The Project Gutenberg eBook of Harper's Round Table, November 26, 1895
    
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Title: Harper's Round Table, November 26, 1895

Author: Various

Release date: May 31, 2015 [eBook #49100]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Annie R. McGuire


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HARPER'S ROUND TABLE, NOVEMBER 26, 1895 ***




Produced by Annie R. McGuire








[Illustration: HARPER'S ROUND TABLE]

Copyright, 1895, by HARPER & BROTHERS. All Rights Reserved.

       *       *       *       *       *

PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 26, 1895. FIVE CENTS A
COPY.

VOL. XVII.--NO. 839. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.

       *       *       *       *       *




[Illustration]

IN FRONT OF A SPANISH CRUISER.

BY WILLIAM DRYSDALE.


"An hour's sport with a Spanish cruiser--that's what it will be," Benito
Bastian said to himself.

But the care he was giving to his boat looked like more serious business
than an hour's sport. She is a swift sharpie that he called _Villa
Clara_, after his native town, and she was drawn up on the beach and
turned over, and Benito was scraping her clean. If she ever did fast
sailing, he wanted her to do it that night.

"Let this wind hold, and give me a dark night," he went on, "and it will
take a faster cruiser than _El Rey_ to catch me."

Benito is a handsome dark-eyed Cuban boy, who lives on the little Cuban
island called Ginger Key, forty miles north of the Cuban coast. The boys
of Ginger Key, like their older brothers, are full of excitement just
now; for occasionally a band of Cuban patriots makes its way over from
Florida and goes into hiding in the thick woods, and watches its chance
to land on the coast of Cuba. These hands need guides; and it is the
Ginger Key boys who know the waters well, and the coast too. Benito
handles his sharpie to perfection on the darkest nights and in all kinds
of weather; and as to helping his countrymen, the Cuban insurgents, he
feels about it just as the Boston boys felt about Bunker Hill.

"I ought to be doing something for the cause," he said to himself
several months ago. "It's a pity I'm only sixteen; they may think I am
too young. But I know these waters as well as any man on the key."

He looked down regretfully at his bare feet and legs, for his trousers
were rolled well up. He took off his old straw hat and smiled at it; but
he could not see how his brown eyes flashed, nor how handsome his brown
hair looked, waving in the wind. He is tall and strong for his age, and
brown as a berry--not only from the sun, but by nature.

"Yes, they'll say I'm only a boy, that's sure," he continued; "so I must
have my wits about me if I want to get a chance."

Two large parties of armed men Benito saw land on Ginger Key, and saw
neighbors of his pilot them across to Cuba, dodging the Spanish
cruisers. Then a third party came and went into camp, while the schooner
_Dart_ cruised up and down in the Florida straits. This last party staid
so long that something seemed to be wrong, and Benito made up his mind
that he might be useful; at any rate, he would try. He said little, but
learned all he could, and when the opportunity came he went to the
leader of the party.

"You don't get away very fast," he said to the leader, taking care to
speak in a low voice. "It's ticklish work, landing men near Sagua la
Grande. That's well watched."

The man looked at him curiously, surprised that this boy should know so
much about his arrangements.

"Yes," he answered, "that is well watched. _El Rey_, the big Spanish
cruiser, patrols that coast day and night."

"I think I could draw her off long enough for you to land your men,"
Benito whispered.

"You?" the man exclaimed; "why, you are only a boy!" It was just as
Benito expected.

He went on to unfold the plan he had made; and it was a plan so full of
daring and danger that the man opened his eyes wide.

"Well," said he, "you're full of grit, if you _are_ only a boy. But you
are very young, and I don't know anything about you. I don't even know
whether you could make your way over to Cuba. You run over there alone
and bring me some token to show that you've been there, and then I will
talk to you."

"That's easy," Benito answered. "What shall I bring you?"

The man thought a moment. "Bring me a bunch of red bananas," he
answered. "They are plenty in Cuba, but you raise only yellow ones on
this key. If you bring me a bunch of red bananas, I will know that you
have been in Cuba."

Forty-eight hours later Benito laid a bunch of red bananas in the
leader's tent, and gave him some valuable information about the
movements of the cruiser.

"I think you'll do," said the man. "You are not all talk and no action,
like some of these fellows. If you can draw the cruiser off and keep her
out of our way for two hours, you are worthy to call yourself a Cuban."

"Very good," Benito answered. "I will try."

They talked over the details of the plan, and agreed that they must wait
for a pitch-dark night and a brisk wind. On the morning that Benito
scraped his boat, there was every promise of such a night. There would
be no moon, the sky was overcast, and a lively breeze came in from the
southeast.

Seventy-five men and a great many cases of rifles were on board the
schooner _Dart_, at five o'clock that afternoon, the hour agreed upon
for sailing to make sure of reaching Sagua la Grande by midnight; and
the sharpie _Villa Clara_ seemed impatient for Benito to hoist her
sails.

"We will give you a line and tow you over," said the leader.

"Oh, I guess you don't know the _Villa Clara_," Benito answered. "I
think she will show the schooner the way."

"One thing I must ask you," were the leader's last words before he went
on board the schooner--"do your father and mother know what danger you
are going into to-night?"

"I have no father or mother," Benito replied, sadly; "so if I don't come
back it will not make much difference."

None knew better than he the risk he was taking. The cruiser would blow
him out of the water if she could; and if any of them were captured,
they would either be shot or be sentenced by the Spaniards to long terms
of imprisonment.

The night was all they could ask, and just what they had waited for. No
moon, the sky full of black clouds to obscure the stars, and half a gale
blowing from the southeast. Benito was willing to risk his life on the
sharpie being a faster boat than the Spanish cruiser on such a night.

Neither schooner nor sharpie showed a light; and if Benito had been
captured on the way over his captors would have been astonished at the
cargo he carried. In the bottom of his boat were a dozen boards, each
two feet long by a foot wide, with a shallow tin can nailed to the
middle of each board. And there were four canisters of colored fire--one
red, one yellow, one green, and one white. And there were several yards
of fuse, and a box of sand. The colored fire and the fuse Benito had
bought when he visited Cuba for the bananas.

"The schooner is to lie to as soon as we sight the lights on the Cuban
coast," was the arrangement Benito made with the leader. "After I find
the cruiser you will see her lights moving; but she will be nearer to me
than to you. I will give you a white light when all is safe. When I burn
a white light you can land your men."

The sharpie and the schooner kept well together till they were near the
coast of Cuba, and they saw the lights of Sagua la Grande before ten
o'clock. This was so much earlier than they had expected that it made
some difference in Benito's plans. By midnight the cruiser, following
her usual course, should be somewhere off Cardenas; but instead of that
they saw her lights directly in front of the spot where they proposed to
land the men.

"So much the better," said Benito, when he boarded the schooner for a
moment before setting his dangerous plot in motion. "I will coax her
down to the eastward."

The leader of the party gave him a warm grip of the hand before they
parted.

"You are a brave lad," said he. "When you are under the cruiser's fire,
remember that it is in the cause of freedom."

"Oh, I don't think they can hit me," Benito answered; "and I am sure
they can't catch me." And he was off.

The schooner and the sharpie had this great advantage; they could see
the cruiser's lights, but she could not see them.

Benito beat down the coast till he was about five miles to the eastward
of the cruiser, and several miles from the shore. Then he took up one of
his boards with the shallow tin can nailed to it.

He poured sand into the can till it was about two-thirds full, and then
put in a good inch of red fire. Through a little hole that he had
punched in the side of the can he inserted the end of a full half-yard
of fuse, and wound it round and round the can, and tied it with a cord
to keep it out of the water. Cautiously he struck a match under the
stern seat and touched it to the fuse, and laid the board on the surface
of the water and left it floating there.

This done, he headed the sharpie for shore. The long fuse was used
because he desired to be close under the shore before the red fire
burned. The southeast wind was just right for him, and the sharpie
fairly flew through the water. He was close enough in, and was pouring
sand into the second can fastened to a board, when the red light blazed
up.

What a glare it made! Certainly that lurid light must be visible for
twenty miles.

It was green fire that Benito poured into his second can, and for this
he used a much shorter fuse--just long enough to give him time to
escape from the circle of light that was sure to follow. The red fire
had hardly died out before the green fire blazed up, but by that time
Benito was half a mile away.

"That will stir them up," he said to himself. The sharpie was making a
long run to the northeast then, seaward and away from the cruiser; but
he kept an eye on her lights. "It's plain enough what that means. First
the red light, a signal from a party about to land; then the green
light, an answering signal from their friends on shore. At least that's
what I want the cruiser to think, and I believe she will; and she'll
hunt those lights."

"Ah!" he exclaimed, a moment later, "the cruiser has seen the lights,
for she's moving. I've started her, sure. Now the excitement begins."

The cruiser's lights grew larger and larger. She was standing down the
coast, almost straight toward the green light, which still burned. She
ran up within a half-mile of it, and fire belched from one of her
turrets.

C-r-a-s-h! crash! Not one great boom, but a continuous roar.

"That's her Gatling!" Benito exclaimed. "Lucky I didn't burn my lights
on the boat, as I thought of doing."

Spain's cruisers are as modern as our American vessels, and fitted with
every deadly appliance. The one thing that _El Rey_ lacks is a
search-light; if she had carried a search-light that night Benito would
not be alive to tell this story.

