obliged to answer questions or
sustain any part of the conversation.

And how poor, heartsick, hungry Alaric was cheered by the thoughtful
kindness of this strange lad who had so befriended him in his hour of
sorest need! How grateful he was, and how, with each mouthful of food,
strength and courage and hope came back to him, until, when the
wonderful meal was finished, he was ready once more to face the world
with a brave confidence that it should never again get the better of
him! He tried to put some of his gratitude into words, but was promptly
interrupted by his host, who said:

"Nonsense! You've nothing to thank me for. I told you I owed you this
breakfast, and besides, though I haven't eaten very much myself, I have
certainly enjoyed it as much as any meal of my life. Now we have a few
minutes left before I must go, and I want you to tell me something of
yourself. What is your name? Where is your home? And how did you happen
to get into this fix?"

"My name is Rick Dale," began Alaric, who did not feel that he could
disclose his real identity under the circumstances, "and my home is in
San Francisco; but it is closed now. My mother is dead. I don't know
just where my father is, and I was left with some people whom I disliked
so much that I just"-- Here he hesitated, and Phil, noting his
embarrassment, hastened to say,

"Never mind the particulars; I had no business to ask such questions
anyway."

"Well," continued Alaric, "the result of it all is that I am here
looking for work. I had a job, but it didn't pay anything, and I lost it
about two weeks ago. Now I am trying to find another."

"What kind of a job do you want?"

"Anything, so long as it is honest work that will provide food,
clothing, and a place to sleep."

"In that case," said Phil, thoughtfully, "I don't know but what I can
put you in the way of one, though--"

"It must be a job for two of us," interposed Alaric, "for I have a
friend who is in the same fix as myself."

"I only wish I had known that in time to have him breakfast with us,"
said Phil; "but the job I am thinking of, if it can be had at all, will
serve for two of you as well as for one. You see, it is this way. There
is a Frenchman over at the hotel whose name is Filbert, and who--"

Just here both lads started at the sound of a shrill whistle announcing
the hour of noon.

"I had no idea it was so late," exclaimed Phil, "and I must run; for we
leave here on the one-o'clock train."

"I must hurry too, for I promised to meet Bonny at noon," said Alaric.

"Who is Bonny?"

"The friend I told you of."

"Then I want you to give this to him from me, for fear he may not have
found any breakfast." So saying Phil slipped something hard and round
into Alaric's hand. "Now good-by, Rick Dale," he said. "I hope we may
meet again sometime. At any rate, be sure to call on Monsieur Filbert at
the hotel this afternoon. I guess you can get a job from him; but even
if you don't, always remember that, as my friend Jalap Coombs says,
'It's never so dark but what there's a light somewhere.'"

Then the lads parted, one filled with the happiness that results from an
act of kindness, and the other cheered and encouraged to renewed effort.

With grateful and loving glances Alaric watched Phil Ryder until he
disappeared in the direction of the hotel, and then hastened to keep his
appointment with Bonny. On the road leading to the wharves he passed a
tall, lank figure, whose whole appearance was that of a sailor. His
shrewd face was weather-beaten and wrinkled, but so kindly and smiling
that Alaric could not help but smile from sympathy as they met.

He found Bonny impatiently awaiting him, and in such cheerful spirits as
to be hardly recognizable for the despondent, half-starved lad of two
hours before.

"Hello, Rick!" he shouted, as his friend approached. "I know you've had
good luck, for I see it in your face."

"Indeed I have!" replied Alaric; "and, what's more, I've had the best
breakfast I ever ate in my life."

"That's what I meant by luck; and I've had the same."

"What's more," continued Alaric, "I have brought something that was sent
especially to you, for fear you hadn't found anything to eat."

Thus saying, he handed over a big bright silver dollar.

"Well, if that don't beat the owls!" exclaimed Bonny at sight of the
shining coin, "for here is his twin-brother that was handed to me to
give to you, or rather to the first fellow I met who needed it more than
I did."

"I must be the one then," said Alaric, joyously, "for I haven't a cent
to my name, and as you now have two dollars, I'm willing to divide with
you. But who gave it to you, and how did he happen to?"

"The queerest and dearest old chap I ever saw. You know how badly I was
feeling when we separated. Well, that was nothing to what came
afterwards. I set out to board every ship in port until I should find a
cook or steward who would fill me up and let me have something extra to
bring to you. On the first half-dozen or so I was treated worse than a
dog, and fired ashore almost before I opened my mouth. It made me feel
meaner than dirt, and but for thinking of how disappointed you would be
if I came back as miserable as I went, I should have given up in
despair. I must say, though, that all the fellows who treated me that
way were Dagoes, Dutch, or Chinamen.

"At length I boarded a Yankee bark that carried an Irish steward, and
the minute I said I was hungry he cried out:

"'Don't spake a wurrud, lad, for ye couldn't do yer looks justice. Jist
be aisy, and come wid me.'

"With that he led me to a sort of a cuddy at the forward end of the
after deck-house, and set me down to such a spread as I haven't seen
since I left Cape Cod. There was cold roast beef, corned beef, potatoes,
bread and butter, pie, pickles, coffee, and--well, it would be no use to
tell all the things that steward gave me to eat, for you just wouldn't
believe it. He laid 'em all out, told me to pitch in, and then went off,
so, as he said, I'd be free to act according to nature.

"I sat there and ate until I hadn't room for as much as a huckleberry.
As I was looking at the last piece of squash pie, and thinking what a
pity it was that it must be left, I heard a chuckle behind me, and
turned around in a hurry. There stood one of the mates and the dear old
chap I was just telling you about.

"'Why don't you eat it, son?' says the mate.

"'Reason enough,' says I; 'because I can't; but if you don't mind, sir,
I'd like awfully to take it to my partner in starvation,' meaning you.

"'Who is he? And how does he happen to be starved?' says the dear old
chap. Then I up and told them the whole story of our experience on the
_Fancy_, being chased by the revenue-men, and all, and it tickled 'em
most to death.

"When I got through, the stranger, who was just down visiting the
vessel, slipped a dollar into my hand, and told me to give it to the
first chap I met who needed it more than I did. He said he used to know
Cap'n Duff, and told me a lot of yarns about him as we walked back here
together."

"Was his name Jalap Coombs?" asked Alaric.

"I expect it must have been, for he had a lot to say about somebody
named Kite Roberson, who allus useter call him 'Jal.' Why? Do you know
him?"

"Yes. That is, I feel as if I did. But, Bonny, I mustn't stop to tell
you of my experiences now, for I have made an important business
engagement for both of us uptown, and we must attend to it at once."

[TO BE CONTINUED.]



IN THE TOWER OF MANY STORIES.

HENRY THE EIGHTH.

(_In Two Parts._)

BY MRS. LEW. WALLACE.

II.


[Illustration: THE MIDDLE TOWER.]

Among Anne's maids of honor was a delicate girl of exquisite charm, and
as witty as the Queen herself. Jane Seymour came of a haughty house, but
had missed the imperious bearing that was the heritage of her race. The
winsome presence, all sweetness and grace, caught the restless fancy of
the ungoverned King, and so bewitched was Bluebeard that he determined
to slip off the bonds that bound him, and lead another wife to the altar
and throne. To be sure, he had worn the light fetters of his second
marriage loosely enough, and how to rid himself of the tireless devotion
of Anne must have made him ponder and hesitate.

Not for long did he ever wait; patience was not a trait of even the best
of the Tudors. One day, at Greenwich Palace, the Constable of London
Tower suddenly appeared, and announced it was the King's pleasure that
the Queen should at once depart with him. She was in an agony of terror,
but calmly said, "If it be the King's pleasure, I obey." Without
changing her dress, she entered her barge and was silently rowed to the
Traitors' Gate. Under the fatal black arch she knelt and solemnly
protested her innocence, prayed and wept, then laughed, and cried again,
distracted like one insane. Two of her worst enemies were appointed
ladies in waiting, in reality to watch her every movement day and night,
tormenting the woful prisoner with questions. "The King wist what he did
when he put such women about me," cried the wretched Anne. Faithful
friends were lodged near, but not allowed to come close enough to ward
off her persecutors.

On the fourth day of her captivity the Queen wrote a heart-breaking
letter to the brute she called her sweet lord. It is so touching and
tender I wish for more space that I could give it in full. The original
MS. you may see in the British Museum. She prayed for a lawful trial,
not before her enemies, and generously begged she alone might be
condemned, if any. Here is the conclusion:

     "If ever I have found favor in your sight, if ever the name of Anne
     Boleyn has been pleasant in your ears, then let me obtain this
     request, and I will so leave to trouble your Grace any further,
     with mine earnest prayers to the Trinity to have your Grace in His
     good keeping, and to direct you in all your actions.

     "From my doleful prison in the Tower this 6th of May.

     "Your most loyal and ever faithful wife,

  "ANNE BOLEYN."

[Illustration: ANNE BOLEYN.]

The trial was held the 16th May in the great Hall of the Tower, the
scene of much iniquity, but none so black as this. The twenty-six "lords
triers" were picked men who knew Henry's will and pitiless cruelty. The
defenceless prisoner had no counsel or advice of any kind, but she bore
herself composedly, and fearlessly held up her hand and pleaded not
guilty. The records of the trial were destroyed, but it is said she
defended herself with power and eloquence. It was a mere form; she was
sentenced to be burnt or beheaded in three days, at the pleasure of the
sovereign, and was requested to lay aside her crown, which she did,
swearing herself innocent of any crime against her husband. Then
clasping her hands, she appealed from earth to heaven, to the One who
judgeth quick and dead: "O Father! O Creator! Thou who art the Way, the
Truth, and the Life! Thou knowest that I have not deserved this fate!"

The whole proceeding was a bitter mockery, the deliberate sentence of
death of a wife to make room for another.

She knew him too well to entreat for life or an extension of time. Three
days more were allowed her, and of the hundreds the lovely lady had
befriended not one was bold enough to stand between the murderer and the
Queen. He was surrounded by flatterers who compared him to Absalom for
beauty, Solomon for wisdom, and heroes ancient and modern for courage.
And the same day she was condemned bluff King Harry signed the death
warrant of his "entirely beloved Anne Boleyn."

In the dismal Tower she wrote her own requiem, so pitiful, yet so brave
a thing few souls could dare. It begins:

  "O Death! rock me asleep!
    Bring on my quiet rest;
  Let pass my very guiltless ghost
    Out of my careful breast.
  Ring out the doleful knell;
    Let its sound my death tell;
  For I must die.
    There is no remedy,
  For now I die!"

