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Title: Harper's Round Table, September 15, 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, September 15, 1896" ***

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[Illustration: HARPER'S ROUND TABLE]

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

       *       *       *       *       *

PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 15, 1896. FIVE CENTS A
COPY.

VOL. XVII.--NO. 881. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.

       *       *       *       *       *



[Illustration]

A VIRGINIA CAVALIER.

BY MOLLY ELLIOT SEAWELL.

CHAPTER XIV.


The next few weeks worked a great and serious change in George. It was
the first time he had seen death since he was ten years old, when his
father died. That had made a great impression on him at the time, but
the feelings of a child of ten and a youth of sixteen are very
different. He had loved little Mildred dearly, and the child's death was
a deep sorrow to him. The grief of his brother and sister was piteous.
As the case often is, the father was the more overwhelmed, and the poor
mother had to stifle her own grief to help her husband. George could not
but love and admire his sister the more when he saw her calm fortitude,
and how, inspired by love for her husband, she bore bravely the loss of
her only child. Both Madam Washington and Betty had come to Mount Vernon
the day of little Mildred's death. Madam Washington was obliged to
return after a few days to her younger children, but George and Betty
remained.

"For George is the heir now," said Laurence, with a sad smile, "and he
must learn to manage what will one day be his own."

"Oh, brother," burst out George, with strange violence, "do you believe
I wanted this place at the price of your child's life? I would give it
all, twenty times over, to have her back!"

"If I had thought you coveted it, I should never have made you my heir,"
was Laurence's reply to this.

Never was there a kinder or more helpful soul than Betty, now a tall
and beautiful girl of fourteen. Mrs. Washington's health was much
shattered by this last and greatest sorrow, and Laurence, who had always
been of a delicate constitution, became every day more feeble. George
attended him assiduously, rarely leaving him. He persuaded his brother
to ride out and take some interest in the place. He read to Laurence of
evenings in the library, and tried to interest him with accounts of the
new regions in which the younger brother had spent so many months.
Nothing could ever make Laurence Washington a happy man again.

Mrs. Washington's sorrow, though as great, was better controlled. She
always managed to wear a cheerful look before her husband, and although
she was not able to accompany him in his out-door life, she was with him
every moment he spent in-doors. Betty was to her as great a comfort as
George was to Laurence Washington. Betty had so tender a heart and so
excellent an understanding that she was as helpful as a woman twice her
age, and these two young creatures were mainstays and comforts at an age
when most young creatures rely wholly on other people.

All day they were engaged, each in gentle and untiring efforts to make
life a little brighter to their brother and sister. But after the older
persons had retired, every night, George and Betty would sit up over the
fire in the library and talk for hours. Their conversations were not
always sad--it is not natural for the young to dwell in sadness--but
they were generally serious. One night Betty said:

"Don't you think, George, we ought to write to our mother and ask her to
let us stay over Christmas with brother Laurence and sister Anne? You
remember how gay it was last Christmas, and how glad we were to be here?
Now I think when they are in great trouble we ought to be as willing to
stay with them as when they were happy and bright and could make us
enjoy ourselves."

"Betty," answered George, in admiration, "why did I not think of this? I
see it is just what we ought to do."

"Because," said Betty, promptly, "women are much more thoughtful than
men, and girls are much more thoughtful than boys."

George did not dispute this, as he had been taught never to call in
question any woman's goodness, and in his heart he believed them to be
all as good as his mother and Betty and his sister Anne. The lesson of
chivalry towards all women had been early and deeply taught him, and it
was a part of the fibre of his being. "And shall I write and ask our
mother to let us stay?" asked George, humbly.

"No," replied Betty, with a slight accent of scorn; "you might not ask
it in the right way. I shall write myself."

Now, although Betty always assumed, when alone with George, this
superior tone, yet when they were in company nothing could exceed her
submissiveness towards this darling brother, and it was then George's
turn to treat her with condescending kindness. But each thought this
arrangement perfectly natural and mutually satisfactory. Whenever they
had a discussion, though, Betty always carried the day, for she was
really a girl of remarkably fine sense, and much more glib and
persuasive than George, who could always be silenced, if not convinced,
by Betty's ready tongue and quick wit. The next day the letter was
written, and within a week a reply was received giving permission for
them to remain over Christmas.

Mrs. Washington, ever thoughtful of others, made the same preparation
for the holiday on the estate as usual, so that, however sad the house
might be, the servants should have their share of jollity. But the tie
between a kind master and mistress and their slaves was one of great
affection, and especially were the white children objects of affection
to the black people. Therefore, although the usual Christmas holiday was
given, with all the extra allowances and indulgences, it was a quiet
season at Mount Vernon. On Christmas day, instead of the merry party in
carriages going to Pohick Church, and an equally merry one going on
board the _Bellona_ to service, the coach only took Mr. and Mrs.
Washington and Betty to church, George riding with them, for he hated a
coach, and never drove when he could ride.

Meanwhile William Fairfax had returned to Belvoir, where there were
Christmas festivities. George and Betty were asked, and although their
brother and sister urged them to go, neither felt really inclined for
gayety. They were not of those natures forever in pursuit of pleasure,
although none could enjoy it more when it came rightly; and a native
good sense and tender sympathy with others, which found no expression in
words, made them both feel that they should omit no mark of respect in a
case where they were so directly benefited as by the little girl's
death. Laurence Washington and his wife could not admire too much
George's delicacy about Mount Vernon. While he made use of the servants
and the horses and carriages and boats, and everything else on the
place, with the freedom of a son rather than of a younger brother, no
word or look escaped him that indicated he was the heir.

William Fairfax was a great resource to both George and Betty. Living a
whole summer together as he and George had done, it was inevitable that
they should become either very much attached or very antagonistic--and
luckily they had become devotedly fond of one another. William was
preparing to enter William and Mary College the following year, and
George bitterly regretted that he would not have so pleasant a companion
for his next summer's work. Very different were his circumstances now,
the acknowledged heir of a rich brother. But George determined to act as
if no such thing existed, and to carry out his plan of finishing the
surveys on Lord Fairfax's lands. The universal expectation of war with
France, whenever the French and English outposts should get sufficiently
near, made him sure that he would one day bear arms; but he prepared for
whatever the future might hold for him by doing his best in the present.

In February he returned to Ferry Farm for a while, but he had been there
only a month when Laurence Washington wrote, begging that he would
return, and saying that he himself felt utterly unequal to carrying on
the affairs of a great estate in his present wretched state of health
and spirits. Madam Washington made no objection to George's return to
Mount Vernon. She realized the full extent of Laurence's kind intentions
towards George, and that his presence was absolutely necessary to keep
the machinery of a large plantation going.

In March, therefore, George was again at Mount Vernon, practically in
charge of the place. There were ploughing and ditching and draining and
clearing and planting to be done, and, with a force of a hundred and
fifty field hands and eighteen hundred acres of arable land, it was no
small undertaking. By daylight George was in the saddle, going first to
the stables to see the stock fed, then to the kennels, and, after
breakfast, riding over the whole estate. It kept him in the open air all
day, and he began to like not only the life, but the responsibility. He
had all the privileges of the master, Laurence leaving everything to his
judgment, and his sister was glad to have it so. This continued until
June, when, the crops being well advanced and Lord Fairfax having
written urgently for him, he turned affairs over to the overseer until
the autumn, and prepared to resume his work as a surveyor.

He paid a hurried visit to Ferry Farm, where, although he was painfully
missed, things went on perfectly well, for no better farmer than Madam
Washington could be found in the colony of Virginia. Indeed, George's
success at Mount Vernon was due in great measure to applying the sound
system in vogue at Ferry Farm to the larger interests at Mount Vernon.
Madam Washington's pride in his responsible position at Mount Vernon,
and his still greater responsibility as a State surveyor for Lord
Fairfax, did much to reconcile her to George's long absences. Deep in
her heart she cherished a pride in her eldest son that was one of the
master-passions of her life. The extreme respect that George paid her
filled her with more satisfaction than the attentions of all the rest of
the world. Once only had they clashed--in the matter of the midshipman's
warrant. She had won a nominal victory by an appeal to his feelings, but
she had no mind after that for any more battles of the sort. So, with
tears, but with encouraging smiles, she saw him set forth, in the summer
of 1749, upon his second year's work in the wilderness.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]



HOW TO MANAGE AN AQUARIUM.

BY JAMES STEELE.


It is generally supposed that it is necessary to change the water in an
aquarium at least once a day; but that is not the case. The true
principle on which an aquarium should be conducted is not to change the
water at all, but so to aerate and refresh the original supply as to
maintain it always in a pure and perfect state. There are several means
by which this may be done. The healthy growth of plants is very
important, and active and brisk contact with the air of the atmosphere
will greatly freshen the water. Motion in the water is absolutely
necessary. In large aquaria this is obtained by an arrangement of tanks
into which the water is pumped, and from which it flows rapidly,
circulating through the tanks where the fish live. In its passage
through the air it absorbs considerable oxygen, without which no fish
can live. Fish placed in water that has been boiled die in a very few
minutes.

In a small aquarium the water can be refreshed by frequently drawing it
up through a glass or rubber syringe, and squirting it back into the
vessel from some height above it.

The first thing to be done in the formation of a fresh-water aquarium is
to start your plants in proper soil at the bottom of your tank, fill the
tank with water, and leave it undisturbed until the plants begin to grow
and the little bubbles of oxygen are to be seen rising to the surface of
the water.

Choose your plants from such as you may collect from rivers or brooks or
ponds anywhere in the country. Plant them, and then cover the surface of
the soil with pebbles and small bits of rock, or anything that is
suitable and in keeping with the rest of your arrangements. Never put
sea-shells into a fresh-water aquarium, and never put in any artificial
objects. Everything should be as simple and natural as you can make it.

Now fill your tank with water poured through a siphon or funnel, being
very careful not to disturb the soil or the roots of the plants. You
should have some clean river sand in the bottom of your tank, and your
pieces of rock should be so arranged as to form little caves and
hiding-places for your fish. It will take perhaps two weeks to get your
tank into a proper condition for fish to live in. Every bit of dead or
decaying vegetation should be carefully removed. Keep your tank shaded
from the heat of the sun, and expose it to the bright light only once in
awhile.

In order to manage your aquarium properly you will require a few simple
tools. A little hand-net that can be bought for a few cents, or made for
even less out of a bit of wire and a small piece of mosquito-netting, is
useful for catching the fish or shells without putting your hands into
the water. A pair of wooden forceps, like a glove-stretcher, will be
found most convenient for nipping off bits of decaying plants or for
catching objects that may have accidentally fallen into the water. Glass
tubes of various sizes are also useful. If you want to catch any small
object in the water with the tube, place the tube in the water with your
finger over the hole in the top. Until your finger is removed the tube
will remain full of air. Place it over the bit of refuse or whatever it
is you want to catch, remove your finger, and the water will rush in,
carrying the object with it into the tube, which should then be closed
at the upper end by placing your finger over it as before. A glass or
hard-rubber syringe is necessary with which to aerate the water
thoroughly at least once a day, and oftener if possible. Fill the
syringe, hold it high above the tank, and then squirt the water back
again. A long piece of India-rubber tubing which may be used as a siphon
is necessary for the purpose of changing the water in the tank, when it
is evident that something has gone wrong.

If a green film begins to gather on the side of the tank that is most
exposed to the light, it should be cleaned away every day, and the sides
of the glass polished carefully. A small piece of clean sponge tied on
the end of a stick will answer the purpose very well, and, if used
daily, you can keep the glass clear with very little trouble; but if the
scum is neglected and left to accumulate, you will find it almost
impossible to remove it from the glass even by hard scouring.

It is best to have only small fish in your aquarium, and for this reason
trout are not desirable. Although very beautiful and intelligent, they
grow so rapidly that they are likely to become in a short time too
unwieldy for your tank. Goldfish and minnows are very good, and the
common little sunfish or "pumpkin-seed" is excellent.

You must keep careful watch over the fish in your aquarium, and if any
one of them appears to be sick he should be removed at once, very
gently, with the hand-net, and placed in fresh water, where he will
often recover. If, however, the little sufferer is doomed to die, it is
better not to run the risk of his doing so among his healthy companions.
It is best always to have a hospital for your sickly pets, and as soon
as one of them, whether a fish or a bird or any animal, shows signs of
ill health, he should be taken away from the others and placed by
himself.

Certain varieties of snails live well in fresh water, and will be found
useful in clearing away the green film that is almost certain to collect
on the side of the glass; but you must be careful or they will devour
your plants as well; and if your tank is very small it is hardly worth
while to try to keep them.

Water-beetles and water-spiders also thrive well, and their habits are
most interesting to watch; but water-beetles fly by night, and unless
you are careful to cover your tank you are likely to discover some
morning that a number of your tenants have taken French leave.

You must be careful not to overstock your aquarium, for your fish will
not thrive if they are overcrowded. Remember, also, that heat and dust
are fatal to your pets. The water must be kept clean and cool at all
times, and all foreign matter and every particle of decaying vegetation
should be removed immediately.

To manage an aquarium successfully, no matter on how small a scale,
requires a good deal of care and time, but you will find it time well
spent, and the pleasure and knowledge the study of your pets will give
you will be an ample return for the time you spend on them.



WHO CAN ANSWER?

BY GRACE A. CANNON.


  The question's not a new one, dear,
    But one that ev'ry day
  Comes to some girls and boys I know
    While at their work or play.

  My Nanny comes to me at morn,
    And with beseeching look,
  Asks me if I can tell her where
    She'll find her slate or book.

  And Teddy comes to me and says,
    Sometimes with downcast eye,
  "Mamma dear, won't you please to come
    And help me find my tie?"

  And Alice, too, comes with a frown
    When going out for play;
  "Oh dear, mamma, what did I do
    With my hat yesterday?"

  No hat is found out in the hall;
    The book's not in its case;
  No tie is found upstairs to be
    In its accustomed place.

  Now me the reason tell, my dear,
    And quickly, if you can,
  Why all these things may not be found
    By Alice, Ted, or Nan?

  The question's not a new one, dear,
    But one that ev'ry day
  Comes to some girls and boys I know
    While at their work or play.



[Illustration: ADVENTURES WITH FRIEND PAUL.]

BY PAUL DU CHAILLU.

Part I.


Dear young folks of HARPER'S ROUND TABLE, I have been invited by my
friend, the Editor, to write for you a series of stories in which I
shall tell you of some of the adventures that have happened to me in the
great equatorial forest which begins on the west coast at the sea-shore
and stretches far to the east on both sides of the equator, adventures
which I have not told in _Stories of the Gorilla Country_, _Lost in the
Jungle_, _Wild Life Under the Equator_, _My Apingi Kingdom_, and _The
Country of the Dwarfs_, five books which I wrote especially for you.

During my travels I have had so many strange adventures, I have endured
so many days of hunger and starvation, I have had so many hair-breadth
escapes, I have seen so many strange sights, I have met face to face so
many savage and fierce men and still more savage and dangerous beasts,
that I could spend days in recounting to you the adventures of my life.

Africa is a wonderful country. There are great sandy deserts, extensive
ranges of mountains, immense prairies, vast tracts of brushwood, swampy
lands, great rivers and lakes; but the wonder of that large continent is
the great equatorial forest I discovered, and which contains so many
wild animals and interesting tribes of people.

What an immense forest it is--a sea of trees, if I may use the
expression! No one knows how wide it is, neither do we know its exact
length.

What gigantic trees are seen in that forest! Some rival in size the
great California trees. These are the giants of the forest, and they
rise two or three hundred feet above the other trees, upon which they
look down. They are like sentinels watching over the country. Some of
these big trees are worshipped by the natives. Under the roof of the
mighty branches is the thick jungle, where no man can penetrate easily.
The jungle is the undergrowth of the forest. It is made up of younger
trees: lianas, thorny creepers, kinds of bamboo and rattan, thorny
trees, sword-grass that cuts like a razor, and aloes plant in the swampy
parts. In many places the explorer cannot see a yard off from where he
stands.

What beautiful butterflies and queer insects, rare birds--some with
brilliant plumage--lovely and strange flowers and orchids the traveller
will meet as he explores this unknown land! Though all alone in that
great solitude, he will seldom feel lonely, for his mind will be
occupied all the time.

[Illustration: HIDDEN SNAKES THE CHIEF DANGER OF THE FOREST.]