The green light disappeared under the shower of bullets, and the cruiser
kept on her course. That was against the wind, and the sharpie could not
compete with steam against the wind; but Benito was heading out seaward,
off to the northeast, further and further away from the schooner.

When he was full three miles out from shore again, and perhaps eight
miles from the _Dart_, he set off another red light, giving it, as
before, a long fuse. He was hardly fifty feet away from it when there
came another crash from the cruiser--a deep boom this time from one of
her heavy guns, followed by a shower of bullets from the Gatling; he
heard them whistling and shrieking through the air, but he was not
struck. The red light had not even begun to burn yet; the cruiser's
watchful men had seen the spark burning at the end of the fuse.

"All right, Spaniard!" Benito exclaimed. He had never been under fire
before, and his lips were set firm, and his free hand involuntarily
closed into a tight fist. "All right, Spaniard! I've got you waked up,
anyhow. You're chasing a party of insurgents, ain't you! I wish I dared
tell you that you're chasing a boy, while the insurgents are getting
ready to land ten miles up the coast!"

He stood in for the shore again, still beating to the eastward as close
as the wind would allow; and when the fuse's spark blazed up into a
bright red light the cruiser was heading towards it.

"A little careful about showing this light; that's what I'll have to be;
a little careful," he said to himself, as he struck a match to set off
his second green light close to shore. He kept the sharpie between the
spark of fuse and the cutter's lights as long as he could to hide the
fire, and then stood out seaward to the northeast again.

As the green light blazed up he turned his head a moment to look at it,
and in that instant a strange thing happened. When he looked towards the
cruiser again she had disappeared! Save for the green fire burning there
was not a spark of light on all that black sea.

"I thought she'd do that!" Benito exclaimed. "She's trying my own game,
and has put out all her lights. Well, I'll give her a white light in a
few minutes, and that will be something new for her to think about."

He was still running out seaward and eastward, and the sharpie was
bending down to her work, and cutting the waves like a knife, when
suddenly he heard the throbbing of an engine and the splash of a
propeller. Before he had time to think a great black wall of iron,
looming twenty feet above his head, was right on top of him.

The cruiser was accidentally running him down in the darkness! He could
see nothing on the water, but there was light enough in the sky to make
out her great black form towering over him. His first impulse was to cry
out; but he shut his teeth tight and waited for the blow.

But the blow did not come. The next instant the black mass was shooting
past him, her iron side hardly six feet from the sharpie's stern.

"Good sharpie! Good old girl!" he exclaimed; and in the excitement he
patted the boat on the gunwale. "If you hadn't been a flier, we'd been
goners that time."

Benito's heart was in his throat for a few minutes; he would not pretend
to deny that. But no wonder, for no boat ever had a narrower escape. He
ran out several miles more and burned his white light, which said to the
schooner:

"Land your men! I have the cruiser busy." And then he ran out five miles
further to the northeast and burned another red light.

"That's an extra touch, that last red light," he said to himself. "They
gave me a close rub, so I'll just mix them up a little worse."

Then he put the sharpie about, and headed her for Ginger Key. He had
risked his little all--his life and his boat--in the cause of his
country, and his night's work was done. With the wind on his starboard
quarter he knew that no cruiser in Cuban waters could overtake him.
Before he had gone far he saw lights on the cruiser again, and they
showed her to be nearly where he had burned the white fire, fully ten
miles from the schooner. And by that time the men were all on shore.

Next day Benito was on Ginger Key as usual; but it was not till nearly a
month later that a passing schooner carried to the key a letter with an
Havana postmark, addressed to Benito Bastian. The letter was only a few
lines, without any signature; but it enclosed a Spanish draft for two
hundred dollars.

"We landed safely, and are with friends," the letter said. "We have made
up this little testimonial for a brave boy we know."




FOR KING OR COUNTRY.[1]

A Story of the Revolution.

BY JAMES BARNES.

CHAPTER IV.

IN OLD NEW YORK--A GREAT DEPARTURE.

[1] Begun in HARPER'S ROUND TABLE No. 836.


The next morning Cato was sent over to the Hewes' mansion with a note
signed by both the twins, and addressed to Carter. It requested him to
come to Stanham Manor and spend the day, and plans were laid to have a
glorious time.

But what was their disappointment when Cato brought back the news that
their new-found friend and old-time enemy had left that very morning
with his father for New York.

The twins were much cast down, but there was soon to be a greater burden
on their minds, for after luncheon they had been told that a parting
would shortly take place between them, and that Mr. Daniel Frothingham
was going to take William back with him to England.

For some reason Uncle Nathan had a marked partiality for William, but he
was the last person in the world to have held a preference in this
regard, as it was absolutely impossible for Uncle Nathan to tell the
twins apart.

The boys had listened to the news of the coming separation in dignified
silence, and as soon as possible they had made their way back to the
garden behind the house. Their feelings at first were too deep for
words.

"I will not go, unless you go too," said the elder boy at last, seating
himself on the edge of a grass-plot. He had hard work to keep from
crying.

"You said you wanted to go to England," said George. "You have talked
about it often."

"Well, it's not fair," said William. "Why should he choose me?"

"It may not be for long," answered George. "You'll come back--or
probably I can go over there to see you."

"And we may be able to get into the army," said William, trying to be
cheerful.

George sat down beside him. "I do wish I were leaving with you," he
said, choking back the tears, "but he refused to think of sending us
both. Aunt Clarissa asked him." He put his arm about his brother's
shoulders. "I'm going to be sent to town to school," he added.

"I tell you what let's do," said William. "Let's draw lots, and see which
one of us will go to London."

He broke a bundle of spears of grass and tore them off, some longer than
others. Then he rubbed two of them in his hands.

"I don't know which it is," he said; "but if you get the shorter one,
you go, and if you get the longer one, I go."

George drew at once. It was the shorter spear. So far as Uncle Nathan's
preference went, it counted for nothing with his nephews.

The departure that took place the following week was an affair of the
greatest moment. Although the young Frothinghams did not know it at the
time, it was a long farewell they were taking of Stanham Mills.

Good-byes were said at last, and, to tell the truth, tears were shed in
plenty as they parted from their sister.

The twins' belongings were packed into small boxes, then the old chaise
was harnessed up, and seated beside their Uncle Daniel, and followed by
Nathaniel Frothingham and Cato on horseback, they set out to make the
long journey to the city. Mr. Wyeth had started the previous afternoon.

The young Frothinghams had been to New York only once before, when they
were very small indeed, and their recollections of the first visit were
somewhat vague.

It was long after dusk when the little party arrived at their
destination. They had been rowed across the river from Paulus Hook, and
went with their uncle at once to a tavern which in the days of Dutch
supremacy had been one of New York's most aristocratic dwelling-houses.
Now it was the rendezvous for merchants of Tory principles and army
officers. Young, befrilled, and powdered dandies who aped the manners of
the Continent hero exchanged their pinches of snuff with as much
gallantry and courtesy as if they had met at the palace of St. James.

The Stanham party had been driven from the ferry in a rough lumbering
affair--half coach, half omnibus--and had been deposited with their
small box and the saddle-bags at the door of the tavern.

As they had gone down the hallway they caught a glimpse, through the
open door on the right, of a group of men in red coats, with much
glitter of gold lace and many buttons, who could be seen through the
thick clouds of tobacco smoke seated about a large steaming punch-bowl
on a great oak table. They were some of the officers of his Majesty's
forces that had been sent to "protect" the inhabitants of his "thankless
colonies."

Everything was new to the boys--the sound of the many voices, the
snatches of songs and choruses that now and then came up from the
coffee-room, the jingle of spurs and sabres as a party of troopers made
their way across the stone flagging of the court. In all directions were
delights, and in their little room they could hardly sleep from
excitement that first night.

Early in the morning they looked out of the window, still thrilled with
the pleasure that all young natures feel at being amidst new
surroundings. It was a beautiful day, and the wind blowing from the
southward was filled with the fresh smell of the sea. Their room was
high up, and they could look over the sloping roofs and house-tops
across the river and out into the bay, where two or three huge
men-of-war lay straining at their anchors.

"Isn't it fine!" exclaimed William, as they knelt on the floor with both
elbows on the window-sill, drawing short breaths with gasps of sheer
delight.

At the end of the street was a small green, and here a company of
infantry was drilling. They could catch the glint of the sunlight upon
the muskets, and almost hear the energetic words of the young officer,
who strode up and down the front.

"Oh, to be a soldier!" said William.

"Wouldn't it be grand?" said George, the martial spirit that animates
almost every boy welling up in him so strongly that he quivered from the
top of his head to the soles of his bare feet.

Just then a two-horse equipage was seen coming down the street, with the
dust flying up from the great red wheels. In it sat a man, richly
dressed, with his three-cornered hat set sideways over his powdered
hair, his chin resting on his hands, which were supported by a
gold-headed cane, and a sneer was upon the cruel lips.

It was Governor Tryon, who had put down the so-called "rebellion" in the
Carolinas, and for his "fidelity" in hanging several people who strongly
expressed their views had been honored by the post of being his
Majesty's representative, the Governor at New York.

The boys were craning their necks to get a good view of the red-wheeled
coach, when suddenly there was a knock on the door. It was old Cato.