Her old friend, Sir Henry Kingston, was charged to announce the dreadful
sentence that she be beheaded at noon the 19th of May, 1536, and,
instead of the axe, the King graciously ordered she be beheaded by a
sword; there was an expert in the horrid business who should be sent for
to come from Calais.

Said the messenger, "I told her that the pain would be little, it was so
subtle"; and then she replied, "I have heard say the executioner is very
good, and my neck is very slender," upon which she clasped it with her
two hands and smiled serenely; was even cheerful.

A few minutes before noon the Queen of England, attended by four maids
of honor, appeared on Tower Hill, dressed in a robe of black damask,
with deep white crape ruffling her neck, a black velvet hood on her
head. Her cheeks were flushed with fever, and her beauty, says an
eye-witness, was fearful to look upon.

In sight of the scaffold she made a speech, resigned and gentle: "I come
here to die, not to accuse my enemies.... I pray God to save the King,
and send him long to reign over you, for a gentler and more merciful
Prince was there never. To me he was ever a good and gentle sovereign
lord.... Thus I take my leave of the world and of you, and I heartily
desire you all to pray for me."

Then she bade her weeping ladies farewell, refusing to allow her eyes to
be covered, and the skilful Frenchman, avoiding her reproachful glance,
with one blow of the sharp steel parted the burning brain from the true
heart, and Anne Boleyn entered the strange peace we call death.

The dripping head with its soft silky tresses and the dis-severed body
reeking in blood, were thrown into an old elm chest that had been used
for keeping arrows, and carelessly buried in the chapel, without hymn or
prayer.

Again the Tower guns sounded--the signal for death, not life. The solemn
knell was music of wedding-bells in the listening ear of Henry. Dressed
for the chase, he had stood under a spreading oak waiting impatiently
till the sun-dial told noon, when the heavy booming filled the air. "Ha!
ha!" he cried, with unnatural joy. "The deed is done. Uncouple the
hounds, and away!" And mounting his horse, he rode at fiery speed to his
bride expectant at Wolf Hall. The peerless Seymour, the pure white
lily-bud, in the freshness of life's morning married Bluebeard the very
next day.

The wedding feast was spread, the coronation a cloudless splendor;
submissive courtiers held to the ancient proverb that the crown covers
all mistakes, and they kissed the bloody hand of their master and hung
on the smiles of the youthful Queen.

The sins of Anne Boleyn lie lightly on her now. Whatever her vanity and
follies, she was a thousand thousand times too good for her "merciful
Prince."

The fair Seymour, happily for herself, died the next year after her
marriage, and Henry made offers to several royal ladies, and to an
Italian Princess who had the shrewdness to decline, saying she might
consider the proposal if she had two heads, but could not afford to lose
her only one by the axe. And it was a good answer. A German Princess
married him, and was divorced for Catherine Howard, who was murdered as
Anne Boleyn had been; and then came the last wife, Catherine Parr, widow
of Lord Latimer. By that time the King was grown a beast, with savage
will unbroken, ready to kill, kill, kill whatever opposed caprice or
whim. She lived to nurse him, this proud lady, till his bloated body
almost rotted; he became a loathsome object, polluting the air (I may
say the world), fearful to approach; and she paid a high price for her
diamond coronet and whatever else came by the death of the despot she
outlived. Of the latter days of Henry the Eighth the less said the
better.

       *       *       *       *       *

Beloved, these are sorry tales to tell young readers, but the Tower is a
dreary place, and the greater portion of its history was made in
barbarous ages. The historian mousing through the records of a terrible
past has little pleasure, except in the thought that these murderous old
days are ended forever. It is now a government store-house and armory.

       *       *       *       *       *

One more little story, and we say good-by to the famous Tower whose
foundations were laid by Julius Cæsar.

Not every reader of its history remembers that the greatest of England's
rulers was once prisoner there. When Bloody Mary, daughter of Henry the
Eighth and Katherine of Aragon, was Queen, she had Elizabeth, daughter
of Anne Boleyn, arrested for conspiracy. The Princess, who could look
down a lion, clad herself in white to proclaim her innocence, and rode
to her prison in an open litter, that she might be seen by the people. A
sick girl, faint and pale, her mien was lofty and defiant. It was but
eleven days since Lady Jane Grey had been beheaded, and no one, high or
low, knew when he might be marched to the dungeon or the block.

At the Traitors' Gate the Princess Elizabeth refused to land. One of the
lords attending told her she must not choose, and, as it was raining,
offered her his cloak. She dashed it from her "with a good dash," and
setting her foot on the stairs, exclaimed: "I am no traitor! Here lands
as true a subject, being prisoner, as ever landed at these stairs.
Before Thee, O God, I speak it, having no other friend but Thee."
Instead of passing through the opened gates, she sat on a cold wet
stone, determined not to enter the prison of her own mother. However,
the dauntless maid was forced to yield. The death of her half-sister
made her Queen, and she reigned long and wisely, with a strange mixture
of weakness in the midst of her wisdom and strength.

Once in a time of peril she mounted a white horse and rode through her
army, very stately, in a steel corselet, bareheaded, her page bearing
her plumed helmet, and spoke in words unsurpassed for appeal:

     "My loving people, we have been persuaded by some that are careful
     of our safety to take heed how we commit ourselves to armed
     multitudes, for fear of treachery; but I do assure you I do not
     desire to live to distrust my faithful and loving people. Let
     tyrants fear. I have always so behaved myself that under God I have
     placed my chiefest strength and safeguard in the loyal hearts and
     good will of my subjects; and therefore I am come amongst you as
     you see me at this time, not for my recreation and disport, but
     being resolved in the midst and heat of battle to live or die
     amongst you all, to lay down for my God, and for my kingdoms, and
     for my people my honor, and my blood even in the dust. I know I
     have the body of a weak, feeble woman; but I have the heart of a
     King, and of a King of England, too, and think foul scorn that
     Parma of Spain, or any Prince of Europe, should dare to invade the
     borders of my realm; to which, rather than any dishonor should grow
     by me, I myself will take up arms. I myself will be your General,
     judge, and rewarder of every one of your virtues in the field. I
     know already for your forwardness you have deserved rewards and
     crowns, and we do assure you, on the word of a Prince, they shall
     be duly paid you.

     "For the mean time my Lieutenaut-General shall be in my stead, than
     whom never Prince commanded a more noble or worthy subject; not
     doubting but by your obedience to my General, by your concord in
     camp and your valor in the field, we shall shortly have a famous
     victory over these enemies of my God, of my kingdoms, and of my
     people."

No wonder the troops fell on their knees as one man, and shouted
themselves hoarse in applause for their lion Queen, mother of all true
Englishmen.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: HENRY THE SEVENTH'S CHAPEL.]

The gentlest of peacemakers is Time. The two daughters of Henry the
Eighth--Mary and Elizabeth--so wide apart and repellent in life, are at
one now. Henry the Seventh's Chapel of Westminster Abbey contains a
narrow vault that holds what remains of the rival Queens. Their tomb
allows no other tenant, and they will never more be divided. In calm
after storm the unquiet Tudor sisters lie there alone, the leaden casket
of Elizabeth resting on the coffin of Mary, well named the Bloody. Heirs
of a contested throne, they sleep together in their Palace of Peace
awaiting the call of the Angel of the Resurrection.

THE END.



DAISIES AND DANDELIONS.


  "Doctor, lawyer, merchant, priest,
  Rich man, poor man, beggar-man--"

The last petal was reached as my little friend came to "beggar-man."

"Oh, dear," she said, with a comical look of make-believe distress on
her pretty face. "A beggar-man for a husband! It's too dreadful for
anything! Naughty daisy! I don't believe you are a good fortune-teller."

She was right. The daisy is not a good fortune-teller. But it is a nice
flower, or rather group of flowers, to study. The whole yellow centre is
a crowded mass of flowers, and the white petals along the edge are not
petals at all, but _rays_.

Squeeze a daisy between your thumb and finger. Let the rays drop off,
but keep one of the tiny florets, as they are called, and place it under
a reading-glass or, better still, a pocket microscope. You cannot spend
two or three dollars better than for a pocket-microscope, which will
make a small seed look as large as a pea. In our daisy floret we shall
find all the parts which the larger flowers have. The calyx is low down,
clinging to a single hard seed. Such a seed is called an _achenium_
(plural, achenia). The corolla is a tube with five points cut in the
top. There are five stamens, joined, and making a ring by their anthers.
The pistil is in the centre, where it belongs, with stigmas, and the
style cut in two at the top. The flowers grow on a smooth white
receptacle. There are two more things to notice about flowers belonging
to this great Composite family: one, that each floret has a long, narrow
bract standing beside it; the other, that the calyx-cup is crowned with
stiff points, or coarse teeth, or bristles, or feathery-looking things.
These are called the _pappus_. In the daisy there is no true pappus, but
you have seen it in thistledown and in the dandelion-seed. The pappus
serves for little wings for the flower, by which the wind blows the seed
about.

Perhaps you like yellow daisies better than the too common white ones.
Their seed was brought to us with clover-seed from the West, and now the
yellow daisy or cone-flower is a tiresome weed to farmers about New
Jersey, and soon will be over all New England. The florets are dark
brown, and grow on a pointed receptacle. It is certainly a handsome
thing, but it is a weed all the same. It differs from the white daisy in
one particular. The rays of the white daisy have each a pistil like the
florets, while the rays of the cone-flower are neutral--that is, have no
pistil.

The marnta, or mayweed, is a small daisy growing on sandy roads. Its
leaves are prettily cut, and smell like tansy leaves. The handsome
asters which keep goldenrods company in autumn, marigolds, thorough
worts, and hosts of others belong to the daisy family.

The dandelion has been called "the bright eye of spring." Did you ever
curl its hollow stem or blow off its seeds? Blow three times, and you
will have as many children as there are seeds left standing, so says
this bit of flower-lore. The dandelion has no rays around the edge, but
all the florets alike have rays. So the corollas, instead of being
five-pointed tubes, are all spread out flat like the rays of the daisy.
There are not so many flowers of this kind, but perhaps you know the
wild-lettuce, the fall dandelion, the hawkweed, and the chicory. The
last is a pretty blue flower. Blue flowers are rather rare. Red, yellow,
and pink are commoner.

One of the hawkweeds has handsome leaves, all clustered at the root,
light purple underneath, veined with darker purple. If you find such a
rosette of leaves, with a tall slim stem bearing a few tassel-shaped
yellow blossoms, you will have one of my favorites. Somebody has given
it a bad name--rattlesnake-weed. It is not a weed, and only in its
purple coloring may there be some suggestion of a snake-skin.

You will see now how the Composites are divided into two classes. The
first is _tubular_, in which, like the daisy, ray-flowers grow only
around the margin; the second, _ligulate_, in which, like the dandelion,
all the corollas are alike, spreading out and flat.