There are also many disagreeable things in the forest. The most
dangerous, for they are often enemies unseen, are the snakes. There are
snakes that live chiefly in the water. I used to keep a sharp lookout
for them when I bathed in the clear little streams which run through the
woods. There are tree snakes, those who pass a great part of their time
on trees and feed on squirrels, birds, and monkeys; and also land
snakes--that is, snakes that never climb trees and seldom go into the
water. The biggest of them is the python. Often they are coiled along
the trunk of a tree waiting to spring upon a passing gazelle. But there
are so many venomous snakes, it makes me shudder as I think of them with
their triangular heads. What fangs they have, especially the _Clotho
nasicornis_, a thick short snake! Its fangs for all the world look like
fish bones. In color that snake can hardly be distinguished from the
ground and dead leaves on which it crawls. It is of great thickness
round the middle; its head is very huge and hideous, being triangular in
shape, and having an erect proboscis or born rising from the tip of its
nose. Besides snakes, there are centipedes, so-called because, I
suppose, they have about a hundred legs. Their sting is poisonous, and
in some cases fatal; those that are very dark in color are much dreaded.

Then the scorpions! you find them everywhere, even between the leaves of
your books!

What narrow escapes I have had with snakes, scorpions, centipedes! I
wonder sometimes that I am alive to tell of the things I have seen. I
never used to lie down without looking for these creeping things. You
think, naturally, that a man's life must be miserable on that account.
Not at all; one gets accustomed to everything in the world. At last I
did not mind it at all, I got so used to doing this every day.

There were also many kinds of flies--called by the natives the mboco,
ntchoona, the eloway. The mosquitoes will often plague us. We shall meet
the terrible bashikonay ants. When they spread in the forest, they
attack every living animal. All flee before them--gorilla, leopard, and
elephant.

In that great forest are many tribes of men; some of them wear no
clothing whatever. These people worship idols, good and evil spirits;
dread witchcraft, and put to death all those who they think are wizards
or witches. They are constantly engaged in warfare against each other.
The most fierce looking of all are the cannibal tribes. How horrid they
look with their sharp-pointed teeth, which have been made so by being
filed! What magnificent-looking warriors they are! What brave hunters!
It was in their country that I shot my first gorilla.

The strangest people I discovered were the dwarfs or pygmies, a race of
people very diminutive in size. They looked so queer, especially the
white-headed old folks. None of their houses is more than three feet in
height. These pygmies, like the monkeys, lived chiefly on the fruits,
berries, and nuts of the forest; they never cultivated the soil. But
they knew the use of fire, knew how to trap game and cook their meat.

All these tribes thought Friend Paul was a Moguizic, a supernatural
being who had come from some part of the sky. Many believed that I had
descended from the moon, and that I came to see the world and its
inhabitants. They believed that I could do all kinds of supernatural
things, and in many tribes where guns were unknown they thought I held
thunder and lightning in my hands, and when I fired a gun they all fell
low on the ground.

Highways of communication and roads are unknown in this great dark
Africa. But there are numerous paths going in every direction, so the
traveller, if the natives are willing to guide him, can go from the west
coast to the east coast, and from the Cape of Good Hope to Egypt,
Morocco, and Algeria, or _vice versa_, for every village and tribe has
paths leading towards the other. Often the paths leading from one
village to another are very difficult to follow, for the jungle is so
rank; and often they are closed for months on account of wars among
different tribes.

Such paths you have never seen--narrow, just wide enough for a man to go
through the thick jungle. The branches of trees often join together.
Here a big tree has fallen across the path, and you must either bend
yourself to pass under it, or climb over it. If you cannot do either,
then you must go around it. You have to walk over the roots of trees
until your feet are sore. Sometimes then you fall in the midst of
sword-grass, or under the canelike bamboos or palms, or have to walk in
swamps filled with aloes. I still walk in a stooping manner, the result
of my being obliged to bend constantly under branches of trees, or under
fallen ones. Often a stream is your only path.

Day after day, my dear young folks, Friend Paul spent travelling in that
forest without hearing the chatter of a monkey or the shrill cry of a
parrot. The only noise he could hear was now and then the falling of a
leaf or the gentle murmur of a little stream wending its way towards
some big unknown river which he hoped some day to find.

I walked thousands and thousands of miles on foot under its shady trees.
The foliage was so thick that sometimes I was several weeks without
being able to see the sun, the moon, or the stars, for my eyes could not
penetrate the dense and thick leaves. How glad I was when I came to a
river or an open space, and could see once more the sun, the moon, and
the stars! I loved the stars, for without them and the moon I could not
have known where I was; they showed me the way all through my travels.

Not only had I to travel on foot, but everything I had to take with me
had to be carried on the backs of men, for no beasts of burden are to be
found in the big forest. There are no camels, no donkeys, no horses, no
oxen; and had I taken some with me they would have died of starvation,
for there were no pastures, and they could not have lived on the
different leaves of the trees or of the jungle. Besides, they could not
have gone through the narrow crooked path of the great forest.

Rain falls almost every night for hours, accompanied by such thunder and
lightning as you have never heard or seen in our country. The claps of
thunder are so terrific that often they made me jump from my bed of
leaves. The lightning at times is so vivid that it pierces the foliage
of the trees; and as to the heavy rain, it often falls like a solid
sheet of water for hours, and this happens almost every night for nine
months of the year. After the rainy season comes the dry season--cold,
for sometimes the thermometer falls to 66° Fahrenheit. I felt then this
low temperature very much. Not a drop of rain falls during the dry
season; but far in the interior, in the mountain regions, it rains
twelve months of the year, but during three months of that time no
thunder is heard.

If the men are strange, the beasts roaming in that great forest are
still more wonderful to behold. The huge elephant roams everywhere on
its rivers and lakes, the hippopotami are numerous in the sluggish
streams, and the lakes are filled with crocodiles of huge size. The
great gorilla, which I discovered, is the terror of the natives, and is
called by them the Giant of the Forest. The strong man of the woods
wanders continually in search of fruits, berries, and nuts. When night
comes he sleeps at the foot of a tree, while his wife, the female
gorilla, is sleeping on its branches. The gorilla never makes a shelter
or a house for himself. Those who describe them as making houses mislead
you. Friend Paul killed many of these gorillas, and was the first white
man who ever hunted them and saw them in their wild state.

Besides the gorilla, Friend Paul saw several other wonderful kinds of
man-like apes, also the common chimpanzee, called by the natives
nshiego. Then he discovered three new species or varieties of the
chimpanzee family, known to the natives under the names of
Nshiego-mbouve, apes with bald heads and black faces; the
Nshiego-nkengo, whose faces always remain yellow; and the Kooloo-kamba.
All these apes are very shy, and the hunter to approach them has to be
very wary.

Dear friends, we are to travel together in that great African forest. We
will carry no tents with us; we will build a new camp every day when we
are on the march, and we will protect ourselves from the rain by
building slanting roofs, covered with large leaves put on the top of
each other as we do with shingles, slates, or tiles at home. We will
protect ourselves from the wild beasts by burning all night large
fires--the wild beasts are afraid of fire. These fires will protect us
also from snakes and voracious ants.

When we cannot find game we will be hungry together, and, like the
monkeys, we will have to eat the wild berries, nuts, and fruits of the
forest. When we cannot find these we will starve together until
Providence comes to our rescue. At other times, when food is very scarce
and it becomes a matter of life and death, we will be obliged to eat
snakes, or sometimes leopards. When we have plenty, we will eat
elephants, hippopotami, crocodiles, buffalo, wild boar, antelope,
gazelles, and other animals. Often we will feast on monkeys--these at
certain times of the year are delicious. Then, when we get into regions
where no animals are to be seen, and fruits, nuts, and berries cannot be
found--then we will drink water, which will help us to keep body and
soul together. At times we will lie down under some big tree, ill with
fever or weak from starvation. Then we shall think of the sweet home
that is so far away, and wonder if we will ever return there again.



CAPTAIN HANK'S SUBSTITUTE.


Captain Hank of the Life-boat Patrol Service and Jack Hawley were old
friends. The Captain had been at the station near Jack's house for a
number of seasons, and when Jack first met him he was such a little chap
that the Captain called him "Shorty." Jack had grown, however, into a
strong hearty lad, and his one ambition was to get into the life-boat
service.

While they were talking one night in the station the sharp ring of the
telephone bell made all hands glance up anxiously. Captain Hank strode
over to the receiver.

"Hullo!--Yes, Captain Hank.--What is it? Tramp steamer ashore? Yes. How
many men do you want? Hullo! Yes. Full relief? All right--send them
immediately. Good-by.

"Boys, there's a tramp ashore at the lower station; want the full
relief. Trot along, and get back as soon as you can. There's a nasty sea
on to-night, and, with the wind right on shore, we might want you."

The men donned their oil-skins and boots, and trotted off down the beach
to the lower station, some five miles below. The Captain glanced at the
remaining men, enough to man the life-boat, with the man out on patrol.

"It's a fearful night out, boys," he said.

The words had hardly left his mouth when the door opened and the patrol
rushed in.

"Three-master ashore on the outer bar, Captain."

Like a flash every man was on his feet and into his oil-skins. Seizing
the gun-carriage, they rushed it out and down the plank runway to the
beach. Jack ran along with them, and strained his eyes as the Coston
signal-light lit up the raging sea and disclosed to view a large
three-master lying almost on her beam ends. There was a slight
phosphorescent glow where the mad seas, lashed into foam, broke about
her, sweeping the decks. Even as he looked two of her masts toppled and
fell with a crash. On the shrouds of the remaining one a dark group was
huddled.

Jack's heart thrilled with excitement and pity. Poor fellows! their
lives must be saved!

The life-saving crew were busy with the gun, and in a few minutes away
went the shot carrying a delicate line out to the wreck. It fell short
or the wind drove it back. Again and again they tried it, but without
success. The wind seemed to carry it to one side.

"It's no use, boys, trying to rig the breeches buoy," roared the
Captain; "we've got to man the life-boat, so get on your corks. I'll
telephone to the lower station to see if I can get any of the boys
back."

Jack longed to go in the boat, but he knew it was impossible, and,
sheltered behind it, he watched the black shadow on the bar, and hoped
they would be in time to save the lives out there. The wind was sweeping
and screaming with violent force, and the cold spray lashed the beach
with foam. Jack heard one of the men yell to his neighbor that the
Captain was a long while, and, thinking he could be of help, he ran back
to hurry him up.

As he entered the station a low groan greeted him. The Captain lay in
the middle of the floor, motionless. He had stumbled over some rope in
his hurry, and broken his arm.

"It's no use, Jack," he moaned; "I can't go out with this arm. We will
need the six oars in such a sea."

Jack paused. "Captain," he said, "they will launch the boat." And
catching a heavy oil-skin coat off a peg he rushed down to the beach.
The men stood waiting, looking out to sea. Without saying a word he
gripped the boat, and when the right breaker came he gruffly shouted,
"Now, men," as he had often heard the Captain, and with a strong heave
and all together they rushed the boat out into the surf and leaped
aboard.

Jack seized the steering-oar, and before the next wave could swamp them
they got a grip on the water and successfully mounted it. It was a
remarkable launch in such a sea, and promised success for their other
efforts.

They were going right into the teeth of the gale, and the crew rose to
the work. It was hard work, though. The wind beat them back, tearing at
their frail craft with fierce tugs, dashing the frozen spray over them
in sheets. To reach the wreck Jack had to keep off the wind a little,
and time and time again the boat's head would swing around, and his
heart would jump as the monstrous waves threatened to swamp her.

His hands were numb with cold and his face frozen with spray. The crew
bent over their oars. They knew nothing of the change of Captains, and
when they heard the gruff commands, they may have wondered at the
boyishness of the tones, but never dreamed who was steering the boat.

They were nearing the ship, and with admirable skill, in keeping with
his efforts from the start, Jack got up in the lee of the wreck,
directly under the shrouds to which the group was clinging. Slowly but
surely, one by one, the men scrambled down the rigging and, when a
favorable opportunity presented itself, leaped aboard.

There were five men, and as the last came aboard Jack did a neat bit of
steering that even the brave crew of the life-boat noticed and cheered.
They left the wreck, and with their backs to the mad wind, they bounded
over the roaring waves towards the shore.

Jack kept the boat directly in front of the storm, and as they neared
the surf his command rang out, "Steady!" And then a gigantic wave raised
them on its crest and, with a swirl and a roar, ran them upon the beach.
In a trice they ran the boat out of reach of the surf.

In the snug warmth of the station the crew started to cheer the dripping
Captain in his oil-skins; but when he took off the broad-brimmed hat
that hid his face and they saw Jack, they were mute. One of them rushed
to their Captain's bunk, and when he saw the helpless figure of the real
Captain lying there, he pointed to it and then to Jack.

  HUBERT EARL.



UP IN A WATER-SPOUT.

ONE OF THE OLD SAILOR'S YARNS.

BY W. J. HENDERSON.


The Old Sailor sat on the end of the pier, but he was restless and ill
at ease. He looked often at the southwestern sky, where heavy blue-black
clouds were massing themselves in low and writhing shapes. He shook his
head solemnly, rose to his feet, and walked nervously up and down.

"This are the werry identical kind o' day it were," he muttered, "an' ef
we don't see some on 'em to-day, w'y, I'm a bloomin' marine, that's
wot."

"See some of what?" inquired a voice behind him; and turning, he saw the
two boys.

"Waal, waal, waal!" he exclaimed; "you two infants is a-gettin' 'most as
weatherwise as tree-frogs."

This exclamation was not unnatural, for the two boys were clad in long
sea-boots, oil-skins, and sou'westers.

"Ye look like a pair o' sunflowers," said the Old Sailor, with
admiration in his tone, "an' I reckon ye don't worry much about the rain
wot are a-comin'."

"No; I guess we will not get wet," said Henry, laughing.

"But s'posin'--now mind I don't go fur to say it'll happen--but s'posin'
ye was to go fur to come fur to git carried up aloft."

"What ever do you mean?" asked George.

"Look down yonder--quick!" exclaimed the Old Sailor, pointing to the
southern horizon.

The boys saw an immense blue-black cloud, from which hung down a great
dark cone. A similar cone, point upward, rose from the sea, and the two
were joined by a slender wavering black column.

"Oh, what is it?" cried George.

"I know," exclaimed Henry. "It's a water-spout."

"It's going out to sea," ejaculated George.

"Werry good; werry good indeed," said the Old Sailor, sagely; "it
sartainly are a-goin' out to sea. 'Cos w'y, it can't go on land, 'cos it
are a water-spout an' not a landspout, w'ich the same there ain't none,
'ceptin' them on the sides o' houses fur rain to go down, an' them
mostly leaks."

The three stood and watched the dreaded monster of the sea--a rare sight
indeed near shore--until it passed out of sight.

"It are gone," said the Old Sailor, "an' it 'ain't took nothin' with 't
'ceptin' wind an' water."

"Do they ever take anything else with them?" asked George.

"W'ich the same they do," answered the Old Sailor; "an' wot they takes
ain't never come back but oncet, as I knows on. I knowed we'd see some
on 'em to-day; 'cos w'y, this are the kind o' day wot breeds 'em, an' it
are the werry identical kind o' day wot it all happened on."

So saying, the Old Sailor sat down on the end of the pier, and the boys
seated themselves beside him.

"This 'ere yarn wot I'm a goin' fur to tell ye," began the Old Sailor,
"are a most ser'ous tale, an' I hopes as how 't won't go fur to give ye
no nightmare. I were fust mate o' the barkentine _Herrin' Bones_, bound
from Rio Janeiro to New York. She were a wall-sided hooker, with double
to'-gallants, an' a werry disrepitable habit o' goin' to leeward."

"What was her cargo?" asked George.

"I allers tells ye wot the cargo were, my son, but this 'ere wessel
didn't have no cargo; she were flyin' light, an' preehaps 'twould 'a'
bin better ef she'd had more ballast aboard. Her Cap'n were Gawge W.
Smoke, an' her second mate were a long-legged feller from New Orleans,
named Pierre Crust, an' a werry crusty Pierre he were too. Waal, to git
right down to the business part o' this 'ere yarn wot I'm a-tellin' ye,
I'll say that we didn't have nothin' but fair weather an' good
to'-gallant breezes till we got right up atwixt St. Thomas an' Bermooda,
an' then it rained an' blowed squalls an' thunder-storms fur two days
an' nights all round the compass. Cap'n Gawge W. Smoke, sez he to me,
sez he, 'It ain't no fittin' weather fur to be buggaluggin' round here.'
An' sez I to he, sez I, 'It ain't, but here we be, an' we can't fly
away,' sez I, jess like that, him bein' Cap'n an' me fust mate, an' the
barkentine bein' the _Herrin' Bones_. But ef I'd knowed wot were
a-comin', I'd never said nothin'.

"Waal, them squalls an' thunder-storms kep' a-gettin' thicker an'
blacker, till byme-by the hull sky all round were jess like it were down
yonder a leetle while ago. An' Cap'n Gawge W. Smoke he allowed that we'd
best stand by fur water-spouts. Sure 'nuff, 'twere jess about six bells
in the forenoon watch o' the second day o' this 'ere cantankerous
weather, w'en the lookout sung out, 'Water-spout on the weather bow!'
'Fore we had time to look at it another hand sighted one on the lee bow,
an' some one else seed one on the weather-quarter. In less 'n five
minutes we sighted seven on 'em to wind'ard an' six to leeward, makin'
thirteen, w'ich the same that are a werry unlucky number.