"Come on, young gentlemen," he said. "Hurry on yo' close; yo' uncles is
waitin' breakfast down below stairs."

They jumped up, and in a few minutes were both arrayed in the quaint
costumes in which we first saw them. True, the pink breeches, despite
Aunt Polly's careful ironing, showed traces of the plunge into the
brook, and the buttons on the heavy velvet coats were not all mates; but
Aunt Clarissa had sacrificed some of her treasures, and the lace
trimmings were fresh and clean.

"I wish we had swords," said George, thinking of the glimpse of a young
periwigged dandy he had seen talking to some ladies in the tavern parlor
the night before.

The two uncles greeted the twins quite cheerfully. The ship that was
going to take Uncle Daniel back to England was to sail early on the
morrow, and he appeared glad indeed at the prospect of leaving America
behind him. As the boys sat down, Mr. Wyeth came up and joined the
party.

"Well, my young gentlemen," he said, bowing over the back of his chair,
"we're glad to see you in the city; and what do you think of it?" he
inquired.

"It's very fine," ventured George, but then he could say no more. He
grasped his brother's hand underneath the table. He could not speak of
the prospect of leaving William then, for, of course, no one else knew
that the twins had decided in their own way which one was to go with
Uncle Daniel.

A party of officers in all the bravery of their red coats and glittering
accoutrements came laughing through the doorway. They hardly
acknowledged Mr. Wyeth's salute, and seated themselves at a table,
thumping loudly with their fists, and calling for the waiter.

The twins looked at them in wide-eyed admiration.

"This is a loyal house," said Mr. Wyeth, with a sigh of pleasure. "But I
do assure you, sir," addressing Uncle Daniel, "that there are other
taverns in the town where seditious speeches are made openly, and where
men gather whose conduct and whose thoughts approach almost to open
rebellion." He lowered his voice. "The merchants here have followed the
pernicious example of the misguided Bostonians, and have refused to
import English goods. If this keeps up, ruin to the country must follow.
Secret societies have been formed, and their abominable proclamations
can be seen posted on almost every corner. They say England has no right
to impose a tax of any kind."

Uncle Nathan frowned, but he restrained his tendency to burst into rage.
"There are the gentlemen who can take care of the rebels," he said,
nodding towards the group of officers. "The prisons should be filled
with malcontents, who dare to dispute the authority of the King." Uncle
Nathan had calmed himself with an extreme effort.

After breakfast the boys set out for a stroll, and made their way down
to the Battery. As they turned into the little park whom should they see
but Carter Hewes leaning against a big stone post, and watching the
waters lapping against the sea-wall.

"Carter!" they both shouted, running forward, and some breathless
greetings were exchanged.

"What brings you here?" said one of the twins at last, after they had
explained their own presence and their mission.

"I came with my father," said Carter. Then he lowered his voice. "He is
here on business, you see."

Just then what Carter was going to say was drowned by the sudden rolling
of a drum, and down Broadway, into which the boys had turned, came a
company of English foot.

"Don't they look splendid?" said William, keeping time to the throbbing
of the music.

Carter looked at them sullenly. "They may have a chance to lose some of
their finery soon," he said. "I wish they were at the bottom of the sea.
If some people were not blind they would have been sent back
before--back where they came from!"

"But the King," said William, pointing to the small bronze statue of
George III. on horseback, that was in the little circle on the near-by
Bowling Green.

"Confound the King!" said Carter. "He's the blindest of them all."

This expression must be pardoned on account of Carter's youth. Probably
even his hot-headed father would not have used it in such a public place
at least.

The twins gasped and stepped back slowly from him. "You are a rebel,
then!" they both said, and, turning, they walked away, without looking
over their shoulders.

Carter remained standing where he was. He saw he had offended the loyal
young Frothinghams beyond manner of expression, and he wished that he
could take back his words, now that it was too late.

But the twins walked silently along; they felt each other's minds so
well that speech was not needed. However, when they had gone some
distance up Broadway they stopped for a moment before a house where some
troops were quartered, for a drum rested on the doorstep.

A tall soldier stepped outside of the house. He was putting pipeclay on
his white cross-belts, and smoking some villanous tobacco, which caused
him to hold his head to one side to keep the smoke from getting in his
eyes. He was humming a bit of song as he worked, and suddenly glancing
down, his eye caught the boys watching him.

"Git out, ye little Yankee rebels!" he said, and launched a kick in
their direction--"git out of this."

"We are not 'Yankee rebels,'" said the younger, drawing himself up
proudly.

"We are loyal subjects of his Majesty King George," said William, "and
you have no right to talk to any one like that, no matter who they are!"

The man paused and took the pipe out of his mouth. "Tare and ages!" he
said, "an' you're loyal subjects of the King, in troth?"

"We would fight for him," said William.

"Hear the bhoys!" said the man. Then he called back through the doorway,
"Shaughnessy," said he, "come out here quick; here are two recruities
fer ye!"

Another tall man with sergeant's chevrons on his sleeves came to the
doorway. The powder from his hair was still about his shoulders, and he
was binding his queue with a black cord, holding the end of it in his
mouth, and twisting the cord around and around until he deftly tied it
with a jerk. Then he spoke over his companion's shoulders.

"Would yez enlist?" he said.

"If we were old enough," said William.

"Ah, they're brave lads," said the first speaker. "If there was more
like thim I could go back to my Katherine at Bally Connor, and now we'll
be kipt here until the saints only know whin, and probably will have to
fight out in the howlin' wilderness."

"Come down and see us, bhoys," broke in the second speaker. Then he
whispered, "Bring some of yer father's terbaccy, or a paper o' snuff.
How's that, Gineral McCune?"

"Or a bottle of somethin' warmin'," suggested the other one.

The twins were too much depressed by the result of their meeting with
Carter to appear amused. They simply turned and walked away, and after a
stroll of an hour or so they arrived at Smith's Tavern again.

The hours passed quickly. At next sunrise the boys were dressing in
their little room at the top of the house. William handed a coat to
George. It was the one Aunt Clarissa had prepared for the journey.

Generally the old lady had endeavored to make some slight differences in
the boys' garments, which was not noticeable at first glance, but was
helpful in distinguishing them, provided each wore his own apparel.

George put on William's coat, but paused, with his arm half-way in the
sleeve. "No, William, you ought to go," he said.

"Pray, it's settled," replied his brother. "When they find it out
perhaps they will send me too."

"How about the scar?" said George, reading his brother's thoughts.

William made a sudden movement and extended his arm. Across the back of
his left hand ran a large scar. He had hurt it years ago while playing
with a sickle out at Stanham Mills. It showed quite plainly in a good
strong light.

"Perhaps you had better go, after all," said George.

"Not a single step," replied his brother. "You know we never change when
we once have drawn lots. I can keep my hand hidden easily enough.
Besides, they have not thought of looking for a long time now."

This decided it, and with the exchange of coats the boys exchanged their
names, as they had done on various occasions before.

All was bustle and confusion at the wharf where the _Abel Trader_ lay.

Cato stood by trying hard to smile, but the tears were running down his
cheeks and dropping from the point of his grizzled chin.

The tide and wind were ripe to swing the vessel out from shore; the last
good-byes had been said. George was standing by Uncle Daniel on the
deck. For some few minutes the twins had not been able to speak a word,
for they would have cried hysterically, and they knew it well enough.

Suddenly William drew his hand across his eyes; Uncle Nathan started.
There was the red scar!

The gang-plank was being drawn, and the old man staggered. "Stop there a
minute!" he shouted, before the last cable was thrown off. "Stop there,
I say!"

He rushed up the swaying plank to the deck, holding William by the arm,
and fairly dragging him after him.

"You little villains!" he exclaimed, hoarsely, as he pushed up to where
his brother Daniel and George were standing near the taffrail. He
exchanged the boys much as one person would take one article in place of
another, and did not even have time to reply to Uncle Daniel's
astonished exclamation, but holding George as if he were afraid he would
soar into the air, and with a grasp that made the boy wince with pain,
he muttered beneath his breath, and fairly had to make a jump for it to
regain the dock.

Once there, Uncle Nathan began to shake the boy so fiercely that his
head almost flew off his shoulders.

The little brig swung slowly out, and her blocks grated as her yards
were braced around. Then her jibs clattered up the forestays and she
caught the wind.

Strange to say, if it had not been for Uncle Nathan's action on this day
this story might never have been written.


CHAPTER V.

A BURST OF FLAME.

It was a rainy April day in New York. Three years had passed since the
events of the last chapter. Promises of spring were to be seen on every
hand. A few warm days had already started the leaf buds along the Bowery
Lane; even a few blossoms had begun to show in the shrubbery in Ranleigh
Gardens.

But the feeling of uneasiness in the colonies, due to the continued
oppressions of Great Britain, was soon to be broken by a burst of flame.

New York was yet the most loyal city that the King held in America, but
much indignation had been shown at the actions of the crown that were
directed against Boston, and the latter city was on the verge of
rebellion. Except for the excitement of the days when the long-expected
tea was attempted to be landed in New York in April, when Captain
Lockyer had returned to England with the tea-ships, their cargoes all
intact, the year of '74 had passed without happenings of much moment.

But now it was the momentous year of '75, and many things had
changed--changes in some respects hard to believe.