These flowers are surrounded by an involucre composed of small leaves in
rows, each one a scale. In thistles the scales are prickly.



A BRAVE WAR CORRESPONDENT.


It is a pleasure to cite the following case of an American correspondent
whom Lord Wolseley encountered during the Ashantee campaign, and it
cannot be done better than to cite it as the General told it, in a
reminiscent mood, not long since: "It was at the beginning of the
campaign, just after our landing, when a square-built little man came up
to me, and said, speaking slowly, and with an unmistakable American
accent: 'General, allow me to introduce myself. I am the correspondent
of the _New York_ ----. I--.' Too busy to attend to him, I cut him short
with, 'What can I do for you, sir?' He replied, imperturbably, with the
same exasperating slowness, 'Well, General, I want to be as near you as
I can, if there is any fightin' to be seen.' 'Captain So-and-so has
charge of all the arrangements concerning correspondents,' I rejoined,
curtly; 'you had better see him.' And with this I turned on my heel and
left him. I saw no more of my correspondent with the aggravating
coolness and slowness of speech for many a day. I did not even know
whether he was accompanying the column or not. Personally speaking, I
was only in danger once during the whole expedition. It was shortly
before we entered Coomassic. I had pressed forward with the advanced
troops, hoping to break the last effort at resistance and have done with
the affair, when the enemy, utilizing the heavy covert, came down and
fairly surrounded us. For a few minutes the position was critical, and
every man had to fight, for the enemy's fire was poured in at close
quarters. They pressed upon us from all sides, dodging from tree to
tree, and continually edging closer, hoping to get hand to hand. In the
hottest of it my attention was caught by a man in civilian's clothes who
was some fifteen or twenty yards in front of me, and who was completely
surrounded by the advancing savages. He seemed to pay no heed to the
danger he was in, but, kneeling on one knee, took aim and fired again
and again, and I seemed to see that every time he fired a black man
fell. I was fascinated by his danger and coolness. As our main body came
up and the savages were driven back, I went forward to see that no harm
came to my civilian friend, who rose just as I reached him. To my
astonishment it was the correspondent of the _New York_ ----, and he
began again, in the same slow, calm way, 'Well, General----.' Again I
interrupted him. 'You were lucky to escape. Didn't you see that you were
surrounded?' 'Well, General,' he began again, 'I guess I was too much
occupied by the niggers in front to pay much attention to those
behind.'"



NURSERY BALLADS.

THE WANDERING COW.


  "The cow has escaped from the Ark!" cried Noah--"the cow has escaped
      from the Ark!
  And wandered away and hid from the day somewhere in the nursery dark;
  So, Billie, be careful, and, Jimmie, go slow; 'twould be horridly awful
      I vow,
  If you in your gropings should happen to step on a poor little dun-brown
      cow

  "Now where shall we look for a little dun cow--just where is she likely
      to be?
  Far off in the camp of the soldiers tin or swimming hard by in the sea--
  A-swimming with joy in the saw-dust waves and tossing the boats on her
      horns,
  Or solemnly chewing the lacquered manes of the Japanese unicorns?

  "Or else do you think she has clambered up the sides of the
      mantel-piece,
  And there, to the tick of the nickel clock, is taking a moment of ease?
  Or, horrible thought, oh, terrible thought! must we fearsomely search
      for her
  In the zinc flue-pipe that leads far down through the nursery register?

  "Do you think that perhaps she has wandered off and has tumbled adown
      the stairs,
  Or can she be up on the bureau there a-combing her painted hairs?
  Is she down in the kitchen or up on the roof, or hid in the attic cold,
  Or has she run off to the music-box to list to the "Warrior Bold"?

  "Oh, where, oh, where would a dun cow go? Pray tell me if you can,"
      cried Noah,
  "The rain's coming on, and I want to close up and bolt fast my Arkian
      door.
  'Twould never do to be caught in the rain out there on the cold wet
      moor,
  For her color's not fast, and if it comes off she'll be a done cow for
      sure."

  CARLYLE SMITH.



FROM CHUM TO CHUM.

BY GASTON V. DRAKE.

XV.--FROM JACK TO BOB.


  WHITE MOUNTAINS.

[Illustration]

     DEAR BOB,--I haven't written for some time because I tried an
     experiment over in the bowling-alley one day week before last which
     wasn't pleasant. I tried to put my finger in between two of the
     balls and get it out again before anything happened and couldn't,
     so I've had to have my whole hand swathed in a bandage ever since,
     and that's why Sandboys is writing this letter for me. It was too
     bad it happened the way it did, because we've been having a bowling
     turnement, and our side was way ahead when I smashed my finger, and
     we got beaten on the last game by five pins. Sandboys says when he
     was young his life was saved by a bowling-ball. It was before all
     the panthers that used to be thick in these mountains had all died
     out. They used to play havick with this part of the country eating
     up all the sheep and cows and horses and even tourists with good
     money in their pockets, and very few families living hereabouts
     dared to have their windows open at night in the summer-time for
     fear a panther might jump in and devour them up, even on the top
     floor. He says they are wonderful jumpers those panthers. He has
     seen one go up Mount Washington in sixty-three springs, and come
     down in twenty-nine, and as for jumping from the piazza of this
     hotel up into the cupola he says that would be about as easy for a
     healthy panther as falling off a chair would be to you or me. He
     lived over at a place called Littleton at that time and had a room
     in the top floor of his father's house. It was in midsummer and an
     awfully hot night, but being afraid of the panthers that were
     prowling around, when he went to bed he shut his window and his
     shutters up tight. Three or four times some of the panthers tried
     to break through and banged up against the shutters pretty hard,
     but without success, and finally an hour went by without any more
     attempts being made, and forgetting that strategy was one of the
     panther's strong points Sandboys thought they'd gone away and that
     it would be safe to open his window and get a breath of fresh air
     because his room had become like an oven, being right under the
     roof. So he opened the window softly and threw the shutters wide,
     peeping carefully out first to see if there were any panthers in
     sight. Unfortunately he looked down into the yard and didn't see
     the wild animal sitting on top of the telegraph pole across the
     street, waiting for his pray. "Good," said Sandboys, "they're all
     gone. I can get a chance to cool off." And he crept back into bed
     leaving the window wide open, and then the trouble began. He'd
     hardly got into bed when there came a fearful bang on the side wall
     just over him. The horrid beast that had been perched on the
     telegraph pole opposite had jumped across the street, through the
     window and landed ker-flump against the wall. Fortunately the force
     of the bang stunned the panther for a minute and Sandboys had
     presence of mind enough to snatch his pillow out of its case and to
     pull the pillow-case over the panther's head. It was the work of an
     instant, as the story-books say, and then he was off. That is,
     Sandboys was off. He fled through the window, dropped down to the
     soft earth and made a bee-line for the hotel. "Why did you go to
     the hotel?" I asked. "Because," he replied, "nobody else ever went
     there and I thought that would be the last place in which an animal
     with ingenious instinctiveness would think of looking for me."

     [Illustration]

     [Illustration]

     My, but Sandboys is wise, but it didn't work. The panther soon
     recovered from his stun and after pawing at it for a minute managed
     to get the pillow-case off his head, and began to look around for
     Sandboys. He looked under the bed, and in the wardrobe and maybe in
     the bureau drawers. Nobody knows where he didn't look, and finally
     seeing that the door was still locked he of course knew that
     Sandboys had escaped by the window which shows you what sagacious
     animals panthers can be when they try. Well, when the panther saw
     that, he was mad. When panthers start out to pray they want to
     pray, and if they don't pray they want to know why, being, as I
     said, sagacious. So he says to himself it's Sandboys or nothing for
     supper and out he starts in pursuit and as luck would have it,
     being hungry, he thought he'd stop at the hotel a minute and take a
     bite out of the landlord. He stopped and the first thing he knew
     was that he was face to face with Sandboys. Sandboys was
     _nonplussed_--which is Latin for rattled--for a minute and so was
     the panther, for Sandboys was the last person he expected to find
     there. The panther's surprise was Sandboys' chance and he took it.
     He rushed from the room before the panther had recovered and was
     soon on the top floor whence, by a back staircase he rushed down,
     and out into the night. But the panther started in pursuit as
     usual. As he ran along Sandboys reasoned thus: "Nobody who has ever
     been to that hotel once, ever was known to go back again. I'll go
     back and delude the beast," which he did, but the door was locked
     and he had to take refuge in the bowling-alley. But the panther
     knew a thing or two and as Sandboys went in one door of the alley
     and locked the door after him and threw the keys away, he climbed
     in the window at the other end and there they were again, face to
     face: Sandboys at one end of the alley, the panther at the other
     and all was dark except one could see the glittering eye of the
     other. The panther was delighted. Everything seemed to be going his
     way and Sandboys was in despair. Escape seemed impossible. "I'll
     play with him," thought the panther and he took one step and
     crouched, smiling softly to himself when all of a sudden Sandboys
     thought, "Here I'm the champion bowler of this town, it's my only
     chance." The panther took another step and crouched. Sandboys took
     a ball. "I'll aim between his eyes and hit his nose," said Sandboys
     and he let go. It was dark, but it was a strike. The ball rolled
     thunderously down the alley. The panther didn't know what it was,
     and the first thing he knew as he laid his nose flat in the middle
     of the alley the ball came crashing into it, broke his neck and he
     lay dead, and Sandboys was saved.

     How's that for an adventure?

  Yours truly JACK per Sandboys.

[Illustration]

     P.S. (in an almost unreadable hand). I don't know what Sandboys has
     told you in this letter from me, but whatever it is, the head
     waiter says it must be a exagravation because Sandboys is given to
     exagravations--by which I mean he draws the long bow when he tells
     things about himself. Love to all,

  JACK.



[Illustration: INTERSCHOLASTIC SPORT]


[Illustration: LONDON ATHLETIC CLUB GROUNDS.]

The spring meeting of the London Athletic Club was held on the club
grounds at Stamford Bridge on April 11th. There were three scholastic
events on the card, and as they do things somewhat differently in
England from the way we do them over here, it may be interesting to the
readers of this Department to hear of how this meeting was conducted.
The first event for the schools was a 120-yard hurdle race on turf over
ten hurdles 3 ft. 6 in. high. The English hurdles are fixed firmly in
the ground, so that hitting an obstacle there means a fall--and this
happened at these games to at least one man in each heat. After all,
however, it seems a better arrangement than our way, for it compels the
racers to jump the hurdles, and if a fall does result it is a good deal
more like sport to fall on turf than to carry away several ounces of
cinders in one's face and arms. As may be seen from the accompanying
illustration, the course is laid towards the grand stand, instead of
past it, which does not afford so good a view of a race as might
otherwise be the case.