"Waal, we clapped on a leetle more sail, hopin' fur to run out o' this
'ere convention o' water-spouts. But, bless ye! ye might as well 'a'
tried to git away from a express train by runnin' down the track ahead
o't. They was comin' down on us at a powerful gait. W'en the biggest one
were about half a mile away, we could see it whirlin' round an' round
like a big wheel, an' it roared like Niagarer Falls, w'ich the same ye
'ain't never seed, but ye see pictures of 'em in your geoggerfy. Pierre
Crust, our second mate, he got so skeered he jess went an' hid his head
under a deck bucket. Cap'n Gawge W. Smoke he give orders to clew up the
to'-gallants, so's to stop the vessel, hopin' that the spout'd pass
ahead on us. But, bless ye! the bloomin', bleedin', blasted thing turned
out of its course, an' kep' a-comin' right fur us.

"'We're bound for Davy Jones's locker,' sez Cap'n Gawge W. Smoke, sez
he. 'It are a-goin' to break right on top o' us.'

"'Werry good, sir,' sez I. 'Axin' your parmission, I'll put on a
life-persarver.'

"''Twon't do ye no good,' sez he. 'W'en she breaks on us she'll drive us
twenty fathom down. Here it comes! Stan' by, all hands, to go under
hatches.'

"Roarin' like a thunder-storm, an' loomin' over us like a iceberg turned
black, the water-spout come to the barkentine. We all shut our eyes, an'
held our breath, an' waited to be buried under a million tons o' water.
But may I never live to see lobscouse agin ef the bloomin' thing busted
at all! We felt the ship give a lurch an' a jump, an' then she started
off at the rate o' thirty knots an hour.

"'Wot are it?' yelled the Cap'n.

"'The water-spout!' I yells back. 'She's picked us up!'"

The Old Sailor paused to gaze around the horizon, and the two boys gazed
at one another in breathless amazement. In a moment their remarkable
friend resumed his narrative.

"It weren't no sort o' pickle fur a decent old barkentine to be in, an'
the _Herrin' Bones_ knowed it, but there she were. She were a-sailin'
round and round like a chicken with its head off. Her keel were in the
water o' the spout, an' her masts was a-stickin' out sideways like
toothpicks out o' old Bill Smorkey's mouth arter dinner. W'y, blow me
fur a farmer ef I don't b'lieve she'd 'a' fell off the bloomin' thing
sideways ef it hadn't bin that the wind wot the spout made a-goin' round
filled the sail she had spread, an' so kep' her up.

"'Clew up the foretops'l!' hollered Pierre Crust.

"'Let it alone,' sez Cap'n Gawge W. Smoke, sez he. 'D'ye want to fall
off this 'ere marine buzz-saw an' git drownded?'

"'Stop the ship; we're out o' our course,' sez Tobias Kitten, the
carpenter, w'ich the same he ort to bin a tailor, 'cos w'y, he didn't
know no more about a ship nor a feller wot sits cross-legged onto a
table an' mends pants fur a livin'.

"'Out o' our course!' sez the Cap'n, sez he. 'I wish the bloomin'
water-spout were out o't.'

"All hands was a-layin' flat on deck, with our feet agin' the lee
rail--leastways it ort to bin the lee rail, 'cos it were the one wot
were down, but it weren't, 'cos the wind were blowin' up, an' things was
ginerally goin' back end fust, like a Chinese junk in a head-sea.

"'D'ye think she'd right herself ef we cut away the masts?' Cap'n Gawge
W. Smoke sez he to me.

"'Mebbe she would,' sez I to he; 'but ef she did we'd have water on top
o' us, an' then good-by.'

"'Then I'm blowed ef I know wot to do with her,' sez he to me, sez he.
An' me not knowin' wot to say back, I didn't say nothin', but hung on
with both hands.

"'Oh my! oh my!' sez Pierre Crust; 'we're a-goin' up this 'ere dreadful
thing. Look down!'

"An', sure 'nuff, w'en I looked over the side I seed a ship away down
below us on the sea, an' her Cap'n were a-lookin' at us through a
telescup, he were.

"'Salt me down fur a mackerel,' sez Cap'n Gawge W. Smoke, 'ef ever I
thought that any ship o' mine would go fur to turn herself into a
bloomin' balloon!'

"All the time we was a-sailin' round an' round the spout like it was a
corkscrew worked by steam, an' we was a-goin' up an' up.

"'I wonder ef there's water 'nuff up there to float the old hooker?' sez
Pierre Crust.

"'Waal,' sez Cap'n Gawge W. Smoke, 'she can't go aground in the clouds,
anyhow, an' there ain't no rocks either.'

"'Waal,' sez I to he, sez I, 'w'ere d'ye think she will go?'

"An' he jess looks at me fur a minute, an' then sez he, 'Preehaps you'd
like to get out a chart an' figger out yer position,' sez he to me, him
bein' Cap'n an' me fust mate.

"All this time the _Herrin' Bones_ were a-sailin' around an' around the
bloomin' water-spout an' goin' up an' up. Now you know, 'cos you jess
seed a werry short time ago, that them water-spouts widens out at the
top till they just spreads right out into the flat clouds. Waal, we all
commenced fur to wonder wot'd happen to us ef the _Herrin' Bones_ kep'
on a-goin' up. Putty soon she beginned fur to lean over so that her deck
weren't no safe place to stay on, an' then Cap'n Gawge W. Smoke he
orders all han's fur to go b'low.

[Illustration: THE PRECARIOUS POSITION OF THE "HERRIN' BONES."]

"'Might as well go to the clouds comf'table,' sez he. We all went b'low
an' shut all the hatches. Then there weren't nothin' to do 'ceptin' fur
to wait developments, as the old hen said w'en she sot down on the
duck's egg. Byme-by the bark were hove over so fur that we was all
a-settin' on her side, with the decks risin' up like walls on both sides
of us. We could hear the ballast tumblin' over itself down in the hold,
an' our stores was mixed up into the werry wust sea-salad wot any one
ever seed.

"'Oh my! oh my!' sez Pierre Crust, sez he, hidin' his head in a
cracker-box, 'we're a-goin' to fall out o' the clouds upside down an' be
all smashed up.'

"He were a werry ostridge sort o' man, he were, 'cos he allers thort as
how he were out o' danger ef he had his measly old head hid. Howsumever,
we all thort putty much the same as he did, an' we weren't in no
partikler humor fur to dance hornpipes about it.

"'She's a gittin' furder over!' yelled Tobias Kitten.

"An' so she were. We couldn't stay on the sides o' her any more, but had
to sit down on the under sides o' the decks--wot shore-folks would call
the ceilin'. An' the furniture in the cabin, bein' screwed fast, were
all a-hangin' down from overhead.

"'Waal, may I be squilgeed inside an' out with a paint brush,' sez Cap'n
Gawge W. Smoke, sez he, 'ef ever I expected fur to be master o' any
wessel wot were so undecent as to sail on her head.'

"'Tobias Kitten,' sez I, 'slide back the hatch an inch an' tell us what
ye can see.'

"An' Tobias he laid down flat on his face, slid the hatch back, and
peaked out. Then he shut it with a bang, an' turned paler'n he were
afore.

"'S'help me gracious goodness!' sez he; 'yo can't see nothin' 'cept
white steam.'

"Then we knowed we was up in the clouds fur sure, an' we all felt putty
ser'ous; 'cos w'y, w'd never bin there afore, an' we didn't know nothin
about the rules an' regulations o' livin' up there. All on a suddent
there were a most fearful crash o' thunder.

"'By the great hook block!' sez Cap'n Gawge W. Smoke, sez he, 'we're in
a thunder-cloud.'

"'An' mebbe w'en it begins for to rain,' sez I, 'we'll git rained down
to 'arth agin.'

"'Oh my! Oh my!' hollered Pierre Crust, out o' the cracker-box. 'On our
heads! Oh dear! We're all dead men, sure.'

"Waal, arter that fur half an hour it were not possible fur to carry on
any werry improvin' conwersation, 'cos w'y, it were a-thunderin' an'
a-lightnin' an' a-roarin' all around us, sech as no one never heerd
afore. Then all on a suddent the bloomin' deck dropped right from under
us, an' we was kinder floatin' around, a-grabbin' right an' left at
things, all 'ceptin' Pierre Crust, an' he jess kep' his head in the
cracker-box an' kicked out with his feet.

"'We're a-fallin'! We're a-fallin'!' he yelled.

"An' so we wuz. An' w'ile we wuz a-fallin' I seed the side o' the wessel
come under me, an' then slide around till the floor o' the cabin were
under me, an' then--boom! There were a most awful thump, an' a squash
like wot ye hear w'en yo throw a stone into a mud-puddle, an' there we
was."

"Where?" cried both boys.

"In the blessed Atlantic Ocean," said the Old Sailor, solemnly, "about a
hundred miles this side o' Bermooda. An' Pierre Crust he pulled his head
out o' the cracker-box an' bounced on deck, an' sez he:

"'Wot was all you men so scared about? Turn to, now, an' get the cloth
on her, an' we'll make Sandy Hook Light-ship in two days.'

"An' so we did, too. An' w'en we got to New York we read in the papers
as how the Cap'n o' the ship _Beeswax_ had seen a cur'ous mirage of a
ship sailin' round an' round a water-spout. But we never could get
nobody to b'lieve as how 'twere us."



IN THE OLD HERRICK HOUSE.

BY ELLEN DOUGLAS DELAND.

CHAPTER III.


The first week of Valentine's stay passed rapidly. So much of his time
was occupied in visits to the oculist and in seeing the sights of the
city that he was not in the house during the greater part of the day.

The Misses Herrick began to fuel some degree of liking for the boy, who,
though occasionally noisy, was always polite, and he and Elizabeth were
soon firm friends.

She had carried out her intention of consulting him about the affairs
which most interested her. She had told him of her longing for their
father's return and of the letter she had written to him; she had even
conducted him to the mysterious room.

Her aunts had gone out of town for the afternoon, and Miss Rice was also
absent. The coast was exceptionally clear, for Marie, who had charge of
the little girl, was only too ready to neglect her duties.

Elizabeth was somewhat disappointed, however, by the effect produced
upon Valentine by the disclosure of the room, or rather, the lack
effect. He was apparently not in the least impressed.

He looked about him, inspected the letters, took down a little clock
from the mantelpiece and examined it, and then walked to the window.

"Well," said Elizabeth, who was impatiently waiting for some expression
of wonder, "what do you think of it?"

"I don't see anything to make such a fuss over. Just a room, like
anybody's else."

"But whose was it?"

"Don't know and don't care."

"You don't? Why, I think it is the most exciting thing I ever heard of!"

"If that isn't just like a girl! I suppose Marjorie would go wild over
it too. But come along down to the garden. I haven't seen the Brady
family yet, and I believe that is one of the girls down in the alley
now."

"It is," said Elizabeth, joining him at the window. "It is Eva Louise.
Very well, we will go down. But I do wish you would be more excited over
the room."

"It takes a good deal to excite me," replied her guest. "If it were a
game of football, now, or a bicycle-race, I might get excited; but just
a room!"

It would be impossible to convey an idea of the lofty scorn expressed by
Valentine's voice; and much disappointed and feeling somewhat crushed,
Elizabeth put away the keys. Then getting her hat and warm jacket, for
the fall days were growing colder, she followed Valentine to the garden,
and together they went out through the back gate.

It is one of the peculiarities of Philadelphia that small streets known
as "alleys" intersect the larger thoroughfares, and in many cases behind
the handsomest houses are small dwellings in which live very poor
families.

The Herricks' garden occupied a large amount of space, and the alley and
its inhabitants were almost too far away to be noticeable; but they were
there, all the same, and here Elizabeth's friends, the Brady family,
lived in a manner which formed a startling contrast to her own home.

"I have thought of something," exclaimed Elizabeth, stopping short in
the alley. Eva Louise, seeing them coming, had disappeared behind her
own back gate. Even in so humble an abode as that of the Bradys it was
only the back which opened upon the alley.

"What is it?" asked Valentine.

"It is about the Bradys," said Elizabeth, standing close to him and
speaking in a low, mysterious voice that she might not be overheard from
the other side of the fence. "Don't you think, Val, that it must be very
hard for those girls to live in such a tiny little house and never to
have a bit good time? Why, Eva Louise thinks the very nicest thing she
can do is to play jack-stones on people's door-steps. Just think of it,
Val, jack-stones! And she told me once that she had never been inside of
any house, except those in their street that are like their own!"

"Well, what of it? We can't help it; and what is your idea?"

"But we can help it! That is just what I am going to tell you. We can
invite the Bradys in to see us."

"Oh, my eye! What would Aunt Caroline say?"

Elizabeth was silent for a minute. She had not thought of that. "I don't
know," she said, slowly. "I don't suppose Aunt Caroline would like it.
We will have to give it up."

"No, we won't," returned Val, who was becoming bored with city life and
longed for excitement of some kind. "Let's have a party to-day while the
aunts are away. They would never know."

"We might; but I should tell them afterwards, of course. I really
should, Val."

"Seems to me you are getting pretty particular all of a sudden. How
about that room that you go to all the time on the sly?"

"That is true. I don't believe that is right. Why didn't you say so
before, Val? I will tell Aunt Caroline to-night."

"I say," interrupted Valentine, "I've got a dandy idea! Let's ask the
Brady family over, and take them up to that room! No one will ever know,
and it would be a jolly lark. I'll open the front door, and the servants
won't know, either. It will be no end of fun. You go after them now and
bring them over. You see, if we had them in the other part of the house
we couldn't keep them out of sight, and the servants would make a fuss."

Elizabeth looked doubtful. "I should like to," she said, "but we shall
have to keep very quiet there, and not disturb the things in the room
much. It really seems as if we ought to give them a good time, though,
and when I explain it all to Aunt Caroline I don't believe she will
mind; do you? At least, not so very much."

"Of course she won't," said Valentine, hopefully, upon whom the scheme
had taken a strong hold. "Go and get them and bring them around to the
front door, and I will let you in."

And without giving her time to remonstrate, Val left her and ran up the
garden walk to the house.

"After all," said Elizabeth to herself, "it can't be a wrong thing to
do, for it says in the Bible that when people give parties they ought to
invite all kinds of queer people. I remember perfectly it says to call
in the lame, the halt, and the blind. I always thought 'call in' was
such a funny expression, but I am sure it says it somewhere in the
Bible, and I think it was about that party. Now the Brady family are not
lame or blind, but perhaps they are halt. I never knew what halt meant,
and very likely they _are_ halt. Anyhow, I mean to call them in." And
suiting the action to the word, she raised her voice and called loudly:
"Eva Louise! Eva Louise!"

Eva Louise had been surveying her neighbors through a hole in the fence
for some time. She had even caught a word or two of the conversation,
and had heard her own name mentioned, but she had not understood what it
was all about. Now, seeing that Elizabeth was alone, she opened the
gate.

"What do yer want?" she asked.

"Is Bella at home?"

"Guess so."

"And Tom?"

"Nope."

"Is Dick?"

"Nope."

"Isn't George?"

"Nope."

"Nor Billy?"

"Nope."

"Oh, dear me, I am so sorry! Then who is at home?"

"Me an' Bella an' the baby an' ma an', I guess, pop. He's mostly home.
Pop ain't workin' now, but the boys is. What do yer want?"

"Well, I want to invite you all over to our house. I am sorry the boys
are not at home." Here Elizabeth paused, somewhat embarrassed. She did
not care particularly about having "ma" and "pop" Brady. The former was
inclined to be cross, and there was a disagreeable odor about Mr. Brady
which it was well to avoid. Elizabeth did not know just what it was, but
it reminded her of that which was sometimes wafted to her from a corner
saloon. Clearly it would not do to "call in" Mr. and Mrs. Brady. "Well,"
she said, with a sudden inspiration, "this is to be a young people's
party. My brother and I are going to give it. I want to invite you and
Bella to my house right away."

"To your house?" repeated the wondering Eva Louise.

"Yes. And we will go around outside to Fourth Street. Go get Bella."

So Eva Louise went into the house and informed her astonished family
that she and Bella were "axed to a party over to Herrickses." Whereupon
Mrs. Brady promptly seized first one and then the other of her
daughters, vigorously applied a scrubbing-brush to hands and faces, set
upon the tangled heads two gaudy hats with lace and flowers, pinned
together the gaping rent in Bella's frock, and pronounced them ready.

"And mind yer manners," she cautioned. "Act pretty, an' mebbe the
ladies'll give yer each a present. There's no knowin'."