Poring over the books in a dingy shipping-office in a narrow side street
off Mill Lane leaned a tall figure. Two years of this same kind of work
had not impaired George's health in the least. Although now only
sixteen, he looked years older, for he was tall and wonderfully
developed, and the grave manner of speech and that strange dignity which
the young Frothinghams possessed had not left him. From some ancestor
the twins must have inherited immense natural strength, for George was
as strong almost as the biggest porter in Mr. Wyeth's employ.

His clothes were neat, but were devoid of any attempt at lace or
ornament. In fact, young Frothingham had quite a struggle at present to
get along. His aunt sent him a little money from the proceeds of the
grist-mill, for mining had now wholly ceased at Stanham Mills. This,
with the pittance that Mr. Wyeth paid him for his services, had enabled
him to secure a small room in the house of a good old Irish woman named
Mrs. Mack, who washed clothes for the gentle folk.

Poor Uncle Nathan had been dead now two years or more, and George had
been taken from school at a Mr. Anderson's, and placed in Mr. Wyeth's
office.

Mr. Wyeth and George had grown apart in the last year. The latter always
did his duty, but could not stand the tirades of the virulent Tory
against a cause to which the boy now felt himself firmly united, for
George, even against his will and inclination, had become converted to
the side taken by the Sons of Liberty. Mr. Wyeth, over a year before
this rainy April morning, had found that George had, as he expressed it,
"gone entirely wrong," and after seeing remonstrance would be in vain,
had ignored him altogether. If it were not for what he owed Uncle Daniel
in London he would have discharged him from his service.

This would not have mattered much. But there was one sorrow that cut the
younger Frothingham deeper and deeper every day. It was the tone of his
brother's letters from England. Since the day upon the dock they had not
seen each other. Long letters, however, passed between them every month.

So strongly had William felt upon the matter, and so frequently had he
expressed himself angrily at the course of popular thought and action in
the colonies, that George could never bring himself to take up the other
side in his correspondence. There had never been a difference of opinion
between them in their lives. So he had from the first ignored the
question in his letters to his brother.

If, however, the trouble should blow over, and wise counsels prevail in
England, at some future time, when everything was once more tranquil, he
could confess all. England even at this late moment could have recalled
the colonies to her standard.

In the mean time, no one, not even Mr. Wyeth or his fellow clerks, knew
that George was attached to a secret society, whose members were pledged
to give their lives to "opposing tyranny."

George was not the only lad whose smooth face was innocent of a razor,
but whose strong young frame and true heart were both at the service of
his country.

Through the window-panes of Mr. Wyeth's office, on the second floor,
could be seen the dripping streets and the rain pouring down from the
gables of the houses.

George paused, with his finger marking the place in a column of figures,
and looked out. He saw Mr. Wyeth coming towards the office, and as soon
as he had entered, the merchant came through the large store-room and
approached George's desk.

"Master Frothingham," he said, "will you come to my house to-morrow
morning? I am desirous of having people in my employ meet some gentlemen
who will be there present."

George accepted the invitation gravely, and the events of the next day
were to have a tremendous influence on his life.

The morrow dawned clear and bright. It was Sunday, the twenty-second of
the month. Clouds, however, were banking all around, and shortly after
the breakfast hour it was portending rain.

George walked to his employer's house. Several of his fellow clerks
waited in the hall. Mr. Wyeth was in consultation in his library with
one or two influential men of well-known royalist principles. One of
them was Rivington the Tory, printer to his Majesty, and another was Mr.
Anderson, George's former schoolmaster, now secretary to the hated
Governor Tryon.

The bells had commenced ringing for church, and people could be seen
walking along the streets with their prayer-books under one arm and
unwieldy umbrellas under the other.

"We are going to receive a lecture on loyalty to the crown," whispered
one of the clerks.

"I do not think we are in need of it, Master Frothingham," said another.
"Trust us for that."

The speaker was a loose-jointed youth, with pale fishy eyes, whom George
disliked extremely. So he did not reply, but walked to the doorway and
gazed out through the little strip of lozenge-shaped windows. It had
commenced to rain, and the big drops were hopping up from the doorstep.

The street joined the Bowery Lane; the ground sloped slightly, and at
the top of the incline the lad saw a crowd was gathering. Some people
bareheaded, others with umbrellas, were swarming out from the houses and
thronging at the corner. The church-going crowds had halted.

There was a man on horseback there, who waved his hand excitedly as he
talked. News had evidently come from Boston, and all ran to the window.
What could it mean? Just then some one laughed. Flying down the hill
came Abel Norton, the chief clerk. He was plashing the mud to right and
left, and holding his hat on with both hands as he ran along, heading
direct for Mr. Wyeth's.

"Abel's got the news," said some one. "There's no use going out; we'll
hear it all." They laughed again.

The old man burst breathlessly through the door, and at that moment a
cheer came from the crowd outside. The people did not seem to mind the
rain in the least. Hats were thrown into the air, then the gathering
dispersed in different directions, and the corner was deserted.

Abel stood leaning against the tall clock in the hallway, trying to
catch his breath.

"Where's Mr. Wyeth?" he said.

The latter, hearing the disturbance, had pushed himself out of the great
leather chair in his library, and had stepped to the door.

"Did any one call my name?" he asked; then catching sight of Abel's
dripping figure, "Well, sir," he said, "what means this, prithee?"

"It means," said Abel, "that there has been a battle near Boston. It
means that war is on."

"Another Tea Party, I presume," said Mr. Wyeth, taking a pinch of snuff
calmly, and dusting his shirt frill with a stroke of his fingers.

"No, sir," exclaimed the chief clerk. "His Majesty's troops have been
defeated, and driven, with great slaughter, back from Concord and
Lexington to the protection of the city. The rebels are organized, well
drilled and armed."

"Hurrah!" said a voice quite audibly.

Everybody started back in consternation; Mr. Wyeth dropped his snuff-box
with a jingle.

"Who said that?" he asked, his face turning a shade redder.

George stepped forward. He was pale, and his hands were gripped strongly
together behind his back.

[Illustration: "THE TIME HAS COME," HE SAID, LOOKING MR. WYETH IN THE
EYE.]

"The time has come," he said, looking Mr. Wyeth in the eye--"the time to
decide. I did so long ago. The voice of liberty has spoken."

There was a murmur of assent or disagreement--it was hard to tell
which--from the group of clerks.

One of the porters who stood in the doorway with folded arms exclaimed,
beneath his breath, so no one heard him, "Thank God!"

Mr. Wyeth stepped forward. "I had suspected quite as much," he said.
"You disgrace your name, sir. Leave my presence and eke my employment.
Instanter, sir."

George walked down the hall. When he reached the door, he turned and
bowed.

"Hold!" exclaimed Mr. Wyeth. "There is a letter here from your brother
in England. Let us trust that he is more loyal to his country's
interests and to his King. Let us trust that there is only one of your
family name who does not know his duty."

He extended a letter which had arrived by a packet the previous
afternoon. George took it and silently walked out into the rain.

The porter Thomas followed him and half closed the door behind him. "I
thank you, Mr. Frothingham," he said, "for the words you spoke. We'll
drive the 'Lobster Backs' into the ships, and turn 'em all adrift--eh,
sir, will we not?"

The two grasped hands without a word, and George, stepping into the
shelter of a big elm, broke the seal of the letter.

It was from William. It beseeched him to stand by the side of the "loyal
men and true, who uphold the crown." It expressed sorrow at hearing
through Mr. Wyeth that he had been seen at least on friendly terms with
"traitors and arch conspirators." His brother prayed him to remember all
their early talks, and exhorted that his first thought be of the King.

"If you cannot answer me," went on the letter, "in a way I hope you
will, I shall understand your silence; but remember it is for the--"

George glanced at the last word, crumpled the letter in his hands, and
then tore it into small pieces that floated out into the rainy gutter.

"My country has no King now," he said, and looking out through the rain
and through his tears it seemed to him that the world was turned upside
down. He drew his hand across his forehead wearily, and drawing his
cloak about him like an old man, strode down the street.

Suddenly the idea of the "Redcoats" running before the farmers at
Lexington came into his mind's eye. He quickened his steps and threw
back his shoulders once again, and as he turned about the corner he ran
into some one hastening in the opposite direction. He looked closely at
the thick-set, muscular figure.

"Carter Hewes!" he exclaimed.

"Well met, indeed," replied the other, "What think you of the news?"

"Glorious!" said George.

"We will have it all about here soon," said Carter. "You are with us?"

"I am, with all my heart," replied young Frothingham, "to the very end."
The two lads shook hands for full a minute.

"Listen! Listen!" said Carter, suddenly. "The bells!--the bells have it,
and I would that the King in England could hear them ringing."

"I would better that my brother William were here and listening with
us," returned George.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]




A NEW LIFE.

BY FLORENCE HALLOWELL HOYT.

(_In Three Instalments_).

CHAPTER I.


"Ain't it about time for the stage, Cynthy?"

"Why, no, Aunt Patty! Just look at the clock; it's only half past four.
The stage doesn't leave the station until five."

"This day's seemed dreadful long, somehow."

"That's because we are expecting Ida," said Cynthia, who was patching a
sheet by the light of a west window. "And I suppose the day has seemed
long to her, too."

"Yes, poor child, travellin' since ten o'clock this mornin'," said Aunt
Patty. "I guess she'll relish our cold chicken 'n' orange marmalade,
Cynthy."