One pleasant feature of the occasion was that the in-field was kept
perfectly clear. None but the half-dozen officials whose business
required their presence there were allowed inside the track. Another
improvement over our method was that the contestants came out for their
heats without any clownlike bath-robes about them, and trotted down to
their stations unassisted and unaccompanied by a horde of attendants,
trainers, or rubbers. Their costumes, too, were more sightly than those
seen in America, each man's shirt being provided with quarter sleeves.
In many cases the hem of the sleeves and the bottoms of the running
trousers were trimmed with the school colors, and the emblem, when the
contestant wore any, was generally small and inconspicuous. In America,
as we all know, there is frequently more emblem than athlete. The
crouching start has not yet become popular in England; in fact, in all
these races only one man leaned on his hands. The rest stood up, and
they were by no means as steady on their marks as they would have been
if they had adopted the American method of starting.

The hurdle-race was run in two heats and a final, and resulted in a win
for Pilkington of Clifton School, who, I take it, is a relative of the
Cambridge athlete who came over last fall with the English team that
competed against Yale. His time was 17-2/5 sec., which is very fast over
turf, and which he could doubtless improve upon on a cinder track. The
best interscholastic record for the same event in this country was made
by E. C. Perkins, of the Hartford High-School, at the Connecticut
H.-S.A.A. games in '94, and was 17 sec. Jarvis of Bedford was second,
and Kember of Ramsgate was third.

On the programme this race was set down as "120 yards hurdles Public
Schools Championship Challenge Shield," with the additional information
that the shield was "presented by Godfrey and Cecil Shaw." The former
will be remembered as having given Stephen Chase a hard tussle over the
hurdles at the international games last fall. In addition to this
championship shield, which stands for a number of years, and on which
the winner each year presumably has his name engraved, there was a first
prize of a silver cup and a second prize of a silver beaker. This idea
of having a challenge shield is an excellent one, as it adds an
incentive to true sportsmanship, and makes the honor of winning the race
greater than it would otherwise be. It would be a good fashion to
introduce challenge cups and shields in this country.

The quarter-mile was run in three heats and a final. This was also for a
championship challenge cup, and for three individual prizes. Harrison of
Haileybury, who had the honor of seeing his name set down on the
programme as the "holder" of the challenge cup, because he won it last
year, was not fast enough on this occasion to maintain his supremacy. He
took second place in his heat, and as his time for second was the
fastest second of any of the heats, he was allowed to run in the finals,
the programme stating that "First in each heat, and fastest second, to
start in final." In this last heat were Holland and Hardie of
Giggleswick, Davison of Sutton Valence, and Harrison. Davison ran too
easily at first, and was some fifteen yards behind the rest at the 220
mark; but he then came away in great style. He was too late, however, to
catch Holland, who won in 53-2/5 sec., with Davison second, and Hardie
third. The best American interscholastic time for this event was made by
T. E. Burke, the champion, in 1894, at the New England interscholastic
games, when he was at the Boston English High-School.

RECORDS OF THE N.Y.I.S.A.A.

  Event.                          Record.
  100-yard dash                      10-3/8      sec.
  100-yard dash (Jun.)               11          "
  220-yard dash                      22-4/5      "
  220-yard dash (Jun.)               23-4/5      "
  440-yard run                       52-2/5      "
  880-yard run                 2 m.       4-1/5  "
  Mile run                     4 "   52          "
  Mile walk                    7 "   30-2/5      "
  Mile bicycle                 2 "   34-2/5      "
  120-yard hurdle                    15-3/5      "
  220-yard hurdle                    26-3/5      "
  High jump                    5 ft. 11         in.
  Broad jump                  21 "    5          "
  Putting 12-lb. shot         40 "      3/4      "
  Throwing 12-lb. hammer     117 "    5-1/2      "
  Pole vault                  10 "      3/8      "

  Event.                      Holder.
  100-yard dash               Wendell Baker, Bettins, 1880.
  100-yard dash (Jun.)        D. C. Leech, Cutler's, 1890.
  220-yard dash               E. W. Allen, Berkeley, 1895.
  220-yard dash (Jun.)        H. Moeller, Col. Gram., 1894.
  440-yard run                C. R. Irwin-Martin, Berkeley, 1895.
  880-yard run                J. A. Meehan, Condon, 1895.
  Mile run                    C. Southwick, Harvard, 1893.
  Mile walk                   L. B. Elliman, Berkeley, 1894.
  Mile bicycle                I. A. Powell, Cutler's, 1895.
  120-yard hurdle             A. F. Beers, De La Salle, 1895.
  220-yard hurdle             S. A. Syme, Barnard, 1895.
  High jump                   S. A. W. Baltazzi, Harvard, 1895.
  Broad jump                  F. L. Pell, Cutler's, 1891.
  Putting 12-lb. shot         A. C. Ayres, Condon, 1895.
  Throwing 12-lb. hammer      C. R. Irwin-Martin, Berkeley, 1895.
  Pole vault                  E. F. Simpson, Barnard, 1895.

For the mile run ten starters turned out. They stayed bunched for the
first quarter, but by the time three-quarters of the distance had been
covered there were practically only four in the race. Down the straight
Elliot of Giggleswick and Dyke of Sherborne were never more than a yard
apart, and a fine finish resulted in a dead heat. The time was
excellent--4 min. 42-3/5 sec. Both men fell exhausted at the finish, and
Tippets of St. Paul's came in third, not far behind. The best American
interscholastic time for the mile is 4 min. 34-2/5 sec., made by W. T.
Laing of Andover in 1894, at the New England Interscholastics. The
American figures given here are all records, and so the comparison with
the English times is not exactly fair, since the English school records
in every case may of course be better than the performances on this
particular occasion.

The prizes were distributed in a much better way than is done in this
country. After each event Mrs. Walter Rye, whose name appeared on the
programme, presented the winners with their cups. This is a custom which
has not yet been adopted in this country, although at St. Paul's School,
Concord, a young lady usually presents the prizes to the winners at the
spring meeting. It would be a pleasant and graceful feature if, at the
National Games, some lady interested in the sports of our young men in
the schools were invited to hand to them their prizes.

The fourth annual tournament of the Yale Interscholastic Tennis
Association was held a week ago Saturday, on the grounds of the New
Haven Lawn Club. There were thirteen entries from Hartford High,
Hillhouse High, Black Hall, Hopkins Grammar, Taft's, and Hotchkiss
schools. The day was cold and raw, but, nevertheless, the play on the
whole was good.

In the first round the Lyman-Finke match was very interesting. Lyman
made a plucky fight in the last set, but Finke won, 6-2, 6-4. The
Whitmore-Watrous match showed some pretty tennis. In the first set the
score changed many times, each man doing his best to win. Watrous got
it, 9-7. Whitmore won the second set, 6-2, but Watrous took the last
rather easily, 6-2.

The final round was between two Hotchkiss School players, Finke and Coy.
At times the play was excellent, each man showing good judgment and
coolness. Finke won 6-2, 6-1, 6-1. Coy might have done much better, but
he seemed to be afraid to let himself out. Finke made the remarkable
record of winning the tournament without losing a set. He outclassed all
the other players. With practice he ought to develop into a player of
the first class. He plays with coolness and excellent judgment. The
prizes were a cup for first and second, and a banner to the school
winning the greatest number of points, each match won counting one
point. The banner went to Hotchkiss this year, as it did last year.

The Harvard Interscholastic tournament was held the same day on Jarvis
Field, Cambridge, with twelve schools, represented by sixty-seven
entries. With so large a number of contestants, the play dragged on into
the early part of last week, making the finals come too late for proper
notice in the present issue of this Department. Comment will be held
over until next week.

The standard of performance of New York school athletes has improved so
rapidly within the past few years that it is very difficult now to make
any very definite prophecy as to what men will win events at the big
Interscholastic meetings. This year the struggle for the cup will
probably be between Berkeley and Cutler's, with the chances largely in
favor of the former, Barnard's team not being so strong as it was either
last year or the year before. For individual winners next Saturday, I
think it is reasonably certain to count on Moore of Barnard to take
first in the 100, with Harris of Cutler's second. Both men have done
10-2/5 in smaller games this spring, and with this in view we may hope
to see Wendell Baker's 10-2/5 record, which has stood so many years, go
by the board. The junior event for the same distance will be a close
thing between Wilson of Barnard and Leech of Cutler's, the former having
won the event in '94, and the latter having won it last year. Armstead
of Berkeley will get a place, but I doubt if he does better than third.

Moore is beyond any doubt the best sprinter in the New York association,
and will score a double win by taking the 220, unless something
unforeseen occurs. Irwin-Martin of Berkeley should be second, with
Washburn a close third. There is little room for doubt that Martin will
be an easy winner in the quarter, for that is his special event, and
Draper of Cutler's will come in second if Hipple of Barnard does not
crowd him out. It is possible, however, that White of Berkeley, who has
developed great speed of late, may overthrow these place calculations,
and take three more points in the event for Berkeley. Hipple is a man
that Barnard must depend on for a good many points, and as he will be
especially depended upon to take the half-mile, it is possible that he
may not run in the quarter, or, if he does, he may save himself and only
try for a place. He is sure to break the record in the half, and if
these two races do not tire him too much he ought to make a place in the
mile, for he broke the scholastic record for that distance in the
Trinity games only a few weeks ago.

Clark of Condon's is a good man to look to for second in the half-mile.
Bedford of Barnard has not been doing very good work this year, but
unless Turner of Cutler's develops unexpected speed and Hipple
unforeseen endurance, he stands an excellent chance of scoring five
points in the mile run. The high hurdles will go to Beers of De la
Salle, with Bien of Berkeley second. The low hurdles are a fairly sure
thing for Harris of Cutler's, with the other two places in dispute among
O'Rourke of Trinity, Beers, and Bien. Walker of Berkeley should come in
first in the walk, if he can maintain the form he has been displaying
all winter, with Blum of Sachs' second.

In the field events, Irwin-Martin of Berkeley will probably score
another win for his school by taking the hammer, while the shot will
probably also go to Berkeley with Young. Taves of Trinity may be counted
upon for places in both events. No one will approach the record
established by Baltazzi last year in the high jump, but Pell of Berkeley
will probably clear the greatest height, with Wenman of Drisler's and
Brown of Columbia Grammar behind him. In the broad jump Pell also stands
an excellent chance to get first place, unless Harris develops
unexpected ability, and Beers may be able to take the other place. I
think we may count upon seeing the pole-vaulting record broken by
Hulburt, who has been surpassing himself and everybody else in the open
games this spring. The bicycle race will probably go to Cutler's.