And then they rejoined Elizabeth in the alley, where she had waited,
their hearts beating high with hope.

The little group passed out of the alley and around through Spruce
Street to Fourth Street. A number of people turned and looked at the
oddly assorted trio walking so soberly along, Elizabeth, in her large
felt hat and pretty jacket, between Eva Louise and Bella, in their
tawdry finery and ragged frocks; but Elizabeth was quite unconscious of
attracting attention.

Her mind was absorbed with a new question which had presented itself.
She had never heard of a party where the guests were not given some kind
of refreshment, and she knew of no way in which she could provide it for
the present occasion.

It would not do to ask the servants for something to eat, neither would
it be proper to stop and buy what was necessary at the cake-shop while
her guests were with her. She must consult with Valentine.

[Illustration: THE ARRIVAL OF EVA LOUISE AND BELLA.]

Her fellow-conspirator was watching for them, and opened the door at
once.

"Everything is all right," he whispered to Elizabeth. "The cook is busy
making cake, and the other girls are all chattering, and James has gone
round to the stable to see the men there. There won't be anybody around
to see us. We'll take them right up."

"But wait a minute, Val," returned Elizabeth; "I want to ask you
something. And first I must introduce you. That is the way I have heard
Aunt Caroline do sometimes. This is my brother, Mr. Valentine Herrick,
Miss Eva Louise and Miss Bella Brady. Now you know each other and can
talk. If I had not introduced you, you know, you would not have been
able to talk at all."

Apparently the introduction did not have the desired effect of promoting
conversation, for Bella put her finger in her mouth, and Eva Louise
turned her back upon the company, while Val himself with difficulty
repressed a laugh.

"Will you please walk into the drawing-room and sit down a minute?" said
their hostess. "I must speak to my brother, if you will please excuse
me."

The guests obeyed, and were presently seated upon two of
great-grandfather Herrick's chairs with the high carved backs, while
Julius Cæsar from the window-seat stared in astonishment.

"We must give them something to eat, Val," whispered Elizabeth, in the
hall. "How shall we get it?"

"I will go buy it," returned Val, promptly. "Let's see; have you got any
money?"

"Yes; I have seventy-five cents, and if that isn't enough, I have some
more in my little bank."

"Oh, that is enough, with what I've got. You will have to stay in the
parlor till I get back, so as to let me in," and seizing his cap, he was
off.

Elizabeth rejoined her visitors in the drawing-room and tried to make a
conversation. Somehow, to talk to the Brady girls had never before been
so difficult. In the alley there was always so much to say. Now they sat
stiffly and straight upon their chairs, and their faces looked
preternaturally solemn. There was silence in the room for a few
minutes, and Julius came and rubbed himself against Elizabeth's feet.
This suggested a topic.

"Do you like cats?" she asked.

"Yes," said Bella.

"Nope," said Eva Louise, simultaneously.

There was another pause.

"It is a very nice day to-day."

"Yes," they both replied.

Elizabeth thought deeply for several minutes. What could she say next?

"Are you at all halt?" she asked, presently.

The Misses Brady merely stared.

"Are you at all halt?" she repeated.

"Yes, I guess so," answered Bella, who, though doubtful, thought it
polite to agree.

"Oh, that is a good thing," said Elizabeth, in a relieved tone. "I did
not exactly know, you know, so I thought I had better ask. I am very
glad you are halt. That makes it all right. And there is my brother come
back. I will go and let him in, and then we will go up to the party."

Valentine returned laden with oddly shaped packages, and the four
ascended the stairs together.

"It's a dandy old feast I've got," whispered the boy; "all the things
that look so good, but you never have at home. We shall need some
plates, though. I'll put these bundles down at the door, and while you
are getting the keys I'll run down to the dining-room for the plates."

He came back in a short time with a pile of Miss Herrick's best china,
the plates which were used for the salad course when she gave a dinner;
and Elizabeth having procured the keys, they entered the room. The
guests were still under the spell of silence. Being invited to remove
their hats, they did so and laid them on the bed. Then they gazed at the
floor.

"What shall we do?" said Elizabeth to Val, in an under-tone. She had
never before realized what hard work it was to give a party.

"Let's begin on the grub," suggested her brother, whose appetite was
sharpened by the thought of the cake-shop dainties which could never be
enjoyed at home.

This seemed to be the best thing to do under existing circumstances, and
Elizabeth removed the few articles which were on the table, and Val
lifted it over to the centre of the room. A towel was spread over it for
a table-cloth, the plates were set thereon, and then Val opened his
packages and proudly placed the contents upon the plates.

There was a half pie, presumably custard, four large cocoanut balls,
four sour-balls, four huge doughnuts, four buns (generously speckled
with currants), and, crowning delicacy, a paper box of vanilla
ice-cream.

Valentine made another raid upon the dining-room, and returned with
forks, knives, and spoons, announcing that he had barely escaped meeting
James, who was on his way up the back stairs just as Val left the
pantry.

The guests were then invited to draw up their chairs, which they did
with an alacrity that was most encouraging.

"I wonder if 'halt' means hungry?" thought Elizabeth. "I shouldn't
wonder if it did."

She politely ignored the fact that both visitors scorned the assistance
of forks in eating the pie, and devoted herself to removing currants
from a bun. Somehow it did not seem an appetizing feast to her, but
Valentine and the Brady girls were enjoying it, and that was all that
was necessary.

At last the repast was over, the final course, consisting of a
sour-ball, which so protruded the cheek of each member of the party that
speech was for a time impossible, and then Elizabeth wondered what they
should do next.

"Suppose we play a game," suggested Val, as soon as he could speak.

"So we will," agreed Elizabeth. "What shall it be? Eva Louise, do you
know any nice games?"

"Nope."

"Do you, Bella?"

"Jack-stones."

"Oh yes, jack-stones. Well, we haven't got any."

"Yes, we have, too. I brung 'em."

"Oh, did you?"

Apparently there was no help for it. Elizabeth despised jack-stones,
which hurt her knuckles, and which she never could catch; but one must
be polite in one's own house.

"I say, you are funny ones!" said Val, who had thoroughly enjoyed his
luncheon, and had now time to grasp the situation. Elizabeth's company
manners amused him extremely, and the whole thing was "no end of a
lark," as he expressed it.

"Why don't you play something you don't play at home?" he asked. "Let's
try 'Fish, flesh, or fowl,' or 'When I was in Spain,' or some other nice
game?"

Bella said nothing, but Eva Louise at last found her voice.

"Ef we don't play jack-stones, we ain't agoin' to play nuthin'. We're
agoin' home."

Bella here nudged her sister's elbow.

"We ain't agoin' home till we get our presents. Yer know what ma said."

This aside was so plainly audible to the host and hostess, that
Elizabeth looked shocked, but Val roared with laughter.

"Very well," said Elizabeth; "we will play jack-stones."

But at the first throw Val, in the exuberance of his feelings, tossed
them so high that one landed on the table, right in the centre of one of
Miss Herrick's delicate china plates, breaking it squarely in two.

"My eye!" exclaimed the boy. "What have I done?"

"Jack-stones are a hateful game, anyhow," cried Elizabeth, whose dismay
caused her to forget her manners. "I don't know what Aunt Caroline will
say. It is all your fault, Eva Louise, that Val broke the plate, for you
made us play jack-stones."

"'Tain't, neither," returned Eva Louise, with asperity. "No one didn't
tell him to throw the jack up there. An' ef this is what yer call a
party, I don't think much of it. We hev as good pie as that at home, an'
we can get ice-cream o' the ice-cream man any day he comes round. I say,
Bella, let us go home."

But Bella still held back. Elizabeth looked at them for a moment in
silent wrath, and then her feelings found words.

"Well, I should be very glad indeed if you did go home. I think you are
very rude girls. And I never knew you had ice-cream whenever you wanted
it, and all those nice things."

"No more we do," interposed Bella; "leastways, I never seen it. Eva
Louise was makin' that up, I guess."

"Oh, was she? Then she tells stories, does she? I don't want to have
anything more to do with you. You are very, _very_ rude girls, and I am
sorry I invited you to the party. I only asked you because you were
halt."

"I dun'no' what yer talkin' about," replied Eva Louise, as she put on
her hat; "only I guess yer'd better not name me no names, or I'll hev
yer 'rested. Halt! I ain't no halt;" and with her head held high as she
proudly sniffed the air, she walked from the room. Bella still lingered.

"Don't yer give no presents at yer party?" she asked.

Elizabeth had already begun to repent of her hasty speech. She feared
that she had been rude, and she felt that she must make amends.

"Wait a minute," she said, flying up the short flight of stairs which
led to her own room.

Eva Louise delayed her departure, and Bella looked more hopeful.
Valentine hovered in the background, wondering what was going to happen
next.

Presently Elizabeth returned. In one hand she held a silver calendar
which had ornamented her desk, in the other a handsomely bound book.

"These are all I can find," she said, bestowing one upon either guest.
"You see, I have to give you things that are really my own, and not Aunt
Caroline's or Aunt Rebecca's. Val, we will go down with them to the
front door."

The little procession in silence descended the two long double flights
of stairs. The front door was opened for them, and the two visitors
were about to depart, one carrying the silver calendar, which flashed
gayly in a ray of sunlight, the other holding the large red-covered
book.

"Good-by!" they said, cheerfully, feeling mollified by the presents.

"Good-by," returned Val and Elizabeth.

And even as they spoke a carriage drew up at the door, and from it
stepped Miss Herrick. She paused in astonishment, and looked at the two
strange figures emerging from her own front door, and at the two
frightened faces in the hall beyond.

"What does this mean?" she asked, as she swept by them into the house
and the door was closed.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]



THE AMERICAN NIGHTS' ENTERTAINMENTS.

THE AMUSEMENT CLUB.

BY EMMA J. GRAY.


The sun was setting one afternoon in late September. The deep blue sky
was dappled with rosy golden and white clouds, but a glance at the
brown-stone houses opposite revealed the unhappy thought that we were
once again in our old town-house. I tried to imagine I was mistaken;
that the lapse of summer-time had never been; that, indeed, all the
happy vacation had not drifted by; that the moss-grown bridges,
low-hanging branches, and piny woods were yet to come; that I must be
asleep and having a horrible nightmare.

[Illustration]

But, "Amy! Amy! Where are you?" woke up my foolish reverie, and "Will
and I have been hunting all over for you!" were the half-annoyed words
which followed, as my friend Irene Sloane and her brother stood before
me in our second-floor front room.

Irene was my most intimate friend; it was rare when a day passed without
her being in my house or I in hers. Therefore the absence of ceremony in
the hunt she had just made. Her brother, too, I had known always, and
now that they had rushed in--for rushed is the only way to describe
their entrance, so excited and all of a flutter they seemed--I forgot
all about my foolish dreaming, and exclaimed, "Do sit down both of you,
and tell what's up!"

But Irene was too excited to sit down; she had come to tell a "splendid
plan. And don't you think so, Will?" and it was "Mamma's idea," and much
more of a similar purport, until Will, who had taken a chair, hastily
rose, and with a most sober face and energetic manner, exclaimed:

"Irene, what's the use of beating about the bush any longer? Tell Amy
all about it, and then she'll have a chance to have her say too."

"Well, the plan is to form an Amusement Club. It will seem awfully
stupid to be at home after all our fun last summer. Don't you think so?"

"Certainly I do, for I was thinking just before you came that we'd
gotten back to hardtack sure enough; there seems nothing to look forward
to but books and study."

"Oh, hardtack fiddlestick! I'm ashamed of you both," interjected Will;
"though I'm willing to admit," the boy continued, with a deep sigh, "it
does come awfully hard to study after such a long loaf. But this
Amusement Club will fix us up fine; it will give no end of jolly times,
for, only think, we'll all meet once a week, or once a fortnight, and
that will be amusement enough for one evening."

"Do explain it, Will. I can't make any sense out of what you are trying
to tell me."

"Mamma will explain, for she said she would take charge of the first
meeting."

"Yes," interrupted Irene, and then excitedly tossing her two long braids
back, "the first meeting is to be at our house next Saturday afternoon
at three o'clock. What do you think of that for a starter?"

"All right; only where do I come in? You haven't asked me yet?"

"Aren't you ashamed to talk so, Amy De Nyse, when you know that not only
are you expected to come, but to help Will and me invite all the other
girls and boys?"

"Which way could we invite them the easiest? And do you think you'd tell
what they were invited for, or surprise them?"

"I say, surprise them. Don't you, Will?" And Irene looked questioningly
toward her brother; and as he nodded his head she continued, "But I'd
tell them it's important and a secret."

"Good! people are sure to be on hand if there's a secret around."

"And as to the way of inviting them," Will said, "the best way would be
to make a list of names, and then cut them apart, each take an equal
number--or I don't care if I take one or two extra."

"And you know what mamma said," his sister replied; "not to invite too
many for the first meeting."

"Now what do you think of the prospect, Amy?"

"Capital! I've heard so much about clubs, that I've been wanting to join
one for a long time."

"And I too," exclaimed Irene.

"An athletic club, you refer to, I suppose, running-matches, etc.," said
mischievous Will as he pulled his sister's long braid, for he was a
great tease, and knew that both Amy and Irene had lost at a
running-match during the summer, and indeed they were anything else but
athletes, taking far too kindly to hammocks, and lounging around
generally.

And after a little more merry conversation, in which "vacation" and
"club" were prominent words, the brother and sister took their
departure.

Thus it was that the following Saturday afternoon found twenty jolly
girls and boys seated in Irene Sloane's library. And what a chattering!
Magpies were silent by contrast. Indeed, it was more like a riot than a
meeting until Mrs. Sloane entered, when, presto! what a change! Not that
she was feared, however, for, on the contrary, she was greatly beloved
by all of her children's friends. It was only that the children were
half awed, being so full of expectation, anticipating they knew not
what, and also because the sudden presence of an older person always
does result in changing the atmosphere of a room.

A few moments after the cordial greetings were extended Mrs. Sloane
explained the purpose of their meeting.

For example, several of them had returned from vacation with scores of
new ideas on the subject of entertaining; many new games and amusements
had been learned. Now why not help others by teaching these. That each
member, in fact, must pledge himself or herself to advance the cause of
amusement by teaching a new game, charade, or something pertaining to
entertainment once a month. And with that point in view, everybody must
keep wide awake, and on the constant lookout. Also establish a habit of
getting up novel entertainment and inventing games. Remember, somebody
originated every game known.

By being members of this club, each person would also receive help as to
the management of business meetings, for, in the main, every business
meeting was conducted in a similar manner, and as many middle-aged
people did not understand even the ordinary duties of chairman, they
could not do better than learn when young.

One of the boys interrupted by inquiring if they might come to her for
advice if they were in a quandary.

"Certainly; any time," was the assured answer; "but I know I can trust
everybody here to help one another;" and Mrs. Sloane looked thoughtfully
around. "Indeed, I am confident you will all take so much pleasure out
of this organization that you will wonder you had not started an
amusement club before. You will be too proud to have failure;" and then,
with a cordial smile, added, "you have too good comradeship to have
discord."

"Before we proceed to the election of officers, I wish to say I will
stay in the chair this afternoon until about the time to adjourn, when
your president will assume his position, and hereafter he will always be
in charge of each meeting, unless necessarily absent, in which event the
vice-president will act in his stead." Then, with a pleasant look around
on all the upturned faces, Mrs. Sloane said, "We are now ready for the
nominations for president."

Several names were promptly mentioned, and as none of the nominees
declined, they were voted upon by ballot. Mrs. Sloane named three boys
to distribute and afterwards count the ballots.

The ballot papers were very small, about three inches one way and two
the other, and as they had been prepared beforehand, there was no
hinderance. Therefore it was but the work of a few minutes to distribute
a paper to each person, on which every one immediately wrote the name
preferred. The ballots were then collected and counted; each nominee
received some votes, but the largest number being for Will Sloane, he
was announced as president. Whereupon one of the club immediately rose
and said, "I move the vote to be made unanimous." This being seconded,
Will Sloane's name was called amidst cheers, claps, and huzzahs, for the
excitement was now too great for the children to keep altogether quiet.

After this there followed the elections of vice-president, secretary,
and treasurer, all being elected in a similar manner.

There was also a board of directors added, consisting of eight people
and the president. This board Mrs. Sloane selected, and of the eight
named five were girls; the duty of the board being to talk over various
questions affecting club work; for example, how money could be expended,
whether entertainment would be given for charity--indeed, all matters of
import. After such discussions by the board, the matter would be
presented by one of its members at the first regular club meeting, and
there acted upon.

It was decided to hold the meetings every second Saturday evening at
seven o'clock, and that no meeting could extend beyond one hour and a
half; that the chairman would open the meetings promptly, and that
twelve people would constitute a quorum. And any matter by them decided
must be acceded to by the entire club.