"I wonder if she's changed much?" Cynthia put down her work and looked
meditatively from the window. "Six years is a long time, Aunt Patty."

"Yes, Ida's a young lady now, dearie," Aunt Patty sighed. "And she's
lived so different from what we have, Cynthy. We mustn't expect her to
fall into our ways right away. She'll have to learn to love us all over
again, you see."

Cynthia turned a tender glance upon the little plainly dressed old woman
sitting in the open doorway sewing carpet rags.

[Illustration: "SHE WON'T HAVE ANY TROUBLE LEARNING TO LOVE YOU."]

"She won't have any trouble learning to love you, Aunt Patty," she said.
"Just think what we owe to you! Neither of us can ever forget for a
moment all you've done for us."

"I haven't done anything but what was my duty, child. When your poor
mother died, there wasn't any one but me to take you 'n' Ida; but I've
never been able to do for you as I'd like."

"You've done more than one person out of a thousand would have done!"
and Cynthia threw down the sheet, crossed the room, and put both arms
around the old woman's neck. "Aunt Stina Chase could have taken us. She
was rich even then, and could have borne the burden of our support
better than you. But she didn't even consider it, and she never did
anything for us until she took Ida. And you know it was only because Ida
was so pretty that she wanted her. Now that she is going to Europe, she
sends Ida back without even consulting you about it."

"Well, dearie, we're glad enough to take her back, I'm sure. She'll be
company for us both these long summer days. And we oughtn't to expect
Aunt Stina to take her to Europe. I guess it's pretty expensive livin'
in those foreign places."

"I only hope Ida didn't want to go," rejoined Cynthia, returning to her
seat by the window. "She'll find it very dull here, anyhow, I'm afraid,
after the gay times she's had in the city."

"Yes, poor child," said Aunt Patty, "and we mustn't feel put out if she
seems down-hearted just at first. I guess I'd better set about gettin'
supper, Cynthy; it's strikin' five."

"Very well; and I'll set the table," said Cynthia, beginning to fold the
sheet, "I'm going to put a big vase of flowers in the middle, and I'll
give Ida one of the best damask napkins, if you don't mind?"

"Do just as you like, child," said Aunt Patty.

They went into the big pleasant kitchen together. The setting sun filled
it with a golden glory; on the braided rug by the stove lay a big
Maltese cat, in the south window was a wire stand of plants, and in one
corner a tall eight-day clock with a moon on its face. Everything was
scrupulously clean and in perfect order. The floor was as white as soap
and sand could make it; the pans on the big dresser reflected everything
about them, and the stove shone with its coat of polish.

Cynthia sang as she moved about putting the dishes on the table. She was
of a happy contented disposition, and never grumbled at anything. She
loved her home, plain as it was; she didn't mind hard work, and her
simple pleasures satisfied her, though she had often longed for a peep
into the great busy world outside Brookville. She had sometimes envied
Ida, though she had never allowed Aunt Patty to suspect it, and had
wished that she might have shared with her sister the many advantages
afforded by city schools and teachers.

Aunt Stina Chase was her father's only sister, and had never known what
it was to be poor. She had married a rich man at a very early age, and
had been left a widow within a few years. She took her luxurious home,
her many servants, her carriage, and her diamonds as a matter of course.
But her easy, untroubled life had made her selfish, and when her brother
and his wife died within a few months of each other, leaving two little
girls to the mercy of the world, she had not thought it incumbent on her
to take the children. She had left that to Aunt Patty, who was only a
half-sister of the dead mother. But when, years after this, she heard
from an acquaintance that Ida, the elder of the two little girls, was
exceedingly pretty and attractive, a whim seized her to send for the
child.

Aunt Patty had thought it her duty to let Ida go, for Mrs. Chase
promised to have the girl instructed in music and the languages, and
there was no opportunity at the Brookville school for anything except
the plainest sort of an education.

So for six years Ida had made her home in the city, and her occasional
letters to Cynthia, who was a year her junior, gave evidence that she
was well satisfied with the change of homes.

It was Mrs. Chase who had written that Ida was about to return to
Brookville. It was apparently taken for granted that Aunt Patty would
welcome her gladly, and there was no hint about reclaiming her when the
European trip should be over.

Cynthia thought the letter cold and heartless, and her tender heart
ached for her sister. She wondered if Ida had not been cruelly hurt at
being so summarily disposed of when her presence was found inconvenient.
She wondered, too, how Ida would bear the change from luxury to a very
plain way of living, for Cynthia was quite conscious of the limitations
of her home, much as she loved it.

"There's the stage, now!" cried Aunt Patty, as the rumble of wheels and
the heavy trot of horses' hoofs were heard on the hard road which ran
before the house.

They both hurried out to the front gate. The stage had stopped in a
cloud of dust, and a tall, slender girl, fashionably attired in a dark
blue suit, and hat of rough straw trimmed with blue ribbons, was
descending from it.

The driver, assisted by another man, who had volunteered his help, was
engaged in taking down a large canvas-covered trunk, on one end of which
were the initials "I. S. W."


CHAPTER II.

[Illustration: "IDA, DEAR IDA!" SHE CRIED.]

Cynthia opened the gate and hastened out into the road. "Ida, dear Ida!"
she cried, and threw her arms about her sister. "We are so glad to have
you back," the tears rushing to her eyes.

"I suppose you're Cynthia," said Ida, withdrawing herself gently from
her sister's embrace. "I never would have known you in the world," her
gaze travelling critically over the small figure in the plain dark gown.
"Is that the maid at the gate? Ask her to come and take my satchel."

"The _maid_!" stammered Cynthia, with a startled look. "Oh, Ida! that's
Aunt Patty! Here, give me your satchel."

"Pray excuse my mistake," said Ida, in a low voice, as she relinquished
the satchel. "Remember, I was not eleven years of age when I left here,
and one so soon forgets faces."

Aunt Patty, fortunately, had not heard her niece's questions, and as Ida
approached the gate the old woman threw it open, her kindly face
beaming.

"You're most welcome, dear child," she said, with a kiss and a little
embrace. "But, dear me, how you've changed!"

"That was to be expected, of course," said Ida, as she followed her aunt
around the house to the kitchen porch. "I have been away more than six
years, you know, Aunt Patty. By-the-way," pausing at the corner of the
house, with a glance backward, "do you not use your front door?"

"Not for common," answered Aunt Patty. "I guess you've forgot our
Brookville ways. Folks here think it's more sociable to run in 'n' out
their kitchens."

"Ah! I had forgotten," said Ida. "We must show them something
different."

Cynthia now came close behind them, carrying the satchel. She had
stopped to hold open the gate for the two men, who followed her with the
trunk.

"We'd better lug it up stairs for ye, Cynthy," said the stage-driver.
"It's everlastin' heavy; chockful of gold, I guess," and he laughed,
good-naturedly.

"My books make it heavy," said Ida, in a dignified tone.

Cynthia opened the door leading from the kitchen into the hall, and
showed the men up stairs to the neat but barely furnished room her
sister was to occupy.

Ida followed, and, after the men had set the trunk down and gone away,
she turned to Cynthia with an expression on her young face which was
almost severe.

"Surely you don't allow that coarse common stage-driver to call you by
your Christian name?" she said.

"Who? Old Jake Storm!" Cynthia looked surprised. "Why, Ida, of course he
does! He has known me since I was two years old! He gave me a pair of
pigeons once."

"Because he has known you all your life is no reason why he should be
lacking in respect for you," rejoined Ida, still severe. "You are no
longer a child."

"He doesn't intend it for disrespect, Ida."

"Perhaps not; but he should be made to know his place. Is this to be my
room?"

"Yes, Aunt Patty and I thought you would like it better, perhaps, than
the one we had together before you went away. We did what we could
toward making it comfortable for you, and I do hope you'll like it."

She looked around the spacious chamber as she spoke. To her eyes it
looked very attractive, with its bright rag carpet, light pine
furniture, and fresh muslin curtains. There was a big crazy-work cushion
in the old rocker; a home-made rug of scarlet and black lay before the
bureau; and the blue glass vases on the high old-fashioned mantel were
full of fragrant June roses. Over the bureau hung a sample of the
needle-work for which Aunt Patty had been famous in her youth--a picture
in colored silks of a house on a hill-side, a few trees around it, and
several thick-waisted children in long pantalettes playing with an oddly
shaped black dog.

Ida glanced at the picture as she approached the bureau to lay upon it
her hat, which she had just taken off.

"The room is pleasant enough," she said, carelessly. "I can improve it
by the addition of a few unframed water-colors I brought with me--my own
work, of course. But this wall-paper is hideous," with a little shudder,
"and yet it looks fresh."

"Yes, it is new; Aunt Patty chose it," said Cynthia. "The old paper was
so ugly. We both thought you wouldn't like it. But this--why, it looks
pretty to me, though, of course, I do not pretend to any great artistic
taste."

"No, or you would hardly have left that atrocity over my bureau,"
rejoined Ida. "I believe I used to think it a work of art when I was a
child. Now it offends my eye. Take it down, Cynthia; I couldn't sleep
with it in the room."

Cynthia bit her lip; but she stepped up on a convenient chair and took
down the offending picture.

"There, that is better," said Ida. "And will you have the servant bring
me a pitcher of warm water? I must bathe some of this wretched dust from
my face."