INTERSCHOLASTIC RECORDS

Corrected to May 1, 1896.

  Event.                                Record.
  100-yard dash                             10-1/5 sec.
  220-yard dash                             22-2/5  "
  440-yard run                              50-3/5  "
  Half-mile run                     2  m.    4-1/5  "
  Mile run                          4  "    34-2/5  "
  Mile walk                         7  "    17-3/5  "
  120-yard hurdle (3 ft. 6 in.)             17      "
  220-yard hurdle (2 ft. 6 in.)             26-1/2  "
  Mile bicycle                      2  "    34-1/5  "
  Two-mile bicycle                  5  "    18-2/5  "
  Running high jump                 5  ft.  11     in.
  Running broad jump               21   "    7      "
  Pole vault                       10   "    7      "
  Throwing 12-lb. hammer          125   "
  Throwing 16-lb. hammer          111   "   10      "
  Putting 12-lb. shot              40   "      3/4  "
  Putting 16-lb. shot              39   "    3      "

  Event.                             Maker.
  100-yard dash                    F. H. Bigelow.
  220-yard dash                    F. H. Bigelow.
  440-yard run                     T. E. Burke.
  Half-mile run                    J. A. Meehan.
  Mile run                         W. T. Laing.
  Mile walk                        A. N. Butler.
  120-yard hurdle (3 ft. 6 in.)    E. C. Perkins.
  220-yard hurdle (2 ft. 6 in.)    Field.
  Mile bicycle                     I. A. Powell.
  Two-mile bicycle                 Baker.
  Running high jump                S. A. W. Baltazzi.
  Running broad jump               Cheek.
  Pole vault                       B. Johnson.
  Throwing 12-lb. hammer           R. F. Johnson.
  Throwing 16-lb. hammer           F. G. Beck.
  Putting 12-lb. shot              A. C. Ayres.
  Putting 16-lb. shot              M. O'Brien.

  Event.                              School.
  100-yard dash                   Worcester H.-S.
  220-yard dash                   Worcester H.-S.
  440-yard run                    Boston English H.-S.
  Half-mile run                   Condon, N. Y.
  Mile run                        Phillips Academy, Andover.
  Mile walk                       Hillhouse H.-S., New Haven.
  120-yard hurdle (3 ft. 6 in.)   Hartford H.-S.
  220-yard hurdle (2 ft. 6 in.)   Hartford H.-S.
  Mile bicycle                    Cutler, N. Y.
  Two-mile bicycle                Hotchkiss, Lakeville, Conn.
  Running high jump               Harvard, N. Y.
  Running broad jump              Oakland, Cal., H.-S.
  Pole vault                      Worcester Academy.
  Throwing 12-lb. hammer          Brookline H.-S.
  Throwing 16-lb. hammer          Hillhouse H.-S., New Haven.
  Putting 12-lb. shot             Condon, N. Y.
  Putting 16-lb. shot             Boston English H.-S.

  Event.                            Time and Place.
  100-yard dash                   N.E.I.S.A.A. games, 1894.
  220-yard dash                   N.E.I.S.A.A. games, 1894.
  440-yard run                    N.E.I.S.A.A. games, 1894.
  Half-mile run                   N.Y.I.S.A.A. games, May 11, 1895.
  Mile run                        N.E.I.S.A.A. games, 1894.
  Mile walk                       Conn. H.-S.A.A. games, June 8, 1895.
  120-yard hurdle (3 ft. 6 in.)   Conn. H.-S.A.A. games, 1894.
  220-yard hurdle (2 ft. 6 in.)   Conn. H.-S.A.A. games, June 8, 1895.
  Mile bicycle                    N.Y.I.S.A.A. games, May 11, 1895.
  Two-mile bicycle                Conn. H.-S.A.A. games, June 8, 1895.
  Running high jump               N.Y.I.S.A.A. games, May 11, 1895.
  Running broad jump              A.A.L. field day, Oct. 16, 1894.
  Pole vault                      N.E.I.S.A.A. games, June 15, 1895.
  Throwing 12-lb. hammer          N.E.I.S.A.A. games, 1894.
  Throwing 16-lb. hammer          Conn. H.-S.A.A. games, June 8, 1895.
  Putting 12-lb. shot             N.Y.I.S.A.A. games, May 11, 1895.
  Putting 16-lb. shot             N.E.I.S.A.A. games, 1894.

The accompanying table of Interscholastic records should perhaps not
properly be called such, because the records were not made at any single
meeting, but are the best performances made at a number of
interscholastic meetings in various parts of the country. After the
National games, we shall have established regular "Interscholastic"
records, but until then these figures must serve that purpose.

  THE GRADUATE.



Questions and Answers.


Frank Southard asks if it is possible to come to New York and obtain a
position. Yes, of course it is. But Frank ought to bear in mind that
there are many young men already here, and that it is always easiest to
get a foothold where one is best known. "J. G." should address the
publishers when in want of a book. If he does not know their names,
apply to a bookseller. All publishers send catalogues upon request, but
some demand a few cents for the same, not so much in payment as to debar
idle requests. That old question about getting into the academies at
West Point and Annapolis has been many times answered. Apply to your
member of Congress. He alone has power to appoint you, and he only in
case of a vacancy. There may be one cadet only at a time at each academy
from each Congressional district. The President has a few appointments,
but they are intended for sons of military or naval officers, and are
rarely or never given to others. This spring we believe the President
has one vacancy to fill, and there are more than one hundred applicants
for it.

       *       *       *       *       *

Answers to Kinks.

No. 4.

No. 1.--Dora. }         D O R A
No. 2.--Obey. }         O B E Y
No. 3.--Rear. } STARS.  R E A R
No. 4.--Ayry. }         A Y R Y

No. 5.--Tremor. No. 6.--Invert. No. 7.--Cable. No. 8.--Aspen. No.
9.--Domineer. (STRIPES.)

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 5.

Apartment.
Apart-me(a)nt.

Men tap tar.
Men pat rat.

Neat tramp.
Men at trap.



ADVERTISEMENTS.



[Illustration]

Flying

Along

You'll never know all the delightful spring and action of the perfect
bicycle tire unless your wheel is fitted with

[Illustration]

THE STANDARD SINGLE-TUBES

Easy to have Hartford Tires on any bicycle. All you need do is insist,
and the bicycle dealer will furnish them.

The Original Single-Tubes. Cost Most. Worth Most.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE HARTFORD RUBBER WORKS CO.

HARTFORD, CONN.

NEW YORK. CHICAGO.



You are bound to succeed in making HIRES Rootbeer if you follow the
simple directions. Easy to make, delightful to take.

Made only by The Charles E. Hires Co., Philadelphia.

A 25c. package makes 5 gallons. Sold everywhere.



[Illustration: ROYAL BAKING POWDER]

A cream-of-tartar baking powder. Highest of all in leavening
strength.--_Latest United States Government Food Report._

ROYAL BAKING POWDER CO., NEW YORK.



Arnold

Constable & Co

       *       *       *       *       *

Dress Fabrics.

_French Canvas,_

_Wool Grenadine,_

_Silk and Mohair Barege._

       *       *       *       *       *

CHECK SUITINGS.

_Silk-and-Wool Mixtures,_

_Cheviots, Armures, Serges,_

_Plain Colored Fabrics._

       *       *       *       *       *

MOHAIRS,

PRINTED CHALLIES.

       *       *       *       *       *

Broadway & 19th st.

NEW YORK.



BICYCLES

GET MIXED!

PROTECT YOURS!!

For 35 cents we mail your own name and address engraved on a handsome
metal plate. Easy and no expense to attach. Agents wanted. Walter Mfg.
Co., 144 Monroe St., Chicago.



HARPER'S

ROUND TABLE

Not only is it excellent in its written text, but artists make its pages
artistically beautiful.--_Chicago Inter Ocean_, Feb. 22, 1896.

5 CENTS A COPY -- $2.00 A YEAR



[Illustration: Thompson's Eye Water]



[Illustration: BICYCLING]

     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.


Continuing the suggestion begun last week regarding bicycling in Europe
during the summer, a word should be said about France. By all means the
cheapest route, considering the comfort, to Paris from New York is by
the smaller boats of the Hamburg line, which take nine or ten days to
reach Havre. It is possible, however, to get a round-trip ticket from
New York to Paris and return, including the ride from Havre to and from
Paris by train, first-class, for a little under $100.

The roads of France--that is, the parts which are usually ridden--are in
the main superior to any roads in the world for bicycling purposes. The
many government military roads are kept in remarkably good condition,
and while they are perhaps not as interesting as the English roads,
which wind about through the country, they are nevertheless better made
in the main, though they go along straight lines. On the whole, for a
first trip it would be better to take the train from Havre to Paris, and
to start from Paris itself. Bicycling in the city itself is very common,
and most of the roads are either macadamized or asphalted. In the
vicinity of the city there are some beautiful roads, such as the run out
to St. Germain, a somewhat shorter one to St. Denis, and, at the other
end of the city, to Versailles. These roads, of course, would be taken
first by any tourist.

It then becomes a question whether the wheelman will take the trip
through Normandy, or will ride or take the train into the middle of
France and wheel through Touraine. Perhaps the pleasantest trip for the
summer would be to ride through Normandy. In that case leave Paris,
passing through St. Germain, following the Seine through a remarkably
beautiful country. The run would carry you through Nantes, Vernon,
Louviers, and Elbeuf, whence you may either turn northward to Rouen, to
see the city and cathedral, or, keeping on, pass through Pont-l'Evêque,
and thence to Trouville. This Normandy coast is covered with summer
resorts that are peculiarly French, and very attractive, therefore, to
the foreigner seeking new sights. Houlgate, Dieppe, and Honfleur are
such places, and will well repay a visit. The trip can then be extended
through Caen, across the peninsula to Coutances, to Granville, or it may
extend out on the peninsula to Cherbourg, and the return to Paris may be
either along the southern edge of Normandy through Alençon, taking in
Chartres and Etampes, or the return journey may be made by train if
there is not sufficient time to ride it both ways on a bicycle.

It is, of course, impossible in this very limited space to give any idea
of the possibilities of France for bicycling, but this trip through
Normandy, including the short one-day runs in the vicinity of Paris,
will make a three or four or five weeks' bicycling tour that will repay
any one for whatever expense he may incur. The southern trip through
Touraine will be best made, unless considerable time is at your
disposal, by taking the train from Paris for Tours. Starting from there,
you should run over different parts of Touraine, visiting the famous
castles of that country, such as Blois and Amboise. All this country,
like Normandy and the vicinity of Paris, is full of good roads, and a
month can be easily spent in riding over Touraine alone. These two
districts of France are perhaps the best suited for bicycling, and
should be recommended to the wheelman as suitable for his first foreign
tour.