That the fee would be ten cents a week, paid regularly. That they should
have more members; but Mrs. Sloane advised the number should be limited
to thirty, as too great a number would be difficult to control.

The duty of the treasurer would be to receive and keep a correct account
of the reception and disbursement of money, and that he should give a
report of the same at the first meeting of each month.

The secretary should enroll the names and residences of the officers and
members; he should write the minutes of each meeting, and read them at
the following one.

The order of conducting the meeting would be:

Calling to Order; Secretary's Report; Treasurer's Report; Unfinished
Business; New Business; Adjournment.

As Mrs. Sloane now thought that the children were taxed enough for one
day, and that they would enjoy an after-talk by themselves, she thanked
the club for their courtesy, and with a most gracious smile towards her
son, added, "I now have the pleasure of conducting you to the chair."

[Illustration]

This said, she stepped one side. He pleasantly bowed, and took the place
made vacant by his mother.

No sooner had she retired than Mrs. Sloane laughingly said, "I move we
adjourn."

When at once Amy De Nyse, who had been unusually quiet, jumped to her
feet. "Before that motion is seconded, I move a vote of thanks to Mrs.
Sloane," and she was about to add, "for her patience and goodness to us
this afternoon," but her voice was drowned in the hearty ringing voices
of the happy children who had now informally gathered about their
leader, and each one thanked her warmly and heartily over and yet over
again. And then were heard such expressions as, "You'll have to come to
all of our entertainments," "Won't we have jolly fun practising the
different charades, tableaux, and games?" and "When we get money enough,
perhaps we can have a regular club-room, with a platform, curtain, and
scenery."

And that thought proved the inspiration for another and yet another,
until one of the boys reached a grand climax by waving a handkerchief
over his head and shouting: "I have a scheme. Let us get up specialties,
and make a charge to show them. Why, this club may make us all rich
yet!"



Out on Long Island there is to-day an exceedingly angry farmer. He can
usually be found nursing his wrath on the top of a rail-fence near his
barn an hour before sunset. His big jack-knife digs deeply into the
piece of wood it is whittling as the farmer emphasizes his wrath.

"Talk about the benefit newspapers are to the country--bah!" he
exclaims. "The other night I had all my chickens stole 'cept two, and
that old town paper recorded it in big type, and let the whole country
know about it in less than no time. What do you suppose the result was,
eh? Why, the thieves that took them chicks thought they got them all,
and when they read in the paper that two was left behind, what did they
do but come around the very next night when I never expected them, and
they took the other two. I don't see much use for newspapers that tells
everything a thief wants to know."



THE GREAT SEAL OF ENGLAND.


Many people doubtless know that upon the accession of a new monarch to
the throne of England a new Seal is struck, and the old one is cut into
four pieces and deposited in the Tower of London. In former times the
fragments of these great Seals were distributed among certain poor
people of religious houses. When her Majesty Queen Victoria ascended the
throne of England, the late Benjamin Wyon, R.A., the chief engraver of
her Majesty's Mint, designed the beautiful work of the present Great
Seal of England. The details of the design are: obverse, an equestrian
figure of the Queen attended by a page, her Majesty wearing over a habit
a flowing and sumptuous robe, and a collar of the Order of the Garter.
In her right hand she bears the sceptre, and on her head is placed a
regal tiara. The attendant page, with his bonnet in his hand, looks up
to the Queen, who is gracefully restraining the impatient charger, which
is richly decorated with plumes and trappings. The legend "Victoria Dei
Gratia Britainniarum Regina, Fidei Defensor," is engraved in Gothic
letters, the spaces between the words being filled with heraldic roses.
The reverse side of the Seal shows the Queen, royally robed and crowned,
holding in her right hand the sceptre, and in her left the orb, seated
upon a throne beneath a niched Gothic canopy; on each side is a figure
of Justice and Religion; and in the exergue the royal arms and crown,
the whole encircled by a wreath or border of oak and roses.

The Seal itself is a silver mould in two parts, technically called a
pair of dies. When an impression is to be taken or cast, the parts are
closed to receive the melted wax, which is poured through an opening at
the top of the Seal. As each impression is attached to a document by a
ribbon or slip of parchment, its ends are put into the Seal before the
wax is poured in, so that when the hard impression is taken from the
dies the ribbon or parchment is neatly affixed to it. The impression of
the Seal is six inches in diameter and three-fourths of an inch in
thickness. The Great Seals of England are interesting from their bearing
portraits of the sovereigns, as in the Seals of Offa and Ethelwolf, and
that of Edgar with a bust in profile. After William I. all the Kings are
on one side on horseback, the face turned to the right, except that of
Charles I., which is turned to the left. Edward IV. first carries the
close crown; Edward the Confessor and Henry I. and Henry II. are seated
with the sword and dove. Wax was not uniformly used for Seals, as
impressions occur in gold, silver, and lead, also in various other
substances. The colors have varied, but red appears to have been the
most ancient.



THE VOYAGE OF THE "RATTLETRAP."

BY HAYDEN CARRUTH.

VI.

Besides the cactus, another form of vegetation which began to attract
more and more of Ollie's attention was the red tumbleweed. Indeed, Jack
and I found ourselves interested in it also. The ordinary tumbleweed,
green when growing, and gray when tumbling, had long been familiar to
us, but the red variety was new. The old kind which we knew seldom grew
more than two feet in diameter; it was usually almost exactly round, and
with its finely branched limbs, was almost as solid as a big sponge, and
when its short stem broke off at the top of the ground in the fall it
would go bounding away across the prairie for miles. The red sort seemed
to be much the same, except for its color and size. We saw many six or
seven feet, perhaps more, in diameter, though they were rather flat, and
not probably over three or four feet high.

The first one we saw was on edge, and going at a great rate across the
prairie, bounding high into the air, and acting as if it had quite gone
crazy, as there was a strong wind blowing.

"Look at that overgrown red tumbleweed!" exclaimed Jack. "I never saw
anything like _that_ before. Jump on the pony, Ollie, and catch the
varmint and bring it back here!"

[Illustration: OLLIE AND THE TUMBLEWEED.]

Ollie was willing enough to do this, and the pony was willing enough to
go, so off they went. I think if the weed had had a fair field that
Ollie would never have overtaken it, but it got caught in the long grass
occasionally, and he soon came up to it. But the pony was not used to
tumbleweed-coursing, and shied off with a startled snort. Ollie brought
her about and made another attempt. But again the frightened pony ran
around it. Half a dozen times this was repeated. At last she happened to
dash around it on the wrong side just as it bounded into the air before
the wind. It struck both horse and rider like a big dry-land wave, and
Ollie seized it. If the poor pony had been frightened before, she was
now terror-stricken, and gave a jump like a tiger, and shot away faster
than we had ever seen her run before. Ollie had lost control of her, and
could only cling to the saddle with one hand and hold to the big
blundering weed with the other. Fortunately the pony ran toward the
wagon. As they came up we could see little but tumbleweed and pony legs,
and it looked like nothing so much as a hay-stack running away on its
own legs. When the pony came up to the wagon, she stopped so suddenly
that Ollie went over her head. But he still clung to the weed, and
struck the ground inside of it. He jumped up, still in the weed, so that
it now looked like a hay-stack on two legs. We pulled him out of it, and
found him none the worse for his adventure. But he was a little
frightened, and said:

"I don't think I'll chase those things again, Uncle Jack--not with that
pony."

"Oh, that's all right, Ollie," said Jack. "I'm going to organize the
Nebraska Cross-Country Tumbleweed Club, and you'll want to come to the
meets. We'll give the weed one minute start, and the first man that
catches it will get a prize of--of a watermelon, for instance."

"Well, I think I'll take another horse before I try it," returned Ollie.

"Might try Old Browny," I said. "If he ever came up to a tumbleweed he
would lie right down on it and go to sleep."

"Yes, and Blacky would hold it with one foot and eat it up," said Jack.
"Unless he took a notion to turn around and kick it out of existence."

We looked the queer plant over carefully, and found it so closely
branched that it was impossible to see into it more than a few inches.
The branches were tough and elastic, and when it was tossed up it would
rebound from the ground several inches. But it was as light as a thistle
ball, and when we turned it loose it rolled away across the prairie
again as if nothing had happened.

"They're bad things sometimes when there is a prairie fire," said Jack.
"No matter how wide the fire-break may be, a blazing tumbleweed will
often roll across it, and set fire to the grass beyond. They've been
known to leap over streams of considerable width, too, or fall in the
water and float across, still blazing. Two years ago the town of
Frontenac was burned up by a tumbleweed, though the citizens had made an
approved fire-break by ploughing two circles of furrows around their
village and burning off the grass between them. These big red ones must
be worse than the others. I believe," he went on, "that tumbleweeds
might be used to carry messages, like carrier-pigeons. The next one we
come across we'll try it."

That afternoon we caught a fine specimen, and Jack securely fastened
this message to it and turned it adrift:

     "Schooner Rattletrap, September --, 188-: Latitude, 42.50;
     Longitude, 99.35. To Whom it may Concern: From Prairie Flower,
     bound for Deadwood. All well except Old Blacky, who has an
     appetite."

The night after our stop by the unfinished house we again camped on the
open prairie, a quarter of a mile from a settler's house, where we got
water for the horses. This house was really a "dugout," being more of a
cellar than a house. It was built in the side of a little bank, the back
of the sod roof level with the ground, and the front but two or three
feet above it.

"I'd be afraid, if I were living in it, that a heavy rain in the night
might fill it up, and float the bed-stead, and bump my nose on the
ceiling," said Jack.

[Illustration: "CARRYING EVERYTHING THAT WAS LOOSE BEFORE IT."]

It had been a warm afternoon, but when we went to bed it was cooler,
though there was no wind stirring. The smoke of our camp-fire went
straight up. There was no moon, but the sky was clear, and we remarked
that we had not seen the stars look so bright any night before. The
front of our wagon stood toward the northwest. We went to bed, but at
two o'clock we were awakened by a most violent shaking of the cover. The
wind was blowing a gale, and the whole top seemed about to be going by
the board. We scrambled up, and I heard Jack's voice calling for me to
come out. The cover bows were bent far over, and the canvas pressed in
on the side to the southwest till it seemed as if it must burst. The
front end of the top had gone out and was cracking in the wind. I crept
forward, and as I did so I felt the wagon rise up on the windward side
and bump back on the ground. I concluded we were doomed to a wreck, and
called to Ollie to get out as fast as he could. I supposed a hard storm
had struck us, but as I went over the dashboard I was astonished to see
the stars shining as brightly as ever in the deep, dark sky. Jack was
clinging to the rear wagon wheel on the windward side, which was all
that had saved it from capsizing. He called to me to take hold of the
tongue and steer the craft around with the stern to the gale. I did so,
while he turned on the wheel. As it came around, the loose sides of the
cover began to flutter and crack, while the puckering-string gave way,
and the wind swept through the wagon, carrying everything that was loose
before it, including Ollie, who was just getting over the dashboard. He
was not hurt, but just then we heard a most pitiful yelping, as Jack's
blankets and pillow went rolling away from where the wagon had stood. It
was Snoozer going with them. The yelping disappeared in the darkness,
and we heard frying-pans, tin plates, and other camp articles clattering
away with the rest. The Rattletrap itself had tried to run before the
gale, but I had put on the brake and stopped it. The three of us then
crouched in front of it, and waited for the wind to blow itself out. We
could see or hear nothing of the horses. There was not a cloud in sight,
and the stars still shone down calmly and unruffled, while the wind cut
and hissed through the long prairie grass all about us. It kept up for
about ten minutes, when it began to stop as suddenly as it had begun. In
twenty minutes there was nothing but a cool, gentle breeze coming out of
the southwest. We lit the lantern and tried to gather up our things, but
soon realized that we could not do much that night. We found the
unfortunate Snoozer crouched in a little depression which was perhaps an
old buffalo wallow, but could see nothing of the horses. We concluded to
go to bed and wait for morning.

When it came we found our things scattered for over a quarter of a mile.
We recovered everything, though the wagon-seat was broken. The horses
had come back, so we could not tell how far they had gone before the
wind.

"I've read about those night winds on the plains," said Jack, "and we'll
look out for 'em in the future. We'll put an anchor on Snoozer at
least."

This intelligent animal had not forgotten his night's experience, and
stuck closely in the wagon, where he even insisted on taking his
breakfast.

The road we were following was gradually drawing closer to the Niobrara,
and we began to see scattering pine-trees, stunted and broken, along the
heads of the cañons or ravines leading down to the river. There was less
sand, and we made better progress. The country was but little settled,
and game was more plentiful. We got two or three grouse. We went into
camp at night at the head of what appeared to be a large cañon, under a
tempest-tossed old pine-tree, through which the wind constantly sighed.
There was no water, but we counted on getting it down the cañon. A man
went by on horseback, driving some cattle, who told us that we would
find a spring down about half a mile.

"Can we get any hay down there?" I asked him. "We're out of feed for the
horses, and the grass seems pretty poor here."

"Down a mile beyond the spring I have a dozen stacks," answered the man,
"and you're welcome to all you can bring up on your pony. Just go down
and help yourselves."

We thanked him and he went on. As soon as we could we started down. It
was beginning to get dark, and grew darker rapidly as we went down the
ravine, as its sides were high and the trees soon became numerous. There
was no road, nothing but a mere cattle-path, steep and stony in many
places. We found the spring and watered all the horses, left Blacky and
Browny, and went on after the hay with the pony, Jack leading her, and
Ollie and I walking ahead with the lantern. It seemed a long way as we
stumbled along in the darkness, all the time down hill.

"I guess that man wasn't so liberal as he seemed," said Jack. "The pony
will be able to carry just about enough hay up here to make Snoozer a
bed."

We plunged on, till at last the path became a little nearer level. It
crossed a small open tract and then wound among bushes and low trees.
Suddenly we saw something gleam in the light of the lantern, and stopped
right on the river's bank. The water looked deep and dark, though not
very wide. The current was swift and eddying.

"We've passed the hay," I said. "It must be on that open flat we
crossed."

We went back, and turning to the right, soon found it. I set the lantern
down and began to pull hay from one of the stacks, when the pony made a
sudden movement, struck the lantern with her foot, and smashed the globe
to bits.

"There," exclaimed Jack, "we'll have a fine time going up that
badger-hole of a cañon in the dark!"

But there was nothing else to do, and we made up two big bundles of hay,
and tied them to the pony's back.

"She'll think it's tumbleweeds," said Ollie.

"If she'd headed in the right direction I hope she will," answered Jack.

We started up, but it was a long and toilsome climb. In many places Jack
and I had to get down on our hands and knees and feel out the path. The
worst place was a scramble up a bank twenty feet high, and covered with
loose stones. I was ahead. The heroic little pony with her unwieldy load
sniffed at the prospect a little, and then started bravely up, "hanging
on by her toe-nails," as Ollie said. When she was almost to the top she
stepped on a loose stone, lost her footing, went over, and rolled away
into the darkness and underbrush. Jack stumbled over a little of the hay
which had come off in the path, hastily rolled up a torch, and lit it
with a match. By this light we found the pony on her back, like a
tumble-bug, with her load for a cushion and her feet in the air, and
kicking wildly in every direction. While Ollie held the torch, Jack and
I went to her rescue, and after a vast deal of pulling and lifting, got
her to her feet just as the hay torch died out. Again she scrambled up
the bank, and this time with success. We went on, found the other
horses, and were soon at the wagon. We voted the pony all the hay she
wanted, and went to bed tired.

The next day, the ninth out from Yankton, though it was a long run,
brought us to Valentine, the first town on the railroad which we had
seen since leaving the former place. Before we reached it we went
several miles along the upper ends of the cañons, down a long hill so
steep that we had to chain both hind wheels, forded the Niobrara twice,
followed the river several miles, went out across the military
reservation, which was like a desert, saw six or eight hundred negro
soldiers at Fort Niobrara, and finally drove through Valentine, and went
into camp a mile west of town. On the way we saw thousands of the
biggest and reddest tumbleweeds, and two or three new sorts of cactus.
The colored troops surprised Ollie, as he had never seen any before.

"It's the western winds and the hot sun that's tanned those soldiers,"
said Jack. "We'll look just that way, too, before we get back."

Ollie was half inclined to believe this astonishing statement at first,
but concluded that his uncle was joking.

We went into camp on the banks of the Minichaduza River, a little brook
which flows into the Niobrara from the northwest. It gurgled and bubbled
all night almost under our wheels. A man stopped to chat with us as we
sat around our camp-fire after supper. We told him of our experience in
getting the hay the night before. He laughed and said:

"Ever steal any of your horse feed?"

"We haven't yet," answered Jack. "We try to be reasonably honest."

[Illustration: THE YOUNG FELLOW WILTED RIGHT DOWN ON THE GROUND.]