"I will bring it," said Cynthia; "we don't keep a servant."

"No servant!" Ida stared at her sister. "Why, how in the world do you
ever get along without one?"

"We have a woman come to wash every Monday, and the rest of the work we
do ourselves."

"By preference?"

"No; we can't afford a servant, Ida. We have to economize very closely."

"I did not imagine your economy extended to doing without a servant. No
wonder your hands look so rough, Cynthia. And what an old-fashioned gown
you have on! Aunt Patty is your dressmaker, I suppose?"

"Yes," answered Cynthia, flushing with mortification and wounded
feeling. "What is wrong with this dress?"

"The sleeves are of a fashion of two years ago, and the skirt doesn't
hang well," was the immediate answer. "Well, I know something about
dress-making--Aunt Stina used to say I had a natural talent for it--and
I will soon put your wardrobe to rights."

"Thank you; I'll give you full liberty with it," said Cynthia. "I'd like
to look as much like you as possible, of course, though I'm plain and
you are pretty. Now I'll get you the hot water. We have supper at six."

"Supper? Oh, yes, of course; _dinner_ at noon, I presume." A scornful
little smile curled Ida's lip. "At Aunt Stina's we had lunch at two and
dinner at seven. But, of course, that can't be expected here. You're
forgetting that atrocious picture, Cynthia. You might as well take it
away now as later."

Cynthia took up the picture and went out, closing the door behind her.
She stood for a moment in the hall, staring down at the carpet; then
sighed, threw back her head after a little fashion she had when hurt or
annoyed, and then, going into her own room, just opposite the one given
to Ida, hung the despised picture on an unoccupied nail over her mantel.

"It won't keep _me_ awake," she muttered.


CHAPTER III.

"I think sometimes that I can't stand it another day, Cynthia. It makes
me miserable to sit at the table with her, and I have grown to fairly
dread meal-times. When she takes her soup she sucks it from the spoon;
she drinks her tea with long sips that set my nerves on edge. She drums
on the table with her fingers, wipes her mouth on a corner of the
table-cloth, and puts her fingers into the bowl of loaf-sugar. I
actually saw her once use her thumb to take a fly out of the bowl of
honey."

"Anything else?" asked Cynthia, dryly, her brown eyes looking very
steadily on her sister's face.

"Yes, dozens of other things. But what is the use of enumerating them?
It can't help matters. I only know that I have actually _suffered_ every
day of the two weeks I have been here," and Ida sighed heavily as she
resumed her sewing. She was making a dainty little fichu of chiffon and
some scraps of old lace. Aunt Patty had found the lace in an old chest
of odds and ends of the finery of her early youth, and had at once given
it all to Ida.

The two girls were alone in the pleasant sitting-room. Aunt Patty had
gone to call upon a sick neighbor, carrying a glass of her golden apple
jelly. She was not expected back until supper-time.

"You girls can have a nice, long, pleasant afternoon together," she said
on leaving.

But it didn't prove a pleasant afternoon to either Ida or Cynthia, for
as usual, when they were out of Aunt Patty's hearing, Ida began to talk
of the many things which made her present home unpleasant to her.

"No," said Cynthia, after a long pause, during which she had steadily
darned stockings; "talking can't help matters, and you'd better learn as
soon as you can to make the best of things, Ida. Aunt Patty is too old
now to be made over. It is a pity you could not have gone to Europe with
Aunt Stina."

"It was more than a pity, it was a shame," said Ida, flushing. "But
while I hoped she'd offer to take me, I did not expect it. Aunt Stina is
refined to the last degree, and has elegant manners, but she is not
generous. During the six years I was with her she kept scrupulously to
her bargain; she gave me a home, and paid my school bills--nothing
more."

"Never any presents?" asked Cynthia.

"Nothing, except finery and old clothes for which she had no further use
herself. It was pretty hard sometimes; there were so many things I
wanted. But I never hinted nor asked for any thing. In the first place,
I was too proud, and then I knew it would be useless. She never cared to
spend her money on any one except herself, and often complained bitterly
at having to pay such heavy school bills."

"It must have made you feel dreadfully," said Cynthia. "Now Aunt Patty
hasn't a stingy bone in her body."

"No; she's very generous," admitted Ida.

"You'd say that more heartily if you knew how she used to pinch and
contrive in order to send you a little extra money, Ida. She was always
making little plans for you, and was _so_ proud whenever you wrote that
you'd taken a prize."

"She has her good qualities, of course, Cynthia; I admit that. But I do
wish she understood a little about table etiquette. I don't wonder now
that Aunt Stina used to shrug her shoulders and smile whenever Aunt
Patty's name was mentioned. She often used to say that I didn't realize
from what a depth she had rescued me."

A little spark of indignation burned in Cynthia's brown eyes as she
looked up quietly.

"It was unkind of her to say that," she exclaimed. "And why was she
willing to send you back to such an uncivilized place?"

"Because she found it convenient to do so," answered Ida, coolly. "Self
first, always, with Aunt Stina."

"And it is _never_ self with Aunt Patty." Cynthia's tone was warm. "What
do her little peculiarities matter? If you made up your mind not to let
them annoy you, Ida, you would soon cease to notice them."

Ida shook her head and smiled incredulously. "They would always annoy
me," she said. "I pity you, Cynthia, for having had to live with her all
these years."

"You needn't; I have never pitied myself."

"Well, you are used to her, and of course that makes a great difference.
You probably don't notice things that drive me nearly wild."

"There you are mistaken, Ida. But when I think how Aunt Patty took us in
when we were troublesome little children, homeless and penniless, and
how many sacrifices she has made for us, I feel that I can't do enough
to show my love and gratitude. And I believe the day will come when you
will appreciate her just as I do, and be heartily sorry that you ever
allowed yourself to be ashamed of her, or to utter one word to her
discredit."

"Well, I declare, Cynthia, you have read me quite a lecture." Ida
laughed as she spoke. She did not seem at all offended. "You are a
quaint, old-fashioned little soul, Cynthia. I suppose you don't realize
it, though. I wonder if I would have been like you if Aunt Stina had
left me here?"

Tears stood thickly in Cynthia's eyes. She wiped them away with the
stocking she was darning. She could not trust herself to say another
word.

"Have I offended you by calling you quaint and old-fashioned?" asked
Ida. "Well, then, you must forgive me, Cynthia, for I didn't intend to
be unkind."

Cynthia, who loved her sister dearly in spite of her faults, could not
resist the kiss Ida laid lightly on her cheek. She smiled through her
tears. "I must try not to be so sensitive," she said. "Of course I know
I must strike you as peculiar; I'm so different from the other girls you
have known. That Angela Leverton, for instance, to whom you are always
writing."

"Oh, Angela is not perfection by any means," said Ida. "But she is very
refined, and nothing she does is ever out of taste. We were inseparable,
and I miss her dreadfully now."

"Why not have her come to spend a few weeks with us this summer?" asked
Cynthia. "I know Aunt Patty--" She stopped suddenly, then added, in a
changed tone: "But, of course, it wouldn't do; you'd be ashamed to have
her see how you're living now."

"No, I wouldn't care to have her come," said Ida, frankly. "She wouldn't
enjoy a visit of even a few days. What could I do to amuse her? Take her
to the store to get weighed, I suppose, and to the meetings of your
little Band of Hope Circle."

Cynthia laughed. "It isn't very gay here, that's a fact," she said.

Ida had finished the fichu, and was now trying its effect upon herself
before the little mirror between the two windows. Suddenly she gave a
little start. "There's Mrs. Lennox's carriage coming down the road," she
said. "Cynthia, I do believe it is going to stop here. Yes, it _has_
stopped, and Mrs. Lennox is getting out. Where shall we receive her?
That dreadfully stuffy parlor--"

"Go out and meet her on the front porch," said Cynthia. "She can sit
down there. It is you she wants to see, of course. If she asks for me,
you can let me know."

Ida was so graceful in her air of taking it as a matter of course that
Mrs. Lennox would prefer a seat on the vine-clad porch, that it did not
occur to that lady to wonder why she was not asked into the parlor.

Mrs. Lennox, moreover, was no stickler for ceremony. She was a gentle,
refined woman, whose heart was overflowing with good-will toward every
one. She found her greatest happiness in making others happy, and it was
with the object of contributing a little toward the pleasure of Mrs.
Patty Dean's two nieces that she had come to call upon them.

She lived in a handsome house, a mile from the village, and entertained
a great deal during the summer, spending the winter months in the South.

"I have noticed you at church," she said to Ida, "and I have been
intending every day to call upon you, but I have had a houseful of
company. You have been here about a fortnight, I think, and of course
you have had a very happy time with your dear aunt and sister; but I
hope you will not object to a little dissipation now, for I want you and
Cynthia to come to a lawn party I expect to give next Tuesday."

"How delightful! And how kind of you to think of us!" said Ida.

"Ah! but I need all the young girls I can muster, and I expect several
from town," rejoined Mrs. Lennox. "One of them, Angela Leverton, writes
me that she is a particular friend of yours."

"Angela! coming to Brookville!" exclaimed Ida. There was consternation
as well as surprise in her voice.

"Yes; she will make me a visit of a week or ten days. I expect her on
Saturday. Now can I depend on having you and Cynthia for my lawn party?"