     H. BERT BLACKWELL.--To train for a half-mile bicycle race, ride on
     a track, if possible, or on a good road, ten miles at a reasonably
     good rate every day in the week except Sunday. Practise starts
     Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday for about twenty minutes, and
     Tuesday and Friday ride a half-mile against time, with a
     pace-maker, if possible. Two weeks before the race takes place
     practise starts for twenty minutes each day, and ride a half-mile
     against time four times a week. For diet avoid liquids as much as
     possible, except water; eat beef and chops which are moderately
     rare, boiled potatoes, and plain vegetables; avoid sweets in the
     main, and eat nothing fried. Aside from this, the food question is
     not so important as the time of eating, which should be absolutely
     regular: breakfast between seven and eight, the same time every
     day; a hearty lunch, which should be practically a dinner, at from
     half past twelve to one; and a dinner or supper at between six and
     half past. Go to bed at ten, and get up at seven. This may well be
     considered a severe course of training, and is only for a seasoned
     rider.

     B. M. WARREN.--Bicycle maps running along the coast of Connecticut
     have already been published in the ROUND TABLE. We hope, some time
     this summer or in the early fall, to give some of the best routes
     through central Connecticut.

     E. W. DAVIES.--The best route from Woodstown, New Jersey, to
     Trenton, through Philadelphia, is as follows: Leave Woodstown and
     proceed to Swedesborough (seven miles), thence to Clarksborough
     (six miles), Woodbury (five miles), and Gloucester to the ferry
     (four miles), crossing thence to Philadelphia. Leaving
     Philadelphia, proceed to Frankfort (seven miles), thence to Bristol
     (fifteen miles), and thence to Trenton (nine miles). The road is
     moderately good all the way.



[Illustration: THE CAMERA CLUB]

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


FORMULAS FOR COLORING TRANSPARENCIES.

As we have received many inquiries in regard to the colors used in
making the tinted transparencies described in No. 857 of the ROUND
TABLE, we give the following formulas for preparing the coloring
solutions, which are by M. Gachinot, Paris, France, all of which can be
successfully used. Having printed the plate according to the directions
given, immerse in any of the following solutions till the desired color
or tint is obtained:

RED BATH.

  Carmine (in grains)   5 parts.
  Liquid Ammonia       15   "
  Distilled Water     120   "

BLUE BATH.

  Prussian Blue        50 parts.
  Oxalic Acid          50   "
  Distilled Water     120   "

YELLOW BATH.

  Gamboge              50 parts.
  Saffron              50   "
  Distilled Water     150   "

The yellow bath must be boiled for five minutes, and filtered.

VIOLET BATH.

  Permanganate of Potash   10 parts
  Distilled Water         100   "

GREEN BATH.

  Prussian Blue       50 parts.
  Oxalic Acid         50   "
  Picric Acid         15   "
  Distilled Water    150   "

Dissolve by heat.

Aniline colors may also be used, and are both cheap and easily prepared.
Dissolve one ounce of any aniline color in ten ounces of distilled
water, and immerse the transparency in the solution till the desired
tint is obtained. Wash in several changes of water till the whites are
clear. Dry in a place free from dust.

     SIR KNIGHT R. H. WYLD says that in developing some pictures taken
     with a pocket Kodak the pictures came out positive instead of
     negative. The picture was overdeveloped. Probably the developer
     worked rather slow, and the picture may also have been
     under-exposed. The rest of the material will probably be all right
     with proper time exposure. Cold sometimes retards the action of the
     developer. The temperature of the developer should never be below
     65° Fahr. The process for making plain salted paper was described
     in Nos. 796 and 803, and was also given in the circular issued last
     fall announcing the photographic competition.

     J. W. B. encloses two prints, and asks what is the matter with
     them. The prints were made too dark, and in order to tone them out
     they were overtoned. The negatives are evidently thin, which also
     accounts for the gray tone of the print. The blue print formula may
     be found in Nos. 797, 823, and 828.

     SIR KNIGHT RUSSEL SENIOR asks if different colored inks can be used
     to color transparencies, if aristotype prints put in a glycerine
     solution to keep them flat injures the gloss when they are ready to
     be burnished, and for a simple way to enlarge negatives. The
     colored inks are made from aniline colors, and it is better to
     prepare the color according to directions given in this paper for
     using aniline colors. Glycerine does not affect the polish of the
     print. Directions for enlarging may be found in No. 801, March 5,
     1895. If you have not a file of the ROUND TABLE, enclose five cents
     to Harper and Brothers, and the number will be sent to you. As the
     directions occupy all the space devoted to the Camera Club, they
     cannot be repeated in "Answers to Queries"; but another paper on
     enlarging will be printed in a few weeks for the benefit of our new
     members.

     SIR KNIGHT LEONARD S. WHITTIER asks if the editor has heard of the
     "Quad Camera," and if it is a good camera for five dollars, and also
     asks the addresses of firms that manufacture cameras at this price
     or less. The "Quad" camera is said to do very good work for so
     small a camera. The Eastman Kodak Co., Rochester, N.Y., Kombi
     Camera Co., Chicago, Ill., Manhattan Optical Co., Cresskill, N.J.,
     are among the firms that manufacture low-priced cameras. A card
     sent to Scovill, Adams Co., or E. & H. T. Anthony and Co., New
     York, will bring a catalogue of cameras and photographic outfits.

     SIR KNIGHT HERSCHEL F. DAVIS wishes a good formula for a
     one-solution metol developer, and asks if the exposure should be
     shortened when using metol for a developer. A single solution of
     metol is made as follows:

  Metol                         30 grs.
  Sodium Sulphite (crystals)   180  "
  Potassium Carbonate           90  "
  Water                          4 oz.

     In mixing this developer the potassium carbonate can be left out
     till the detail is out, then add the potassium, and leave the plate
     in the developer till the required density is gained. One can make
     the exposure much shorter with the metol, and this developer is
     specially good for under-exposed plates.



[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.


So you, my little Irene, are appointed a delegate to a great convention,
and mamma has consented to let you go with the other young people to a
city half-way across the continent--you who at seventeen have never made
a journey except under your mother's care. It is your first flight from
the nest, and I do not wonder that you and she both anticipate it with a
good deal of thought and some perplexity. To you, of course, the outlook
is all roseate; you are sure you will have an enchanting time, and you
have no forebodings; but mamma, being older and having experience, feels
less at her ease. And yet it is a simple matter to travel under auspices
so agreeable as those which belong to Christian Endeavorers when they go
to an annual assemblage of their great society.

Resolve beforehand to go equipped lightly as to luggage. A pretty
travelling-dress, with an extra waist for any emergency or occasion of
ceremony, is all you will require in the way of a gown, and a change of
under-clothing will go with the waist in your hand-bag. An oil-silk bag
for your sponge, your needful toilet articles, and such trifles as pins,
needle and thread, shoe buttons, and light overshoes can easily be
compressed into a very small space. An extra pair of gloves should be
taken, and a small bottle of camphor or other remedy for sudden
indisposition will not be amiss.

On the journey, whether by boat or by train, keep strictly with your own
party. There will probably be a number of your friends, very likely your
pastor and his wife, in the company, and you must be careful to stay
where they stay, and go where they go. You are not an independent
traveller. You belong to a party, and must conform to its regulations.
Especially when your objective point is a strange city, where you will
be thrown among hundreds of people unknown to you, be sure that you do
not separate in any way from your own particular group.

Arrived at your destination, you will probably find that quarters have
been assigned to you in hospitable homes. Here, as you are received with
friendly greetings, do your utmost to prove that you appreciate the
kindness shown. Give as little trouble as possible to your entertainers.
Every home has its fixed hours for meals, and visitors should be ready
at the moment, so that the hostess shall not be embarrassed in her
proceedings by any lack of punctuality in theirs. If prayers in the
family are before breakfast, be sure that you rise early enough to
attend them, and in every point make your visit a pleasure to those who
kindly invite you to be a guest beneath their roof.

In visiting a strange place avail yourself of each opportunity for
seeing interesting points, for going to see objects of natural interest,
museums, libraries, etc., always, however, visiting these with your own
party, or with friends who are responsible for your safety.

You will need very little money on such a journey as I am thinking of,
your tickets being procured beforehand, and your only requirement being
for small change. The funds of the party should be in the hands of one
person, selected before starting, who will act as treasurer on the trip,
keeping a strict account of her disbursements, so that she may render it
at the journey's end.

     MARJORIE DAW.--Miss Deland's _Oakleigh_ is, in my opinion, as
     entertaining a book as _Little Women_. _The Story of a Short Life_
     and _Jackanapes_ were written by Mrs. Ewing, who died some years
     ago. _Grandma's Attic Treasures_ is by Mary D. Brine.

     MARION D.--Send your invitations for the garden party in the shape
     of informal notes, written in the ordinary way. "Dear Alice,--Come
     to my party next Saturday afternoon at 4 o'clock. Tea in the
     garden," or, "My dear Mary,--Will you give me the pleasure of your
     presence at a lawn-party next Saturday at four o'clock, to meet
     Miss Elsie Morrow and Miss Nancy Page, of Baltimore." Let your
     little note be brief but cordial. It is quite proper to write such
     an invitation on one's visiting-card.

     CARRIE H. D.--I do not think that a girl should too confidently
     depend on her friend's opinion that she can write short stories.
     The only way to really test the matter is to send the stories,
     written plainly, or type-written, and, of course, on one side of
     the paper only, with return postage enclosed, to the editor of a
     paper. A girl should read the best stories she can find, and the
     best essays and historical sketches too, and be in no haste to
     publish. I cannot advise a young girl to go upon the stage. She
     should certainly not think of this, unless her parents and teachers
     not only fully approve, but also urge her to do so. In my
     experience girls of all periods are much alike. I think the girls
     of to-day are not at all silly; in some particulars, as in
     opportunities for out-door sports, and in excellent health, they
     surpass the girls of a few years ago. Girls are fascinating
     creatures, and I dearly love them.

[Illustration: Signature]



ADVERTISEMENTS.



400,000 Pounds

of Nickel Steel

[Illustration]

That is the amount of this wonderful metal, drawn into tubing in our own
mills, that has gone into Columbia Bicycles in the past year and a half.
Its use is what makes Columbias so strong and light. No such material in
other machines. Reserved exclusively for

[Illustration: Columbia Bicycles]

Standard of the World

$100 to all alike.

Columbias in construction and quality are in a class by themselves.

Pope Manufacturing Co.

HARTFORD, CONN.