"Some don't, though," replied the man. "Most of 'em that are going West
in a covered wagon seem to think corn in the field is public property. A
fellow camped right here one afternoon last fall. He was out of feed,
and took a grain sack on one arm and a big Winchester rifle on the
other, and went over to old Brown's corn-field. He took the gun along
not to shoot anybody, but to sort of intimidate Brown if he should catch
him. Suddenly he saw an old fellow coming toward him carrying a gun
about a foot longer than his own. The young fellow wilted right down on
the ground and never moved. He happened to go down on a big prickly
cactus, but he never stirred, cactus or no cactus. He thought Brown had
caught him, and that he was done for. The old man kept coming nearer and
nearer. He was almost to him. The young fellow concluded to make a brave
fight. So he jumped up and yelled. The old man dropped his gun and ran
like a scared wolf. Then the young fellow noticed that the other also
had a sack in which he had been gathering corn. He called him back, they
saw that they were both thieves, shook hands, and went ahead and robbed
old Brown together."

The man got up to go. "Well, good-night, boys," he said. "Rest as hard
as you can to-morrow. You'll strike into the sand hills at about nine
o'clock Monday morning. Take three days' feed, and every drop of water
you can carry; and if you waste any of it washing your hands you're
bigger fools than I think you are."

[TO BE CONTINUED.]



[Illustration: INTERSCHOLASTIC SPORT]

     [_The series of four papers on the Science of Football, by Mr.
     W. H. Lewis of the Harvard Football Team of 1893, begun in this
     Department last week, is continued in the present issue._]


The subject of position-play in football may best be covered by taking
up and discussing each individual of the team in turn. The end rusher,
therefore, should be chosen for agility, speed, endurance, and good
judgment. The first three qualifications are necessary to enable him to
avoid, break up, and worm his way into, through, or around the
interference, tackle into its very midst, or take advantage of
occasional fumbles. His duty on the offensive, or when his own side has
the ball, will depend upon his assignment in the particular play.
Generally the end should stand much nearer his tackle when on the
offensive, so as to be able to get into every play. In plays through
tackle and end, or around the end on his own side of the line, he may
help the tackle to block or pocket the opposing tackle. If a half-back
comes into the line between tackle and end, the end should remember to
take the inside man, as he is the more dangerous, because uncovered and
nearest to the play.

[Illustration: FIG. 1.]

The great bulk of the end's work comes in the defensive game. He is to
prevent the long runs or open plays. He should never run behind his own
line, because of the danger of leaving his side of the line open to
criss-cross or some trick play. The end's primary duty is to turn the
runner in. He therefore should go in as quickly and on as sharp an angle
as possible, so that he can meet the interference before it gets well
formed and started. He should take the direction of A D (shown in Fig.
1), A B C if he must, but never A E. If the opposing end plays up in the
line opposite him, the only direction possible will be A B C.

He should meet the interference with body well forward, the arms
extended straight and stiff, so as not to be hit by the interference,
being careful to keep a little to the outside of it. In plays through
the middle of the line, or pile up, the ends should keep out of the
scrimmage, so as to be sure that the runner does not come out of the
pile.

_Tackle._--If there is any one position in the line harder to play than
another, that position is tackle. The tackle must look out for territory
on both sides of him, and be ready to help either guard or end, as the
emergency requires. The great majority of the plays are aimed at him.
His constant study must be how to meet each particular play in every
style of offence. He should stand about four feet from his guard, and
should not allow himself to be drawn out further than six feet; the
wider his line is drawn out, the weaker it will be and the more
territory he will have to cover. The offensive work of the tackle
depends largely upon the play and his assignment in it. In blocking he
should always take the man nearest the centre, as he is the nearest to
the starting-point of the play, and therefore the most dangerous. In
that case he should call in his guard to take his man. On plays through
and around the other side of the line, the tackle should momentarily
block his man, and then get into the push or interference.

When the tackle himself takes the ball, he should be careful not to give
his intention away. He should, without notice, shift his position and
bring his feet pretty close together, to enable him to start quickly. He
should take off by giving his tackle a push in his chest with the open
hand. The end should go into the opposing tackle the moment his tackle
takes off, so as to prevent his opponent from following. When his own
side is going to kick, the tackle should block his man long enough to
prevent his stopping the kick, and then get down the field so as to help
the ends prevent a return. The tackle should go nearly straight, so as
to protect the centre of the field, the ends taking care of the sides.

The great bulk of the tackle's work is on the defensive. His duty is to
tackle everything in sight. Clean, sharp breaking through is imperative
in a tackle. The first thing a tackle should do when he steps into the
line on the defence, is to notice his opponent's style of blocking, and
adapt his method of breaking through accordingly.

Plays directed on the tackle call for great judgment and great strength.
The tackle should, if possible, shove his man back and into the play.
His next best plan to meet it is to go down in front of it good and
stiff and pile it up. He should go into the mass head and shoulders or
sideways, but never upon any pretext turn his back to it. In defending
his territory against trick plays, the best and only advice that can be
given to a tackle is to keep the eyes open, notice the alignments of the
opposing back's, the way they stand, their facial expression, and
movement, and try to divine which way the ball is going. When the
opposing side is going to kick, the tackle should spread a little so as
to give himself a better chance of getting through.

_Guard._--The two guards and the centre make up the proverbial stone
wall into which the opposing backs are supposed to ram their heads to no
effect.

A guard should stand with the foot next to centre forward if possible,
but if a man starts quicker with that foot back, why, stand that way. He
should be careful not to allow himself to be drawn out too far from the
centre. If his man goes out far he should tell the quarter-back, and
have him send a play through guard and centre, and his opponent will
probably move in again. As long as the inner foot of the opposite guard
is inside of the outer foot of the guard blocking, the latter ought to
be able to take him the moment the ball starts, and run him out to the
side lines. The guard should also keep a sharp lookout for the opposing
quarter, and if he comes up into the line between him and centre, push
him out with open hand.

[Illustration: FIG. 2.]

After having made a hole if called for, or blocked his man, the next
duty of the guard is to get into the push or interference himself. Get
hold of the runner; if possible, pull him along. Give him a chance to
use you in warding off would-be tacklers. One of the first duties of a
guard is to line up quickly. He should be right beside his centre the
moment the ball is down. The play cannot start without some one to guard
it. When his side is going to kick, the guard should move in close to
the centre so that no little quarter or stray back can come through and
stop the kick. He must block well, and almost until he hears the ball
booted, because the path through the centre is the straightest line,
and hence the shortest distance to the kicker, as will be seen in Fig.
3, line A B. The exact moment when he can let his man through must be
determined by the quickness of the man in front of him and the kicker,
as will be seen in Fig. 3. After having blocked long enough to insure
the kicks getting away, he should get down the field with the other
forwards to help prevent return of the ball.

[Illustration: FIG. 3.]

On the defense there is an immense amount of hard work for the guard. He
is primarily responsible for the ground between him and tackle, and
secondarily for that between him and centre. In going through, this fact
should be kept in mind. The fact that a guard must stand lower than
tackle, and has less and different kind of territory to cover, will
prevent him ordinarily from using as many methods of breaking through as
a tackle. He must take some method of getting through that will enable
him to use the body of his opponent to cover the territory between him
and centre, and to enable him to get out and back up tackle, and that
will put him through back to back with his man before the runner reaches
the line.

_Centre Rush._--The position of centre rush is comparatively a new one.
Until a few years ago the middle position in the line was occupied by a
snap-back, whose only duty was to put the ball in play. After that he
was merely a passenger. From the snap-back the centre rush has been
evolved by gradual enlargement of his duties. To-day he is chief of
forwards, there being no duplicate to his position, as there is of
tackle and guard. Every play starts from the centre rush, and depends
upon him for a large share of its success or failure. The position is
one requiring painstaking, conscientious hard work, admitting of very
little glory, although the centre handles the ball more than any other
player. On the offensive, the first duty of the centre rush is to put
the ball in play. Much depends upon this. The team can play no faster
than he does. If he is slow, the whole thing is slow. He must follow the
ball closely, and the moment it is down, take it from his back and put
it down for the next play. When the ball goes out of bounds, he must be
the first man on the side lines, to take it in on the jump for the next
play. The line forms on him, and to have his team line up quickly he
must be doubly quick.

To snap the ball back, the body should be just low enough to reach the
ball with the snapping arm, and no lower nor higher. The distance
between the forward and rear foot must be obtained by practice. The rear
one, in general, should be just far enough back to give him a good
start. The centre should straddle only enough to keep from wobbling from
side to side. The centre should never stand flat-footed. The feet should
be at right angles to the gridiron lines. The position is much like that
of a sprinter on his mark, as is shown in Fig. 2.

_Different Methods of Snapping._--First, the flat, or side, snap, or
snap on the longer axis of the ball. Place the ball upon the ground
about two inches from the forward foot. Turn the lacing in. Have the
seams of the ball parallel with the gridiron lines. Take a firm grip of
the ball. Let the fingers be well over the front of it. The ball is sent
back to the quarter with a downward motion of the wrist and arm. Place
the ball as far under you as possible; it shortens the distance. The
advantage of the side snap is that the snapper can balance himself
partly on the ball, so that he can ofttimes put the ball into play under
very trying circumstances.

Second, the end-over-end, or snap on the shorter axis. This snap is in
most general use at present. It requires more skill in handling than the
other. It has the advantage that it is quicker when well executed, and
enables the quarter to be of considerably more aid in the interference.
To use this style of snapping, place the ball on the end, the head out a
little, although the exact angle must be acquired by practice. The ball
is put into play by a delicate wrist motion back and downward.

The defensive-work of the centre is almost illimitable. He can be of as
much or of as little use to his side as he has a mind to. He has more
opportunity for brilliant tackles than any other man on his side, for
the sole reason that he is not expected to do anything, and is the
unaccounted-for man. His own man is handicapped by having to snap the
ball, and he has no other assignment except that man. He should remain
in his position long enough to see whether the play is coming at him or
not. This will, of course, be determined by his shrewdness in guessing
the play. If the play is at him, by keeping his man away from him, he
can get under and into either hole. If his own position is not attacked,
he should take the hole nearest the runner. He can often go through
between guard and centre by having his guard break to the outside, and
the opposing guard, following him, makes the hole for centre to go
through.

_The Half-Back._--The function of the half-back is to carry the ball.
The advance into the enemy's territory must be made by him, except that
a tackle may occasionally be called on for a run. The position is a
difficult, trying, and exhausting one. The back must be sent time and
again without let-up. With reference to his own proper function, a
half-back should be chosen for speed, endurance, sand, and a cool, quick
judgment. There are two distinct styles of backs--the "plunging back"
and the "wrigglers," or "dodgers." It is desirable to have one of each
upon a team. The former is better in line-breaking as a rule, and the
latter excels in "broken fields" and end-running. The backs should be
drilled carefully in the Fundamentals, especially those connected with
their immediate duties, such as tossing, catching, kicking, and
tackling. Standing starts and short dashes are also invaluable as
preliminary practice.

As to the form of the half-back, it should be such as will not give away
the direction in which he intends to run, yet such as will enable him to
start at once upon the snap of the ball or signal. Many of the best
backs give away the point of attack by unconscious glances and
movements, things that should be studiously avoided. False starts are
also to be guarded against, as they spoil the whole play and slow up the
game. The backs should take, as far as possible, the same position in
the given play every time. The body should be angular in form and
carried well forward, much like the position of the standing start of a
sprinter, with this difference, that the rear foot should not be quite
so far back. The position must be one in which the backs can start
quickly in either direction. Backs generally stand perfectly square,
with toes of both feet on a line. Before they can get away from that
position they must take either a short step back or forward. This step
is unnecessary and shows a man up.

In going through the line, the general rule is to go low. In running
low, the runner should bend his neck so that he can see and take his
holes cleanly. When going through the middle of the line, it is best to
carry the ball in both hands. Take the ball in the pit of the stomach,
the legs and trunk forming a basket or angle, and then grapple it to you
with both hands. Do not carry the ball too far under the arm. The ball
should be carried so that it may be shifted in order to use the nearest
arm to ward off would-be tacklers. It is surprising how many tacklers
can be warded off by using that arm like a piston-rod against every man
that comes up. In line-breaking, the back should remember to keep his
feet and fight for the last inch of ground. If he can only keep his feet
and give his own side a chance to push, he is bound to gain ground.

_Full-Back._--No player has _cut so much ice_ in the winning or losing
of big matches in the last two seasons as the full-back. The holding of
big teams to small scores by inferior ones has been largely owing to
good men in this position. Hence the growing appreciation of the demands
of this position and its vital importance to the success of the eleven.
Kicking to-day has come to be a part of the offensive game, and the
full-back, consequently, the biggest ground-gainer of all the backs. The
full-back should be chosen almost solely for his ability to kick. Other
qualifications are desirable, to be sure, but the ability to kick is the
prime requisite. The preliminary training of the full-back should be one
continuous kick.

[Illustration: FIG. 4.]

The position of the full-back on the offence will be generally midway
between the two backs, or a little in advance of them, near enough to
touch either with the out-stretched arm. In runs around the end the
full-back will generally be called on either to lead the interference or
to block some particular player on the other side--a half-back or an
end, most likely. In bucking the centre, the full-back should put his
head down and go low and hard. He should make up his mind where he is
going, and then go there without halting and hesitating. While as a
general rule it is hard to gain through a good centre, a short gain
through that territory is all the more valuable. The line through the
centre is a straight line, and therefore the shortest distance to the
required five yards, as will be seen in Fig. 4, the base of a
right-angled triangle being always shorter than the hypothenuse.

_The Quarter-Back._--The first essential qualification of a quarter-back
is brains. He should be able to take in a situation at a glance, to
think quickly, and to put that thought into execution at once. He should
be cool without being deliberate, enthusiastic without being excitable.
He should be brimful of nervous force and energy and of tireless
activity. He should be absolutely fearless, and of positive force of
character. The quarter-back should have constant, painstaking practice
in handling and passing the ball. All spare moments on and off the field
can most profitably be put in by him in receiving the snap from his
centre and passing to some back. By that practice he gets used to his
centre and learns intuitively when and where the ball will come every
time.

The two ways commonly used in putting the ball into play are the "end"
and "flap" snap. Take the position of quarter in receiving the "flap"
snap first: The quarter stands, or rather kneels without touching his
knees, close up behind the centre, about a foot from him.

The position is such that he can start quickly in the opposite direction
from the one he is facing to receive the ball. Turning to the rear is
easily and quickly done by using the balls of the feet as a pivot and
swinging the body around on them. The ball should be picked up cleanly.
It ought to require no more changing to throw than a baseball. The ball
is picked up with the fingers over one end of it, the other end is bound
to point along the arm, and thus it is ready for throwing. When the ball
is snapped end over end, the quarter-back takes an entirely different
position. He should stand squarely behind the centre, both feet being
nearly on a line. He should stand near enough to take the ball on the
first bound just the moment before the ball reaches the point where it
begins to fall. His distance is about from two to three feet.

Upon the defence, the quarter with the other two backs form a kind of
second rush-line. The play of the quarter-back on the defence, unless
some special assignment is made him, is that of a free lance, a pirate
to mix up things generally and break through where he is least expected.
He generally stands behind the centre, and the moment the play starts,
takes the nearest hole. Oft-times the guard and centre can make a hole
to let the quarter through.

       *       *       *       *       *

When an individual enters a competition which is held by any association
for the purpose of determining which player has the strongest claim, by
reason of his skill, to represent that association at a competition to
be held by some other (and, usually, greater) organization at some
future date, he takes upon himself, as a man of honor, the obligation,
in case he wins, of representing the first body in the contest to be
held by the second body. This more or less ethical and undoubtedly wordy
definition I hope is clear; but in case it is not, let me put it in
another and possibly more colloquial way: If the Scholastic School holds
a golf tournament for the purpose of selecting a man to represent the
Scholastic School at the University College golf tournament, every man
who _enters_ the Scholastic School tournament pledges himself (in
spirit, of course, he being an honorable amateur), in case he is a
winner, to appear and compete, to the best of his ability, at the
University College golf tournament as the representative of his school.

In other words, any person who wins at a preliminary event, and fails to
fulfil at the final contest the obligations he has thus assumed, is
guilty of a breach of faith. He is guilty of a breach of faith unless he
is physically unable to stand the bodily strain of the contest he has
entered for, and in such a case he should at once notify both the body
he represents (that it may send a substitute if it chooses) and the
officers of the organization for whose competition he is entered, that
the latter may not be placed in a false position toward the public and
the other competitors.