"Yes, I--I think so," answered Ida, whose heart was beating very fast.
"It is so good of you to want us, Mrs. Lennox."

When, a few minutes later, Mrs. Lennox went away, Ida accompanied her to
the gate, and stood there after the carriage had disappeared from view.
She stared straight before her, a little frown on her smooth white brow.
She was trying to make up her mind to do something which her conscience,
that infallible monitor, told her was both mean and unkind. She started
and colored when Cynthia's voice fell suddenly on her ear.

"I thought you were never coming in, Ida," she said. "What did Mrs.
Lennox want?"

"She wanted to invite me to a garden party," answered Ida, without
looking at her sister. "But of course I can't go. I have nothing fit to
wear."

"Not go!" exclaimed Cynthia. "Oh, Ida, you _must_! It will be perfectly
delightful. She gave one last year, and had a band of music, fireworks,
refreshments served in tents, colored lanterns on the trees, and
everything else you can imagine. She told me all about it herself, when
she called one day soon after to see Aunt Patty, and she promised that
if she ever gave another I should be invited. I suppose, however, she
forgot it, or perhaps she thinks I'm too young. Anyhow, I'm glad she
asked _you_."

"Yes; it was very nice of her," rejoined Ida, in a stiff tone. "But I
really have nothing suitable for such an occasion, and I am sure _you_
have no party dress, Cynthia."

"No; but if she had invited me I could have worn my pink organdie."

"That faded, forlorn thing!"

"Well, what would it matter? No one would pay any attention to me at
such a place. I would enjoy myself just looking on. But I wasn't
invited, so there is no use talking about it," and she turned around and
walked back to the house, a look of disappointment on her face.

Ida leaned over the gate again.

"I suppose I've done a mean thing," she thought. "But it is too late now
to alter matters. Moral courage isn't my specialty, I imagine," and she
sighed heavily.

Just then a quaint figure, waving an old green silk parasol, came into
sight around a bend in the road. It was Aunt Patty. Her face fairly
beamed as she saw Ida.

"Watching for me, dearie?" she called out, as she drew within
speaking-distance. "Bless your tender heart! Well, I've something grand
to tell you girls. Such good news. Where's Cynthia?"




THE IMP OF THE TELEPHONE.

BY JOHN KENDRICK BANGS.

IV.--THE LIBRARY.


The Imp opened a small door upon the right of the room, and through it
Jimmieboy saw another apartment, the walls of which were lined with
books, and as he entered he saw that to each book was attached a small
wire, and that at the end of the library was a square piece of
snow-white canvas stretched across a small wooden frame.

"Magic lantern?" he queried, as his eye rested upon the canvas.

"Kind of that way," said the Imp, "though, not exactly. You see, these
books about here are worked by electricity, like everything else here.
You never have to take the books off the shelf. All you have to do is to
fasten the wire connected with the book you want to read with the
battery, turn on the current, and the book reads itself to you aloud.
Then if there are pictures in it, as you come to them they are thrown by
means of an electric light upon that canvas."

"Well, if this isn't the most--" began Jimmieboy, but he was soon
stopped, for some book or other off in the corner had begun to read
itself aloud.

"And it happened," said the book, "that upon that very night the
Princess Tollywillikens passed through the wood alone, and on
approaching the enchanted tree threw herself down upon the soft grass
beside it and wept."

Here the book ceased speaking.

"That's the story of Pixyweevil and Princess Tollywillikens," said the
Imp. "You remember it, don't you?--how the wicked fairy ran away with
Pixyweevil, when he and the Princess were playing in the King's gardens,
and how she had mourned for him many years, never knowing what had
become of him? How the fairy had taken Pixyweevil and turned him into an
oak sapling, which grew as the years passed by to be the most beautiful
tree in the forest?"

"Oh yes," said Jimmieboy. "I know. And there was a good fairy who
couldn't tell Princess Tollywillikens where the tree was, or anything at
all about Pixyweevil, but did remark to the brook that if the Princess
should ever water the roots of that tree with her tears, the spell would
be broken, and Pixyweevil restored to her--handsomer than ever, and as
brave as a lion."

"That's it," said the Imp. "You've got it; and how the brook said to the
Princess, 'Follow me, and we'll find Pixyweevil,' and how she followed
and followed until she was tired to death, and--"

"Full of despair threw herself down at the foot of that very oak and
cried like a baby," continued Jimmieboy, ecstatically, for this was one
of his favorite stories.

"Yes, that's all there; and then you remember how it winds up? How the
tree shuddered as her tears fell to the ground, and how she thought it
was the breeze blowing through the branches that made it shudder?" said
the Imp.

"And how the brook laughed at her thinking such a thing!" put in
Jimmieboy.

"And how she cried some more, until finally every root of the tree was
wet with her tears, and how the tree then gave a fearful shake, and--"

"Turned into Pixyweevil!" roared Jimmieboy. "Yes, I remember that; but I
never really understood whether Pixyweevil ever became King? My book
says, 'And so they were married, and were happy ever afterwards'; but
doesn't say that he finally became a great potteringtate, and ruled over
the people forever."

"I guess you mean potentate, don't you?" said the Imp, with a
laugh--potteringtate seemed such a funny word.

"I guess so," said Jimmieboy. "Did he ever become one of those?"

"No, he didn't," said the Imp. "He couldn't, and live happy ever
afterwards, for Kings don't get much happiness in this world, you know."

"Why, I thought they did," returned Jimmieboy, surprised to hear what
the Imp had said. "My idea of a King was that he was a man who could eat
between meals, and go to the circus whenever he wanted to, and always
had plenty of money to spend, and a beautiful Queen."

"Oh no," returned the Imp. "It isn't so at all. Kings really have a very
hard time. They have to be dressed up all the time in their best
clothes, and never get a chance, as you do, for instance, to play in the
snow or in summer in the sand at the seashore. They can eat between
meals if they want to, but they can't have the nice things you have. It
would never do for a King to like ginger-snaps and cookies, because the
people would murmur and say, 'Here--he is not of royal birth, for even
we, the common people, eat ginger-snaps and cookies between meals; were
he the true King he would call for green peas in winter-time, and boned
turkey, and other rich stuffs that cost much money, and are hard to get;
he is an impostor; come, let us overthrow him.' That's the hard part of
it, you see. He has to eat things that make him ill just to keep the
people thinking he is royal and not like them."

"Then what did Pixyweevil become?" asked Jimmieboy.

"A poet," said the Imp. "He became the poet of every-day things, and of
course that made him a great poet. He'd write about plain and ordinary
good-natured puppy-dogs, and snow-shovels, and other things like that,
instead of trying to get the whole moon into a four-line poem, or to
describe some mysterious thing that he didn't know much about in a
ten-page poem that made it more mysterious than ever, and showed how
little he really did know about it."

"I wish I could have heard some of Pixyweevil's poems," said Jimmieboy.
"I liked him, and sometimes I like poems."

"Well, sit down there before the fire, and I'll see if we can't find a
button to press that will enable you to hear them. They're most of 'em
nonsense poems, but as they are perfect nonsense they're good nonsense."

"It is some time since I've used the library," said the Imp, gazing
about him as if in search of some particular object. "For that reason I
have forgotten where everything is. However, we can hunt for what we
want until we find it. Perhaps this is it," he added, grasping a wire
and fastening it to the battery. "I'll turn on the current and let her
go."

The crank was turned, and the two little fellows listened very intently,
but there came no sound whatever.

"That's very strange," said the Imp, "I don't hear a thing."

"Neither do I," observed Jimmieboy, in a tone of disappointment.
"Perhaps the library is out of order, or the battery may be."

"I'll have to take the wire and follow it along until I come to the book
it is attached to," said the Imp, stopping the current and loosening the
wire. "If the library is out of order it's going to be a very serious
matter getting it all right again, because we have all the books in the
world here, and that's a good many, you know--more'n a hundred by
several millions. Ah! Here is the book this wire worked. Now let's see
what was the matter."

In a moment the whole room rang with the Imp's laughter.

[Illustration: "NO WONDER IT WOULDN'T SAY ANYTHING," HE CRIED.]

"No wonder it wouldn't say anything," he cried. "What do you suppose the
book was?"

"I don't know," said Jimmieboy. "What?"

"An old copy-book with nothing in it. That's pretty good!"

At this moment the telephone bell rang, and he had to go see what was
wanted.

"Excuse me for a moment, Jimmieboy," the Imp said, as he started to
leave the room. "I've got to send a message for somebody. I'll turn on
one of the picture-books, so that while I am gone you will have
something to look at."

The Imp then fastened a wire to the battery, turned on the current, and
directing Jimmieboy's attention to the sheet of white canvas at the end
of the library, left the room.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]




GIRLS AND CHAFING-DISHES.

BY CHRISTINE TERHUNE HERRICK.


Never before was the chafing-dish so popular as now. And yet, in spite
of the books that have been written directing how it is to be used, and
the classes that have been formed for learning its capabilities, there
is still a very general impression that its chief function is to cook
Welsh-rarebit. As there is a prejudice against these as unwholesome, it
is not strange, perhaps, that young girls and lads have had little
practice with the chafing-dish. It has been rather reserved for their
seniors, whose digestions may be supposed to have become case-hardened.
But there are many other delicious dishes besides Welsh-rarebit which
may be cooked over an alcohol flame. Even this much-abused compound, if
properly prepared, and eaten at a reasonable hour, need not cause
dyspepsia. It has gained a bad name because it is usually devoured late
at night, and not followed by the vigorous exercise that is necessary if
one would digest cheese comfortably.