WALTER BAKER & CO., LIMITED.

Established Dorchester, Mass., 1780.

Breakfast Cocoa

[Illustration]

Always ask for Walter Baker & Co.'s

Breakfast Cocoa

Made at

DORCHESTER, MASS.

It bears their Trade Mark

"La Belle Chocolatiere" on every can.

Beware of Imitations.



There's no doubt about the advisability of riding a wheel--the only
question now is what wheel to ride.

Monarch

King of Bicycles,

represents cycle manufacture in its highest development. A wheel with
which no fault can be found.

4 models, $80 and $100, fully guaranteed. For children and adults who
want a lower price wheel the =Defiance= is made in 8 models, $40 to $75.
Send for Monarch book.

[Illustration]

MONARCH

CYCLE MFG. CO.,

Lake, Halsted and Fulton Sts., CHICAGO.

83 Reade St., NEW YORK.



Postage Stamps, &c.



$117.50 WORTH OF STAMPS FREE

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

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



1000

Mixed Foreign Stamps, San Marino, etc., 25; 101 all dif., China, etc.,
10c.; 10 U.S. Revenues, 10c.; 20 U.S. Revenues, 25c. Ag'ts w'td at 50%
com. _Monthly Bulletin_ free. Shaw Stamp & Coin Co., Jackson, Mich.



101 varieties, Venezuela, etc., 10c.; 118 var., many rare and unused,
Asia, Africa, and Australia, also Hawaii, Newfoundland, Cuba, Venezuela,
etc., only 18c. Scott's 1896 illustrated cat. only 25c. All post-free.

W. P. Todd, Morristown, N. J.



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



[Illustration: Thompson's Eye Water]



THE DUKE OF ALVA'S HUMILIATION.

THIRD-PRIZE STORY.

BY GEORGE C. HIRST.


The dining-hall of Rudolstadt Castle was the object of much interest one
morning in the old war-wearied days of 1547. Behind its curtained
doorways maids with straining ears and eyes whispered in consultation.
In the kitchen and servants' quarters the guests of the Countess were
critically discussed, from their features and dress to their overbearing
haughtiness. Old Hans, the butler, was volleyed with questions upon each
appearance from the dining-hall, his dignity more impenetrable than the
choicest armor in the Netherlands. The Rudolstadt retainers, sitting in
the court outside with Dutch sullenness, hated the Spanish masters as
they hated sin, under the blankness of their features. One of them paced
to and fro with blazing eyes and set jaws, savagely shaking his sword
and repeatedly testing its shining point, in refreshing contrast to the
calmness of his comrades.

In the hall the Countess of Swarzburg acted hostess to the generals of a
victorious army, one of whom had terrorised Europe. Her calm dignity was
unmoved by their great condescension and haughty arrogance, and eloquent
of the fact that they were her quests and not her conquerors. She was a
woman with the iron nerve of a warrior and the courage of the bravest
Spaniard in her prostrate land, and she had need to be, with the Duke of
Alva and Henry of Brunswick opposite her. They were taking her kindness
very much as their due, and regarding the castle as a remarkably good
inn. Cold constraint attended the breakfast.

Some months before, the Countess of Swarzburg, knowing that a Spanish
army on its way to the Netherlands would pass through her territory, had
secured a written promise from the Emperor Philip II. that her subjects
should be unmolested by his soldiers. She agreed in return to sell him
provisions. When the army arrived she promptly sent the supplies, and
invited the Spanish generals to breakfast with her.

During the breakfast she skilfully reminded them of the Emperor's
promise, but they apparently did not understand her. As the conversation
progressed it became more apparent that they regarded her as a conquered
ruler and her services as tribute. She grew more and more angry at their
demeanor, and her breeding alone kept her outwardly courteous. She
turned the conversation at last to trivial matters, and the breakfast
went on smoothly, until a servant came and spoke to her. Then she calmly
arose.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," she said. "I must leave you a few moments. Your
wants shall have attention by my servants here," and without awaiting
their reply she left the room.

In the court her manner changed. She closely questioned her servants,
and then sent for her retainers and deliberately placed a number of them
at each of the doors leading to the hall. "On no account," she
instructed them, "permit either of the gentlemen within to leave the
room." Then she went below.

A pitiful story awaited her. A number of her people were clustered in a
group with looks of despair and misery. The Spanish soldiers had driven
off their cattle, and they had seen the results of years of labor depart
in a few brief moments. Cattle then represented far more than now, when
life was a desperate struggle with the cold and hunger. Hard was the
life of the peasant, and the poor Thuringians, who loved their motherly
Countess, gathered around her as sheep around a shepherd in a winter
storm. She felt their need of her and determined to help them, but
despite her great indignation did not lose her presence of mind.

Ordering them all well provided with food, she told them to return to
their homes, and there await the stolen cattle which she would see were
returned. Then she noiselessly gathered her armed retainers about the
several doorways leading to the breakfast-hall. The soldier who had
restlessly paced the court and cursed the Spaniards was in advance, and
his eyes were hungry and his breath came hard. The Countess entered the
room, and calmly seated herself at the table, facing the Duke.

"Gentlemen," she said, "a few moments ago I spoke of the promise of your
Emperor, that my subjects should be unmolested by his soldiers. I have
just learned that it has been broken. Your men have taken my people's
cattle, which are necessary to them. Of course, you knew nothing of
this, and my messenger here will carry your orders to return them." She
was icily polite, and the command in her last words was more than a
Spaniard could take.

"Your messenger is kind," the Duke observed.

"My dear Countess," said Henry of Brunswick, "do not allow the loss of a
few cattle, peasants' cattle, to disturb you. How little a woman knows
of war, to be sure! Why, soldiers are prone to roughness even in their
own land, and a few such escapades cannot be prevented. The Duke and
myself sincerely regret the occurrence, and will do our best to stop
them in the future."

She looked from one to the other. "Am I to understand, then, that the
Emperor's orders have no weight with you?" she asked, angrily.

"As you like," said Alva.

"And that you will not restore to my people their own?"

"It is impossible," explained Brunswick.

"Then, as God lives, princes' blood shall pay for oxen's!"

And from the doors the curtains parted, and the flashing of swords cut
the light. The tramp of heavy feet resounded in the castle, and without
a word a score of tall brawny warriors encircled the table and enclosed
the generals. Behind the chair of Alva, unnoticed, stood the restless
soldier, his face, his arms, his body, afire with hate. They say that
gaunt, patient, hungry revenge is of the South, that the Northman never
feels it, but when a man has lost wife, children, home, peace, liberty,
and he sees the instrument of all before him--Heaven shall lightly judge
his deed in such a moment!

"Say the word! say the word!" he muttered again and again, pressing hard
on his sword.

[Illustration: THE PALE, DETERMINED FACE OF THE COUNTESS SHOWED FULL OF
PURPOSE.

Drawn by Edmund F. Webber, Winner of Second Prize in Drawing
Competition.]

The Duke and Brunswick looked at each other in dismay. Beyond a doubt
they were caught. Cut off from communication with their soldiers, they
were powerless before the solid wall of men around them. Across the
table the pale, determined face of the Countess showed full of purpose.
For once a Spaniard's word was unsupported by an army, and Alva's nerve
left him. There was a momentary, awkward pause, and then Brunswick came
to the rescue.

He burst into a long laugh. "Upon my soul," he roared, "a good joke, an
excellent piece of humor! You have surprised me, Countess. I was not
aware you Northern people possessed our Spanish wit. What fine
retainers! Duke, the messenger of the Countess is here, with an
excellent guard to attend him. Do not keep him waiting for your
messages."

The Duke hesitated a moment, and then joined Brunswick in what was the
best way out of the matter. The Countess ordered her retainers from the
room, but the intermittent clanks of armor from the court without were
significant.

The Countess detained the generals until she received news that the
cattle had been returned and that the Spaniards were marching from her
dominions. She knew that they did not dare return and punish her, for
they were urgently needed in the Netherlands. Then she politely sent her
guests away, to curse her during all the long ride to their soldiers.
But curses could not restore the broken self-satisfaction of Alva, nor
hide the fact he had been conquered by a woman.



[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.


In compound perforated stamps the rule is to quote the perforations in
the following order: top, bottom, left side, right side.

The _Straits Budget_, published in Singapore, states that the new Malay
Federation scheme contemplates a further change in the colors of the
postage-stamps, and it is not improbable that the new tiger's head will
disappear for good.

The "Boris" stamps of Bulgaria are purely speculative. The Bulgarian
Parliament wished to present the young Prince Boris, on the occasion of
his baptism into the orthodox Greek Church, with a sum of money equal to
$100,000, and, not having the money in the Treasury, devised the scheme
of making a set of stamps for sale to collectors. It is very gratifying
to hear that the scheme has not proved a success.

A report comes from Japan that the government will issue two new stamps,
one bearing the portrait of Marshal Arisugawa, the other that of Prince
Kitashirawika. Both Generals distinguished themselves in the late war
with China.

The French philatelic papers have lately given much attention to the
"Balloon" letters sent out of Paris during the winter of 1870-71, when
the German army was besieging the city. No special stamps were used, but
a special post-mark was stamped on each envelope. Hence they are not
stamps nor stamped envelopes; but they have a special interest of their
own, and many philatelists admit them in their albums. Statistics show
that 64 balloons were sent out, conveying 64 aeronauts, 91 passengers,
363 pigeons, 5 dogs, and about three million letters. Five of the
balloons were captured, by the Germans, and two were driven to the ocean
and lost.

In view of the disagreeable taste of the gum on the U.S. stamps, some
wags have proposed to flavor the gum with liquorice, sassafras, etc. The
only objections made so far is that the stamps, if made too agreeable,
would be chewed up by the users.

The difficulty in seeing the water-marks on the current U.S. stamps has
led to the suggestion that possibly the water-marks might be shown by
Röntgen X rays. It is high time our government should either revert to
the plain paper, or make paper showing the water-mark on each stamp.

The work of the S.S.S.S. has done something to reduce the number of such
issues, but it seems to have resulted in some degree also in reducing
the number of new collectors. A reaction is now taking place, and some
philatelists advocate the abandonment of the committee, leaving each
person free to collect or reject such stamps as he may prefer.

Old Greek gold coins are as eagerly sought for as ever, and very few new
copies are found in excavations, tombs, etc. Mr. H. Montague for many
years collected all the fine and rare copies he could purchase. His
collection has just been sold, and the 816 coins brought $44,884. Among
the highest prices were an Athenian gold stater, B.C. 88, with the head
of Athene Parthenos wearing the triple-crested helmet, $830, only three
of these staters being known; a tetradrachm of Nabis of Lacedæmon, $580;
an old stater of the Arcadian League, with the head of Zeus Lykæos in
high relief, $695; one of Tarentum, with the head of Demeter, $500: a
silver stater of Croton, with a nude figure of Herakles on the reverse,
$375; an oktadrachm of Alexander the Great, $450; a stater of Pheneus,
with a naked running Hermes on the reverse, $575, and one of Alexander
II., Zebena of Syria, $825. Very few specimens of these old Greek coins
have been brought to America.