Mr. C. W. Beggs, of the Lawrenceville School, entered the Princeton
Interscholastic Tennis Tournament as a representative of
Lawrenceville--and won. By this victory Mr. Beggs became Princeton's
representative at the National Interscholastic Tennis Tournament to be
held at Newport, and accepted the obligation and responsibility of
representing Princeton on that occasion, just as fully and as
unequivocally as a football-player or a baseball-player accepts the
responsibility of playing his position in the final match game of the
season when he earns a place on his school's eleven or nine. Mr. Beggs
did not fulfil his obligations toward Princeton. He did not appear at
Newport on the day of the tournament, and, so far as I am able to learn,
he did not notify the officers of the national event of his intended and
perhaps entirely unavoidable absence.

By acting in this manner he disarranged the programme of the national
event, he lessened the interest in the play of the tournament, and he
deprived Princeton of a possible victory. It is possible that Mr. Beggs
was prevented by illness from appearing on the courts at Newport, but
illness alone can be accepted as a valid excuse for his absence. Having
undertaken to be present, not travels nor "occasions of a life-time"
should have kept him away--should have allowed him to break his faith.

These few words are not aimed in censure at Mr. Beggs. He is not alone
in such conduct. But he is a vivid example of an unsportsmanlike act
(unsportsmanlike unless he had the excuse of illness, and, even so,
inconsiderate if he did not notify the National L.T.A., and it does not
appear that he did), and the ethics of sport can only be taught to most
of us by the display of a striking example. The interests of
interscholastic sport may best be maintained by a strict adherence to
obligations assumed.

"TRACK ATHLETICS IN DETAIL."--ILLUSTRATED.--8VO, CLOTH, ORNAMENTAL,
$1.25.

  THE GRADUATE.



ADVERTISEMENTS.



[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.



[Illustration: THOMPSON'S EYE WATER]



[Illustration: BICYCLING]

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


[Illustration: Copyright, 1896, by Harper & Brothers.]

The route given in the next three weeks will be one of the best trips in
the vicinity of Chicago, extending from Chicago itself to Joliet, thence
to Ottawa, and thence to La Salle, and return. Like the great majority
of trips taken from Chicago, this one depends largely upon the time at
the rider's disposal, for you may either start from Chicago itself, or
if the time is too short you can take the train for Ottawa and ride from
there, or it is possible to get off the train at Joliet and ride on. But
if time is not so important a matter, it is by all means best to ride
all the way from Chicago. A choice of roads leads out of the city. You
can go by the Archer Road to Joliet viâ Summit, Mount Forest, Willow
Springs, Sag, Lemont, Romeo, and Lockport. In going the other way, take
the Washington Boulevard west to Des Plaines Avenue, and then south to
Riverside. This route leads along the old Illinois-Michigan Canal, Des
Plaines River, and the new drainage canal, and it gives an excellent
opportunity for you to examine the work on this large engineering
undertaking.

There is still one other route to Joliet, which is a good road if the
weather is good, but which after rain it would be unwise to attempt.
This route is as follows: Start south on Western Avenue, or go down
through Pullman City, turning westward to arrive at Blue Island. Here it
will be necessary to make inquiry for the Blue Island and Orland Road,
which runs southwest through Orland Station on the Wabash railway to
Joliet. Part of this secondary route is not on the map, but it can be
traced from Orland through Alpine, Hadley, and on into Joliet. The most
attractive route, however, is the second one--that is, through
Riverside, Summit, Willow Springs, etc.

On this first stage to Joliet the road to Summit is easily found, except
that on passing through Summit a sharp turn to the left should be made,
instead of crossing the track and the canal, up a hill, the road then
being perfectly clear through Mount Forest and Willow Springs to Sag
Station, with one hill about midway between the two latter places. At
Sag Station turn to the left and run down to Sag, less than a mile away;
then, turning sharply to the right, run to Lemont. Thence, keeping
always on the southern and eastern side of the tracks and the river,
follow the road to Romeo, with a hill as you enter the town, and run
thence through Lockport to Joliet. The distance is close upon forty
miles. If the trip is made in a day, a good place to stop is at Sag. If,
however, the wheelman decides to run to Ottawa in one day, Joliet would
make a stop a little less than half the distance; though this run to
Ottawa of about ninety miles is a little too much for the average rider,
and Joliet being a good place to stop overnight, he is advised to make a
two days' trip of the journey. In case Joliet is too far, there is a
good hotel at Lockport, six or seven miles nearer Chicago than Joliet,
and the stop might be made there, although that leaves a long ride for
the next day.

     NOTE.--Map of New York city asphalted streets in No. 809. Map of
     route from New York to Tarrytown in No. 810. New York to Stamford,
     Connecticut, in No. 811. New York to Staten Island in No. 812. New
     Jersey from Hoboken to Pine Brook in No. 813. Brooklyn in No. 814.
     Brooklyn to Babylon in No. 815. Brooklyn to Northport in No. 816.
     Tarrytown to Poughkeepsie in No. 817. Poughkeepsie to Hudson in No.
     818. Hudson to Albany in No. 819. Tottenville to Trenton in No.
     820. Trenton to Philadelphia in No. 821. Philadelphia in No. 822.
     Philadelphia-Wissahickon Route in No. 823. Philadelphia to West
     Chester in No. 824. Philadelphia to Atlantic City--First Stage in
     No. 825; Second Stage in No. 826. Philadelphia to Vineland--First
     Stage in No. 827; Second Stage in No. 828. New York to
     Boston--Second Stage in No. 829. Third Stage in No. 830; Fourth
     Stage in No. 831; Fifth Stage in No. 832; Sixth Stage in No. 833.
     Boston to Concord in No. 834. Boston in No. 835. Boston to
     Gloucester in No. 836. Boston to Newburyport in No. 837. Boston to
     New Bedford in No. 838. Boston to South Framingham in No. 839.
     Boston to Nahant in No. 840. Boston to Lowell in No. 841. Boston to
     Nantasket Beach in No. 842. Boston Circuit Ride in No. 843.
     Philadelphia to Washington--First Stage in No. 844; Second Stage in
     No. 845; Third Stage in No. 846; Fourth Stage in No. 847; Fifth
     Stage in No. 848. City of Washington in No. 849. City of Albany in
     No. 854; Albany to Fonda in No 855; Fonda to Utica in No. 856;
     Utica to Syracuse in No. 857; Syracuse to Lyons in No. 858; Lyons
     to Rochester in No. 859; Rochester to Batavia in No. 860; Batavia
     to Buffalo in No. 861; Poughkeepsie to Newtown in No. 864; Newtown
     to Hartford in No. 865; New Haven to Hartford in No. 866; Hartford
     to Springfield in No. 867; Hartford to Canaan in No 868; Canaan to
     Pittsfield in No. 869; Hudson to Pittsfield in No. 870. City of
     Chicago in No. 874. Waukesha to Oconomowoc in No. 875; Chicago to
     Wheeling in No. 876; Wheeling to Lippencott's in No 877;
     Lippencott's to Waukesha in No. 878; Waukesha to Milwaukee in No.
     879.



[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.


HOW TO SALT PAPER.

Salting paper is the process by which photographic paper is coated with
chloride of sodium (common salt), chloride of ammonium, or chloride of
barium, and salted paper is pure photographic paper which has been
immersed or floated in a salting-bath and then dried. Paper prepared
especially for photographic use is the best; but paper which is free
from impurities may be used. Whatman's drawing-paper is a good paper.
The paper is first salted, and when dry the sensitizing solution is
applied.

To salt paper with chloride of sodium, take 20 oz. of water and 30 grs.
of common salt; dissolve the salt in the water and filter; put this
solution in a flat dish larger than the sheets of paper to be salted.
Select the smoothest side of the paper, and turn back two corners
diagonally opposite to each other. Take hold of the paper by these
corners and lower the sheet of paper gently into the solution. See that
every portion of the surface is thoroughly wet, but do not let the paper
touch the bottom of the dish. Let it remain in the solution for one
minute; then, if it appears to be thoroughly covered, pin it up to dry,
with the side which was salted turned outward. To sensitize this paper,
take nitrate of silver, 1/2-oz., and water, 10 oz. After it is dissolved
take out 3 oz., and to the remaining 7 oz. add strong ammonia-water,
drop by drop. A brownish precipitate will form, but keep adding the
ammonia till the solution is nearly or quite clear, then turn in the
other 3 oz. and filter. This solution may be put in a flat dish, and the
paper be sensitized by floating it on the solution, or it may be spread
on with a brush, according to directions given in No. 869.

To salt paper with chloride of ammonium make a solution as follows:

  Chloride of Ammonium     32 grs.
  Water                     4 oz.
  Gelatine                  8 grs.

Put the gelatine in the water, and set the vessel containing it in a
dish of hot water until the gelatine is dissolved. When it is cold add
the chloride of ammonium, and either float according to directions just
given, or apply the solution with a brush.

To sensitize, take 1 oz. of water and 60 grs. of nitrate of silver.
Dissolve thoroughly and brush the paper with this solution. Brush evenly
and lightly both ways of the paper, so as to avoid a streaked
appearance. Print and tone the same as for aristo prints. The combined
toning-bath gives good results. The tone of the prints closely resembles
platinum prints.

Another process for salting paper is:

  Chloride of Ammonium       3 grs.
  Chloride of Sodium         3 grs.
  Water                      2 oz.

Apply this solution with a brush, or float the paper on the bath. To
sensitize, take 60 grs. of nitrate of silver and 1 oz. of water. Add
ammonia-water, drop by drop, till 25 drops have been used. The solution
at first turns muddy, but continue dropping the ammonia till it clears.
If it does not clear after the 25 drops have been added clear by
filtering. Sensitize as per former directions.

This paper is very easily prepared, is inexpensive, and gives fine
delicate prints. Do not print much deeper than is desired for the
finished print. One may use a toning and fixing bath combined, or a
separate toning and fixing bath may be used.

One can sensitize a strip at the head of a letter or a corner of a
visiting-card; and print the same as any paper.

The paper can be bought ready salted, but it is not always fresh. It is
very little trouble to salt paper and to sensitize it, and the cost is
much less than when paper is bought ready prepared. The plain paper
should be used within two or three days after sensitizing with the
silver, but the salted paper keeps well, and may be sensitized as
needed.

Mark the sensitized paper on the wrong side lightly, as it is hard to
distinguish the sensitive side. When dry these prints are so flat and
the paper is so thin that they make nice book illustrations.

     SIR KNIGHTS FRED. W. LONG and FRED. D. ROSE wish to know in what
     numbers of the ROUND TABLE the "Papers for Beginners" may be found.
     In Nos. 812, 813, 814, 816, 817, 818, 821, 822, 823, 824, 825, 826,
     832, 838, 840, and 842. See also the late numbers for "Chemistry
     for Amateur Photographers."

     E. LESTER CROCKER, Tarrytown-on-Hudson, New York, wishes to be
     enrolled as a member of the Camera Club.



ILL-TEMPERED BABIES

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



ADVERTISEMENTS.



Columbia

Bicycles

LEAD THE WORLD.

No competition has been able to shake the hold of Columbia Bicycles on
the wheeling public. It is the natural reward of unequalled experience,
materials, workmanship and facilities. To enjoy the highest delight of
bicycling you must ride the Columbia.

Standard of the World

$100 TO ALL ALIKE.

POPE MFG. CO., Hartford, Conn.

Columbia Art Catalogue free from all branch houses and agents, or will
be sent by mail for two 2-cent stamps.



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.



Postage Stamps, &c.



[Illustration: STAMPS]

100 all dif. Venezuela, Bolivia, etc., only 10c., 200 all dif. Hayti,
Hawaii, etc., only 50c. Ag'ts w't'd at 50% com. Lint FREE! =C. A.
Stegmann=, 5941 Cote Brilliante Ave., St. Louis, Mo



STAMPS

=10= stamps and large list =FREE!=

L. DOVER & CO., 1469 Hodiamont, St. Louis, Mo.



STAMPS on Approval! 50% disct. _List free._

W. C. Shields, 30 Sorauren Ave., Toronto, Canada.



110 Foreign Stamps, Liberia, Borneo, Mexico, etc., 5c. H. L. ASHFIELD,
767 Prospect Ave., N.Y.



[Illustration: THOMPSON'S EYE WATER]



Reader: Have you seen the

[Illustration: Franklin]

It is a Collection which no one who loves music should fail to own; it
should find a place in every home. Never before, it may truthfully be
said, has a song book been published at once so cheap, so good, and so
complete.--_Colorado Springs Gazette._

[Illustration: Square]

This Song Collection is one of the most notable enterprises of the kind
attempted by any publisher. The brief sketches and histories of the
leading productions in the work add greatly to the value of the
series.--_Troy Times._

[Illustration: Collection?]

Sold Everywhere. Eight Numbers. Price, 50 cents each; Cloth, $1.00. Full
contents, with Specimen Pages, mailed, without cost, on application to
=Harper & Brothers, New York=.



From Calamus to Quill.

     It is most interesting to trace the evolution of the pen, beginning
     with the _calamus_ and _stilus_--the reed and erasing bodkin--and
     ending with a fountain-pen of the most improved make. In ancient
     days great care was taken in the selection of the choicest reeds,
     the best-cured parchment, and the daintiest waxen tablets. Egypt
     grew the best reeds, though they were also found in Armenia,
     Persia, and Italy. The modern Turks and Moors prize the Persian
     reeds above all others, splitting the points in the same manner as
     our grandfathers prepared their goose-quills. The oldest account
     known respecting quills is found in a work of St. Isidore's, who
     died in 636. Alcuinus, who lived in England, speaks of his pen, so
     the familiar article must have been in use almost as long as the
     art of writing was known in the country. Perhaps steel pens would
     have been more popular when first introduced if all had known that
     the quills were pulled from the living geese!

     Dr. Warner told his stationer that with one quill pen, old when he
     took it up, he wrote an "ecclesiastical history," two volumes
     folio, and a "dissertation on the Book of Common Prayer," both
     first and final draughts. Byron wrote the "Bride of Abydos" in one
     night, without once mending his quill, while Andrew Borde,
     physician to Henry VIII., and the original "Merry Andrew," wrote a
     book of nearly three hundred pages, 12mo., in the same manner.
     Camden wrote of the quill with which he composed the Britannia,

  "With one sole pen I wrote this book,
    Made of a gray goose quill;
  A pen it was when I it took,
    And a pen I leave it still."

  LAUNCELOT CLAYMORE.

       *       *       *       *       *

What Shakespeare Studied when at School.

Mr. William J. Rolfe, the Shakespearian student, has written most
entertainingly of the Avon bard's school days. "The training in an
English free day school in the time of Elizabeth," he writes, "depended
much on the attainments of the master, and these varied greatly, bad
teachers being the rule and good ones the exception. In many towns the
office of schoolmaster was conferred on 'an ancient citizen of no great
learning.' Sometimes a quack conjuring doctor had the position, like
Pinch in the _Comedy of Errors_." What did William study in the
grammar-school? Not much except arithmetic and Latin, with perhaps a
little Greek and a mere smattering of other branches.

The Latin grammar used was certainly Lily's, the standard manual of the
time, as long before and after. In _The Taming of the Shrew_ (I., 1,
167) a passage from Terence is quoted in the modified form in which it
appears in this grammar.

This fact, slight as it is, seems to have its bearing on the Baconian
controversy. "Can we imagine," asks Mr. Rolfe, "the sage of St. Albans,
familiar as he was with classical literature, going to his old Latin
grammar for a quotation from Terence, and not to the original works of
that famous playwright?"

We often hear people speak of "good old times," as if present times were
worse. But good old school times of the sort described here were
certainly not better than present times.

       *       *       *       *       *

Asked to Cease Soaring a Moment.

Mrs. Phelps-Ward has just related an amusing story of John Greenleaf
Whittier and Lucy Larcom. They were driving together one day, and
discussing the Bible, the future life, and kindred topics. The poet was
a spare man, as of course you know, while the author, whose stories and
poems you so well remember, was portly, and had withal an easy-going
temperament, which led her to take things as they came, disturbed by
nothing. She was, when interested in a subject, generally quite
oblivious to all else around her. Driving along, they came to a rather
steep hill that had a bad gully in it. The horse was none too easy to
manage, and the carriage swayed uncomfortably toward the heavy
side--that borne well down by the portly woman. Mr. Whittier was trying
his best to control the horse and keep his seat, but his companion
talked on.

"Lucy," said the poet, sternly, and with not too much composure, "if
thee doesn't stop talking long enough for me to control this horse,
thee'll find thyself in heaven before thee wants to."

       *       *       *       *       *

Kinks.

No. 30.--AN OBLONG STAR.

If the cross-words are rightly guessed the central letters of the
right-hand hour-glass, reading downward, will spell the name of the
Grecian painter from whose untiring industry is derived the proverb,
_Nulla dies sine linea_ ("No day without a line"). The central letters
of the left-hand hour-glass will spell the name of a renowned Greek
sculptor who was born about the time of the battle of Marathon.

1. _Upper Diamond._--1. In drawling. 2. A Japanese coin worth about
four-fifths of a cent. 3. A word occurring frequently in the Psalms. 4.
A deceiver. 5. The inferior pole of the horizon. 6. A form of a personal
pronoun. 7. In drawling.

2. _Lower Diamond._--1. In drawling. 2. Mournful. 3. The pyramidal roof
of a tower. 4. Insulting. 5. Scorched. 6. To finish. 7. In drawling.

3. _Left-hand Hour-glass._--1. Spotted. 2. Fences sunk below the ground.
3. A mite. 4. In drawling. 5. The dado. 6. A map. 7. Calcined gypsum.

4. _Right-Hand Hour-glass._--1. Revolves. 2. Writing material. 3. A
couch. 4. In drawling. 5. A beverage. 6. To step. 7. To sparkle.

  VINCENT V. M. BEEDE, R.T.F.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 31.--A HETEROGENEOUS PIE.

A maniac in a Canadian asylum once requested his keeper to bring him a
pie composed of the following ingredients:

One object^1 which once bore the words, "For the fairest," won by Venus;
one cup of one^2 who rides the main; three cups of an appropriate name^3
for a hard-headed animal; a morsel of a rod^4 little used in billiards;
a nickname^5 applied to a New England State; one pound of the fish^6
that struggles; a goodly quantity of the fruit^7 from which a mechanic
in one of Shakespeare's comedies derives his name; a dash of the _nom de
plume_^8 of James W. Morris; forty incites^9; a heaping measure of the
substance^{10} indicated by the blank.

                "Not a ----
  But shows some touch in freckle, streak, or stain,
  Of his unrivall'd pencil."--Cowper.

  XENTRIQUE.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 32--BEHEADING.

1. Behead a fruit, and leave a fruit; behead once more, and leave our
ancestors; behead again, and leave a part of our ancestors.

2. Behead a tree, and leave past; behead again, and leave to depart.

3. Behead a fruit, and leave a vegetable; behead again, and leave to
adorn.

4. Behead a plant, and leave slack; behead again, and leave that
wherewith the plant might have been cut.

       *       *       *       *       *

Answers to Kinks.

No. 28.--A MUSICAL MÉLANGE.

1. Beethoven. 2. Chopin. 3. Handel. 4. Bull (_Taurus_). 5. Rossini. 6.
Thomas. 7. Albani. 8. Crotch. 9. Lasso. 10. Mason. 11. Potter. 12.
Purcell. 13. Fiddle. 14. Spinet. 15. Flute. 16. Bugle. 17. Trumpet. 18.
Bagpipes. 19. Kettle-drums. 20. Fife. 21. Horn. 22. Lyre. 23.
Harpsichord.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 29.

1. Burns. 2. Scott. 3. Herbert. 4. Willis. 5. Spenser. 6. White. 7.
Dryden. 8. Hemans. 9. Pope. 10. Goldsmith. 11. Cowper. 12. Southey.

       *       *       *       *       *

Not Good Form.

Care for what one says ought always to be exercised, without regard to
whether or not it may be heard by those for whom it is not intended.
Here is a story that emphasizes this lesson:

An officer of the Law Division of the New York Custom-house walked into
the Collector's office a few days ago, while the Collector was talking
with a tall man, whose back was turned toward the door.

"What is it?" asked the Collector. "Anything important?"

"Oh no," returned the officer. "Only another blunder in the long list of
blunders committed by that Secretary of the Treasury of ours." The tall
man laughed.

"Mr. Blank," said the Collector, "let me introduce you to Mr. Carlisle,
Secretary of the Treasury."

The Secretary turned, still laughing, and shook the hand of the law
officer, who, red in the face, stammered a half-heard apology--and got
out as quickly as possible.

       *       *       *       *       *

A Good Amateur Newspaper.

The _Scribbler_ has completed its first year, and it makes quite an
unnecessary apology for its past shortcomings. This latter is really the
poorest thing about its past--this apology. Many a public speaker, after
giving a good address, mars it by apologizing for it. The _Scribbler_
has done well, and of course will do better. Its address is: Easton,
Pa., and its manager, Norman E. Hart. You should see a copy. It is neat
and Interesting.

       *       *       *       *       *

Questions and Answers.

John C. Cone, 519 South Seventh Street, Hamilton, O., wants to receive
sample copies of amateur newspapers. The Table has not published a
description of the badge, dear Sir Sidney Mulhall, and has now none in
stock. Evelyn T. Jones: Yes, the Table is glad to receive descriptions
of places, industries, outings, etc., and asks correspondents to try to
see how excellent they can make such morsels--correct grammar and
spelling, avoidance of unnecessary words, and careful selection of
descriptive adjectives. Letters from foreign places, if filled with
information of general interest, are published when space permits. Good
"Kinks" will be published, but new ideas are wanted, not merely new
material in old forms.

Arthur J. Johnston, Box 136, Dartmouth, N. S., says, "I am much
interested in politics, and would like to correspond with members of the
Table, especially those living in Canada, on that subject." Cyrus
Williston, Vernon, N. Y., wants to hear from members of the Order, any
subject, and Louis O. Brosie, 3405 Butler Street, Pittsburg. Pa., has
some quite old numbers of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE which he does not want.
He mentions the fact upon seeing inquiries in this column for these old
copies, no longer in the publishers' stock. Aaron Spong asks where he
can find a collection of college songs. There are several to be had. Ask
for _Carmina Princetonia_; _Columbia College Song-Book_; _Harvard
College Song-Book_. Go to your bookseller or to a music-store. Any
dealer can get collections for you upon order, but Chicago dealers will
have them in stock without doubt.

Henry F. French asks for information concerning the earliest national
books. The Pentateuch is the oldest of books. In Greece the most ancient
writings are Homer's Iliad and Odyssey, date about 900 B.C. In Latin,
Plautus wrote his comedies 200 B.C. The first British author was Gildas,
500 A.D., who wrote a _Conquest of Britain_. At the same date Venan
Fortunatus, in France, wrote the first work of that country--a book of
Latin poetry. The Koran is the earliest work of any Arabian, Persian, or
Turk. It was written A.D. 600. The first of Germany's literature was
Walafred Strabo's book of poems and theology, 841 A.D. In Russia,
Yaroslaff in the year 1000 A.D., compiled a code of laws, while Monez
(1100 A.D.) is the first Portuguese author. The other countries are
represented as follows: Italy, Accursius, writer of jurisprudence,
1182-1260 A.D.; Sweden, Eric Olai, author of _A History of the Goths and
Swedes_, 1400 A.D.; Poland, Vinc Kadlubek, writer of a history of
Poland, 1226 A.D. Arvine names Benjamin Thompson our "pioneer in
letters." He was called "ye renowned poet of New England, learned
schoolmaster and physician."



[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.


Specialization has led to the cataloguing of innumerable minute
varieties in perforations, water-marks, papers, shades, and impressions
from more or less worn or retouched plates, to say nothing of "freaks."
The result has been the immense catalogues with which we are all so
familiar, and albums containing a multitude of spaces for stamps which
not one collector in a thousand can ever expect to fill. This has led to
a reaction, and the average collector will hereafter not be puzzled by
minute varieties of no interest to any one except the small group of
rich men in each country to whom they are due. These advanced collectors
do not use printed albums, and special catalogues can easily be made for
them. All the large dealers hereafter will make albums and catalogues
which the average collector will have a chance of filling up at
reasonable rates.

Unique or very rare stamps in such albums will probably be represented
by photographs of the costly originals.

     W. MACFARLANE.--The 2c. U.S. Revenues are extremely common, hence
     have no value.

     S. MANNING.--The old U.S. Special Delivery stamps are worth 15c.
     each, used. The yellow one will probably prove to be the scarcest.

     H. M. CROSSMAN.--The 1892 Columbian half-dollar can be bought for
     75c. The 1893 one is in common use. The Columbian quarter is worth
     $1.75.

     H. H. C.--The ordinary U.S. quarter for 1853 with rays on the
     reverse can be bought for 35c. The rare variety of the same date
     for $3.50.

     F. M., JUN.--The 50c. Mortgage U.S. Revenue is worth 5c.; the 50c.
     Entry of Goods and Conveyance, 1c. each: the $1 Inland Exchange,
     1c. These prices are for perforated stamps; if unperforated they
     are worth $1 each upward.

     WILL KELSEY.--All sheets of the current issue have one outside row
     of stamps unperforated on one side, and all the 1c., 2c., etc.,
     have two rows of stamps unperforated on one side. Such partly
     perforated stamps have no special value. The 1875 reprint of the
     1869 3c. stamp is worth $15 unused. This reprint can be known by
     the snow-white paper on which it is printed. Many of the 1869
     stamps show no signs of grilling, owing to a very light pressure of
     the grills. Such stamps have no greater value than the grilled
     ones.

     NYACK.--I do not know what the stamped paper made for use in the
     American colonies is worth. I know of one copy which was bought by
     the holder for $50. There were no adhesive stamps made for the 1765
     stamp act.

     T. A. WESSMAN.--It is impossible to pass any opinion on rare
     Chinese coins without seeing a rubbing. They are considered as
     simple curios here, and can be bought very cheap if the dealer has
     any.

     A. F. BERLIN.--Apply to any of the larger dealers for price.

     A. B. C.--My remarks applied to Spanish stamps only. The West
     Australian cancelled stamps with punched holes were those issued by
     the colonial authorities to the imperial (_i.e._, Great Britain)
     authorities for official use. Most of these imperial officials were
     in charge of the convict camps in West Australia, and doubtless
     some of the stamps were given by them to prisoners in their charge,
     as it seems fairly well established that some letters from
     prisoners were pre-paid by punched stamps.

     C. S. SMITH.--Dealers offer U.S. dollars of 1800 for $2;
     half-dollar 1811, 1812, 1818, seventy-five cents each.

     C. RAWSON, 3421 North Nineteenth Street, Philadelphia, Pa., wishes
     to exchange stamps.

     H. D. GRAHAM.--"Local" stamps are those used by postmasters and by
     private firms who carried letters in competition with the U.S.
     mails. They have all been suppressed by the U.S. government. The
     _early_ Boyd's Express, Blood & Co.'s, Honour City Post, etc., are
     very scarce. Hussey's Post and the later Boyd's Express are very
     common. Many have been reprinted, and others have been
     counterfeited.

     N. P. COPPEDGE.--The English penny is quite a common coin. It has
     no value in this country, and in England can be bought for
     threepence.

  PHILATUS.



[Illustration: IVORY SOAP]

"Health is the vital principle of bliss, and exercise, of health."

  No health--there is no hope of bliss,
    No exercise--and health soon flies,
  No bath with Ivory Soap--you miss
    The best results of exercise.

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



[Illustration]

GOLD RINGS FREE!

We will give one half-round Ring, =18k Rolled Gold= plate & =warranted= to
anyone who will sell 1 doz. Indestructible Lamp Wicks (need no trimming)
among friends at 10cts. each. Write us and we will mail you the =Wicks=.
You sell them and send us the money and we will mail you the Ring.

STAR CHEMICAL CO., Box 435, Centerbrook, Conn.



A TRIP ABROAD,

a Piano, Phonograph Bicycle, Solid Gold Watch, and many other unheard-of
opportunities, free for the asking, to every young person. Get all
information by sending your address (no stamp required) to

CHASE & CO., No. 1 Madison Ave., New York City.



[Illustration]

EARN A GOLD WATCH!

We wish to introduce our =Teas and Baking Powder=. Sell 50 lbs. to earn a
=Waltham Gold Watch and Chain=; 25 lbs. for a =Silver Watch and Chain=; 10
lbs. for a =Gold Ring=; 50 lbs. for a =Decorated Dinner Set=; 75 lbs.
for a =Bicycle=. Write for a Catalog and Order Blank to Dept. I

W. G. BAKER,

Springfield, Mass.



[Illustration: THOMPSON'S EYE WATER]



HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE SERIES

_Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth. $1.25 per volume._

     =The Mystery of Abel Forefinger.= By WILLIAM DRYSDALE.

     =Raftmates.--Canoemates.--Campmates.--Dorymates.= By KIRK MUNROE.

     =Young Lucretia=, and Other Stories. By MARY E. WILKINS.

     =The Mate of the "Mary Ann."--Flying Hill Farm.= By SOPHIE SWETT.

     =A Boy's Town.= By W. D. HOWELLS.

     =The Midnight Warning=, etc. By EDWARD H. HOUSE.

     =The Moon Prince=, and Other Nabobs. By RICHARD KENDALL MUNKITTRICK.

     =Diego Pinzon.= By JOHN RUSSELL CORYELL.

     =Phil and the Baby, and False Witness.= Two Stories. By LUCY C.
     LILLIE.

_Illustrated. Square 16mo, Cloth, $1.00 per volume._

     =Lucy C. Lillie.=--THE HOUSEHOLD OF GLEN HOLLY.--THE COLONEL'S
     MONEY.--MILDRED'S BARGAIN, etc.--NAN.--ROLF HOUSE.--JO'S
     OPPORTUNITY.--THE STORY OF MUSIC AND MUSICIANS.

     =James Otis.=--SILENT PETE.--TOBY TYLER.--TIM AND TIP.--MR. STUBBS'S
     BROTHER.--LEFT BEHIND.--RAISING THE "PEARL."

     =David Ker.=--THE LOST CITY.--INTO UNKNOWN SEAS.

     =William Black.=--THE FOUR MACNICOLS.

     =Kirk Munroe.=--CHRYSTAL, JACK & CO., and DELTA BIXBY.--DERRICK
     STERLING.--WAKULLA.--THE FLAMINGO FEATHER.

     =John Habberton.=--WHO WAS PAUL GRAYSON?

     =Ernest Ingersoll.=--THE ICE QUEEN.

     =W. O. Stoddard.=--THE TALKING LEAVES.--TWO ARROWS.--THE RED MUSTANG.

     =Mrs. W. J. Hays.=--PRINCE LAZYBONES, etc.

     =G. C. Eggleston.=--STRANGE STORIES FROM HISTORY.

     =George B. Perry.=--UNCLE PETER'S TRUST.

     =Sophie Swett.=--CAPTAIN POLLY.

     =W. L. Alden.=--A NEW ROBINSON CRUSOE.--THE ADVENTURES OF JIMMY
     BROWN.--THE CRUISE OF THE CANOE CLUB.--THE CRUISE OF THE
     "GHOST."--THE MORAL PIRATES.

       *       *       *       *       *

HARPER & BROTHERS, Publishers, New York



LOST HIS BEARINGS.

[Illustration: "BEGINS TO WORK KIND OF HARD. GUESS I'LL STOP AND LOOK
INTO HER."]

[Illustration: "I'LL FIX THAT IN JUST A MINUTE."]

[Illustration: OSTRICH (_sotto voce._). "SO WILL I."]

[Illustration: "GREAT SCOTT! WHERE HAVE THOSE BEARINGS GONE TO?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

A MATTER OF LETTERS.

"I'm afraid you're a tease," said the old farmer to Aleck.

"I may be a tease," said Aleck, "but I'm not one of the jays."

       *       *       *       *       *

FULLY OCCUPIED.

"Well, Charlie," said his aunt, as she met him on his return from the
summer hotel, "what did you do with yourself all summer?"

"Oh, I was losin' my hat about half the time," said Charlie.

"Indeed! And what did you do the other half?"

"Oh, I spent that lookin' for my hat."

       *       *       *       *       *

It is a hard matter to get the better of, or at least to convince, an
Irishman in an argument that you are right. Not long ago, in one of the
cabins of a coast-line steamer, the conversation turned round to
astronomy. A gentleman observed that the sun made a revolution around
the earth, and what more wonderful thing than that could be found in
astronomy? This somewhat amused the other passengers, but their laughter
developed into great hilarity when an Irishman near by, exclaimed:

"That's not so! The sun, I am certain, does not revolute the earth!"

"But," said the gentleman, "where does it come from when it rises in the
east, and where does it go when it sets in the west? It has no other
thing to do but to pass under the earth and come up again."

"Arrah, now, that's plain enough. Shure yer shouldn't be puzzled at
that. If the sun goes from the east to the west, it returns the same
way, and the only reason yer don't see it is because it comes back at
night-toime."

       *       *       *       *       *

A SLIGHT DIFFERENCE.

"Jimmie, you wasted your breath talking to old Mr. Wilbur this morning.
He's as deaf as a post."

"I know that," said Jimmie, with a smile, "but posts don't have ten-cent
pieces in their pockets to give little boys, and Mr. Wilbur does."

       *       *       *       *       *

"Is this a sleeping-car, papa?"

"Yes, Johnny."

"Does it travel all night?"

"Yes."

"Humph! Must do all its sleeping in the day-time."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: GETTING A FEW POINTS IN NATURAL HISTORY.]





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