     D. W. W.--Practically all the unperforated U. S. Revenues are on
     "old paper," but the paper varied in thickness and in color. The
     "silk" paper was used in some of the perforated stamps. They are
     quite scarce. The second and third issues of the U.S. Revenues and
     the Proprietary stamps were printed on "pink" paper, "violet"
     paper, and "green" paper. Unless a collector has lots of money to
     spend, I would advise him not to bother about papers, but take
     every stamp according to design only. Part perforated stamps are
     those which have perforations on two sides only. These are to be
     collected in unsevered pairs only.

     L. H. B.--The 1837 dime is quoted by dealers at 35c. No dealer's
     address can be given in this column.

     E. FRIEND, Columbus.--See answer to L. H. B.

     F. HAMM, 4127 Mantua Ave., Philadelphia, RICHARD STARKE, East
     Islip, New York, EDISON B. COUNCIL, Council, N.C., wish to exchange
     stamps.

     B. W. LEAVITT.--You can buy a beautiful 1894 dollar from dealers
     for $1.50.

     [Illustration: No. 1 and 2.]

     [Illustration: No. 3.]

     H. P. D.--Lithographed stamps are those printed from stones;
     engraved, those printed from steel-plates; wood-cuts, those printed
     from engraved wood blocks; typographed, those printed from relief
     plates. Your Mexican is a revenue stamp. The three triangles of
     1894 U.S. 2c. stamps are all slightly different. In No. 1 the
     horizontal lines run across the ornaments. No. 2 is like No. 1
     except that the lines running across the ornament are thinner than
     No. 1. In No. 3 the lines do not cross the frame.

     W. T. MCCLINTOCK.--See answer to H. P. D.

  PHILATUS.



[Illustration: Ivory Soap]

    Babies whose mothers use common soaps, fret
  Chafed and uneasy: but this little pet,
    Thanks to pure Ivory, contentedly lies,
  Soothed into slumber with soft lullabies.

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



Too simple to get out of order; too strong to break; hooks and unhooks
_easily_--when you please--not before.

The DeLONG

Hook and Eye

[Illustration]

See that

hump?

RICHARDSON & DELONG BROS,

Philadelphia,

makers of the

CUPID Hairpin.

It cannot slip out of the hair.



HOOPING

COUGH

CROUP

_Can be cured_

by using

ROCHE'S HERBAL

EMBROCATION

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



Hold their place in the front rank of the publications to which they
belong.--_Boston Journal_, Feb. 19, 1896.

HARPER'S

PERIODICALS

  MAGAZINE, $4.00 A YEAR
  WEEKLY, $4.00 A YEAR
  BAZAR, $4.00 A YEAR
  ROUND TABLE, $2.00 A YEAR



[Illustration: Thompson's Eye Water]



TWO NEW BOOKS

FOR BOYS

FOR KING OR COUNTRY.

     A Story of the Revolution. By JAMES BARNES. Illustrated. Post 8vo,
     Cloth, Ornamental, $1.50.

This is a story for young readers, and recounts the adventures of twin
brothers who are brought up, just prior to the Revolution, in an
American Tory family. One of the brothers becomes imbued with the spirit
of American patriotism, and is one of the first to enlist in the service
of his country; while the other, having been taken to England, obtains a
lieutenant's commission in the English army, and sails with his regiment
to fight under the standard of King George. The story is a strong piece
of character drawing, and the interest centres in the struggles of the
two brothers--one in his loyalty to his country and the other in his
loyalty to his king.

TOMMY TODDLES.

     By ALBERT LEE. Illustrated by PETER S. NEWELL. Square 16mo, Cloth,
     Ornamental, $1.25.

A more entertaining collection of nonsense has rarely been
penned.--_Boston Traveller._

There is an endless amount of fun in "Tommy Toddles."--_N. Y. Times._

Just the book for children, and grown people will find plenty of fun in
it.--_N. Y. Sun._

It is abounding in side shaking absurdities, and told so well and so
seriously that older readers will enjoy it as much as the young
folks.--_Chicago Inter-Ocean._

       *       *       *       *       *

HARPER & BROTHERS, Publishers, New York.



[Illustration: OLD OFFENDERS.]

       *       *       *       *       *

It was at a country election that the following took place.

Every man for miles around was in attendance, from the prosperous farmer
to the lowest farm-hand, and here and there in small groups they held
lively discussions about the respective candidates. Finally the chairman
rapped for order, and the speech-making began. The wily orator explained
loudly and long about the poor condition of the country's welfare, and
wound up by asking all those who wished for a betterment of things to
stand up. Every man arose except an old gray-whiskered farmer, who had
fallen asleep over the long-winded oration.

"Now," said the orator, after his listeners had seated themselves, "if
there is a man here who does not wish for a betterment of things, let
him stand up that we may look upon him with scorn."

At this moment the old farmer awoke with a start, and catching the words
"stand up," got upon his feet and stared slowly around as a number of
hisses were thrown at him. This roused his ire, and he said,

"Waal, Mister Speaker, I don't know whether we be votin' fer or agin the
sentiments of my brethern here; but you and me, I reckon, are in the
minority."

       *       *       *       *       *

ART INFLUENCE.

  This pretty picture on the wall,
    With billows rolling free,
  Is full of white clouds in the sky
    And white sails on the sea.

  And so I'll sit upon the rug
    With pail and spade in hand,
  And dream that on the silver shore
    I'm digging in the sand.

  R. K. M.

       *       *       *       *       *

During a speech at a political dinner in a small Western city, not long
ago, a Jingo orator, to the great amusement of his hearers, remarked
that "The British lion, whether he is roaming the deserts of India or
climbing the forests of Canada, will not draw in his horns nor retire
into his shell."

       *       *       *       *       *

A RAINY DAY MEANS NO BALL.

CAMERON. "Papa, I'm saving up for a fine day."

PAPA. "Why are you doing that?"

CAMERON. "So that I can go to a ball match when I have saved up enough."

       *       *       *       *       *

THEIR ONLY TROUBLE.

"There's only one trouble about blowing bubbles, mamma," said little
Conrad, the other day, "and that is that they always blow out."

       *       *       *       *       *

An Irish laborer boarded a street-car, and handed to the conductor a
rather dilapidated-looking coin in payment of his fare. The conductor
looked at it critically, and handed it back.

"That's tin," he said.

"Shure, I thought it was foive," answered the Irishman, complacently, as
he put the piece back in his pocket and produced a nickel.

       *       *       *       *       *

The magazine containing Mrs. Reynolds's first story lay on the
sitting-room table.

Her son, who was at an age to be seriously afflicted with the big head,
took it up, and glanced over it rather contemptuously.

"Mamma," he said, "why don't you write for a first-class magazine? I see
that this thing is entered through the mails as second-class matter."

       *       *       *       *       *

A QUESTION IN NATURAL HISTORY.

  "The cat is a little tiger,
    I know very well," said Willie.
  "But how is it that the cat-tail
    Is never a tiger-lily?"

       *       *       *       *       *

NOT GENUINE.

TOMMY. "This new spaniel won't go near the water!"

PAPA. "I wonder what's the matter with him?"

TOMMY. "I guess he isn't waterproof."

       *       *       *       *       *

"Talking about treacle," said the old salt, as he hoisted himself off
the molasses barrel to make way for the grocer to supply a customer's
wants, "thet reminds me of a little scrimmage we had with a pirate
slaver in '42.

"We had the coast-line of Africy a blue streak off to the starboard, and
we were er spankin' along with every blessed stitch of canvas drawin'
when we sighted one er them pirate slavers er bearin' down on us. Capen
took a squint through the glass and whistled. 'We'll give him er run fer
it,' said he.

"Waal, that chap kep' after us all day, and we tried to slip his lights
during the night, but 'twarn't no use. He made up his mind to foller,
and he did, day after day. At last we got well down to the cape when er
blow came up, and, great guns! it wuz er blow fer certain. It caught us,
and drove us plumb into the antarctic circle, with that pirate right
after us. That made the Captain mad, and as we had er cargo of molasses
on board, he gave the order to uncover the rear hatch and hoist the
barrels on deck.

"Blow me if he didn't broach those barrels thet night, and empty them
over the starn. The nest day there wuz that pirate stuck fast in the
centre of the molasses, where he had sailed. It had froze during the
night, and he was anchored in it just the same as if he wuz nipped in an
ice-floe. Then we squared around and headed for the cape. As we passed
him the Captain shouts out:

"'Ahoy, there! Cold weather fer merlasses, ain't it?' and they shook
their fists and yelled, but we left them, and I guess they're there
yet."





*** End of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Harper's Round Table, May 12, 1896" ***

Doctrine Publishing Corporation provides digitized public domain materials.
Public domain books belong to the public and we are merely their custodians.
This effort is time consuming and expensive, so in order to keep providing
this resource, we have taken steps to prevent abuse by commercial parties,
including placing technical restrictions on automated querying.

We also ask that you:

+ Make non-commercial use of the files We designed Doctrine Publishing
Corporation's ISYS search for use by individuals, and we request that you
use these files for personal, non-commercial purposes.

+ Refrain from automated querying Do not send automated queries of any sort
to Doctrine Publishing's system: If you are conducting research on machine
translation, optical character recognition or other areas where access to a
large amount of text is helpful, please contact us. We encourage the use of
public domain materials for these purposes and may be able to help.

+ Keep it legal -  Whatever your use, remember that you are responsible for
ensuring that what you are doing is legal. Do not assume that just because
we believe a book is in the public domain for users in the United States,
that the work is also in the public domain for users in other countries.
Whether a book is still in copyright varies from country to country, and we
can't offer guidance on whether any specific use of any specific book is
allowed. Please do not assume that a book's appearance in Doctrine Publishing
ISYS search  means it can be used in any manner anywhere in the world.
Copyright infringement liability can be quite severe.

About ISYS® Search Software
Established in 1988, ISYS Search Software is a global supplier of enterprise
search solutions for business and government.  The company's award-winning
software suite offers a broad range of search, navigation and discovery
solutions for desktop search, intranet search, SharePoint search and embedded
search applications.  ISYS has been deployed by thousands of organizations
operating in a variety of industries, including government, legal, law
enforcement, financial services, healthcare and recruitment.



Home