The chafing-dish, however, is a really valuable aid in teaching young
people something about cookery, and that in an easy, pleasant fashion. A
chafing-dish is a charming possession for a young girls' club in which
light and inexpensive refreshments are served. It is not always easy for
the cook to prepare eatables for a club that meets every week or
fortnight; and yet all girls--and boys--know how the sociability of any
little gathering of this sort is heightened if there is something to
eat. Girls who cannot have the "spread" prepared in the kitchen
generally regale themselves with cream-puffs or éclairs, chocolate
creams or caramels. And the boys--what do the boys eat? Peanuts, apples,
pop-corn balls, varied by chewing-gum, and occasionally a cigarette "on
the sly." Surely none of these are as good or as wholesome as some hot
dainty prepared in a chafing-dish. The constant nibbling at sweets is
very likely to prove injurious in the long-run, and to cost as much as
the chafing-dish cookery.

But, some one may ask, what is there that can be cooked in a
chafing-dish that will not give trouble to prepare in advance? There is
no sense in planning for dishes that will keep the cook at work for an
hour or so beforehand.

Certainly not. The right sort of chafing-dish cookery can all be done,
at a pinch, in a chafing-dish. This ceases to be useful when it makes
demands upon the kitchen stove, the cook, and every-day pots and pans.

There are many delicacies that the little cook can prepare with no help
except that of her own clear head and her deft hands. It is not worth
while to rehearse all of the dainties she has at her command, but here
are a few of them: Scrambled eggs, eggs with cheese, eggs with curry,
poached eggs, eggs with tomatoes, eggs with ham, curried eggs, creamed
salmon, grilled sardines, panned oysters, broiled oysters, stewed and
creamed oysters or clams, barbecued ham, fricasseed dried beef, creamed
tomatoes, and cheese _fondu_.

For none of these need the cook's services be required, nor call be made
upon the larder for any but uncooked provisions, except in the dishes
where ham is used. And in these days, when cold boiled ham may be bought
at every delicatessen shop and many groceries, it is no more trouble to
supply one's self with that than with fresh eggs.

The girl who wishes to provide a feast for the little club or circle to
which she belongs, should first make out a list of all the utensils and
materials she will need. Then she may collect them and arrange them upon
the table where she means to do her cookery. The chafing-dish must stand
on a tray; close at hand should be a half-pint measuring-cup, a small
wooden spoon for stirring, a couple of teaspoons, a table-spoon, and a
knife. If eggs are to be cooked there must be a small bowl to beat them
in and a fork. The ingredients must be arranged in the order in which
the cook will have to use them.

All this may be done before the guests are met. The lamp under the dish
must be filled and matches laid near. Then, when the cooking is to be
done, all the girl will have to do will be to pin a napkin on in apron
fashion, to protect the front of her gown from possible splashing, take
her place behind the chafing-dish, and set to work. If she has been wise
enough to try over the recipe beforehand, and will keep a steady head
and avoid flurry, she may be sure of a happy result.

Let us suppose that she means to cook eggs with ham. If there are eight
girls to be present, she will need six eggs, a quarter of a pound of
cold boiled ham sliced thin and cut into squares, a table-spoonful of
butter, a teaspoonful of minced onion, a salt-spoonful of mustard, and
as much white pepper.

[Illustration: SERVING.]

The butter goes into the blazer as soon as the lamp is lighted. (The
blazer is the pan that is used directly over the flame, when there is no
need to cook over hot water.) As soon as the butter melts the onion is
put in and fried for a minute, and then the ham goes in. The
chafing-dish may now be covered and left to take care of itself while
the eggs are beaten. They are broken into a bowl, without separating the
whites from the yolks, and whipped with a fork until they are well
blended--say for a minute and a half. By this time the ham should have
begun to crisp nicely. If it has not reached this stage, it may be
allowed to cook a little longer. Then it may be sprinkled with the
mustard and pepper and the eggs turned into it. After this the stirring
must be continuous. The eggs are very likely to stick unless they are
kept constantly scraped from the bottom; but there is no danger of
burning unless the dish is neglected. As soon as the eggs are firm the
dish is ready, and the lamp may be extinguished. A pile of plates or
saucers, with spoons or forks, should be in readiness, and a plate of
crackers may be passed with the eggs.

Another excellent dish easily prepared is curried eggs. For these there
will be required six hard-boiled eggs, shelled and cut into thick
slices, a table-spoonful of butter, a table-spoonful of flour, half a
pint of milk, a teaspoonful of minced onion, and a scant teaspoonful
each of salt and curry-powder. This dish, too, is cooked in the blazer.
The butter goes in first, with the onion, and when the butter is melted,
the flour and curry-powder are stirred in quickly. As soon as these and
the butter are well blended and begin to bubble, and before they have a
chance to stick, the milk is poured in. After about two minutes' steady
stirring the sauce begins to thicken. It should come to a boil, and then
the eggs may be put in, the salt added, and all simmered about a minute
and a half more before the lamp is put out.

A pleasant and profitable little entertainment may be given with a
chafing-dish for any pet charity or mission. There is probably not a
church in the country which does not contain one or more societies or
guilds of young girls who are interested in some especial work. They may
be "King's Daughters," or "Christian Endeavorers," or "Willing Workers,"
or anything else. Their object is always a worthy one, and their great
desire is to secure funds for it. It is very easy, with a couple of
good-sized chafing-dishes, to cook enough supper for from thirty to
sixty people, when the hot dishes are supplemented by sandwiches, rolls,
coffee, and cake. Each guest pays a fixed sum for his supper, and this
secures him a portion of the product of the chafing-dish. If the cookery
is done in the sight of the guests, and the recipes given at the same
time, there is little chance that the entertainment will prove
uninteresting.

[Illustration: FIRST LESSONS.]

If such a dish as eggs and ham be prepared, a dozen eggs and half a
pound of ham can be readily cooked in one chafing-dish, and this,
judiciously served, should supply fifteen people. As soon as the eggs
are cooked they can be turned out upon a platter, the chafing-dish can
be washed, and a second instalment prepared. Creamed oysters or salmon
or panned oysters are quick dishes for such an occasion. Panned oysters
are unusual, simple, and very good. To prepare them, melt two
table-spoonfuls of butter in the blazer, lay in twenty-five oysters, and
cook these, turning them once or twice, until they grow plump and the
edges begin to curl. Season them with pepper and salt, and serve upon
toast, or, if this is not convenient, upon crackers or Graham-bread.

As a matter of course, four chafing-dishes are better than two at such
an affair, if there is a numerous assembly, unless the dishes are
unusually large. The audience on these occasions is, as a rule,
good-natured, and quite willing to wait for the second or even the third
relay of refreshments.

A pretty home lunch given by a young girl may have the principal items
prepared in the chafing-dish. The lunch might begin with bouillon,
served in cups. This, of course, should have been made in the kitchen.
The first dish cooked on the table may be panned oysters or clams,
served on toast. After this, the young hostess may broil lamb chops, or
cook a dish of lobster or of creamed chicken, and with this a vegetable
should be served. Should she desire, there may be a chafing-dish at each
end of the table, and while she prepares the meat dish, her _vis-à-vis_
may curry tomatoes, or cream potatoes, or _sauté_ green peas.

After this may come a cheese _fondu_. This is a mild and comparatively
harmless form of Welsh-rarebit, and is cooked in the inner vessel of the
chafing-dish over boiling water. To make it, put in a cupful of milk, a
table-spoonful of butter, a _scant_ cupful of fresh bread-crumbs, and
two cupfuls of soft American cheese, grated. Add salt to taste, and a
pinch of red pepper. Let all cook together, stirring often, until the
cheese is melted, and the ingredients well blended. Have ready two eggs
beaten light, and stir these in very slowly. Cook two minutes after they
go in, and serve.

The salad which follows the cheese dish may be of lettuce with a French
dressing, or of tomatoes with mayonnaise, and the making of the dressing
may in either case devolve upon one of the guests or the hostess.

[Illustration: STIRRING THE DESSERT.]

The final course may be fruit, or, if it is desirous to have one more
chafing-dish dainty, it is easy to prepare a simple dessert. Open a can
of preserved peaches or apricots. Split six stale lady-fingers or small
sponge-cakes, melt two table-spoonfuls of butter in the chafing-dish,
and in this brown the halved cakes on each side. Take them out, arrange
them on a hot plate, and on each piece lay a half of a peach or apricot.
Add a teaspoonful of cornstarch to the butter in the chafing-dish, blend
well, and when the mixture bubbles add to it a scant half-pint of the
liquor from the preserve. Stir this until it thickens, pour it over the
cake and preserves, and serve. It is good with cream.

A chafing-dish need not be an expensive luxury. Those made of nickel are
excellent, and cost from three to five dollars apiece. Still, cheaper
dishes are made of agate iron and of block tin, and serve their purpose
well.




BAGGED IN MIDSTREAM.

BY J. MACDONALD OXLEY.


"What do you say to a paddle down to Oka this afternoon, Ray?" asked
Jack Vipond of his chum, Ray Hodgson. "I don't think there's too much
wind for the canoe."

"All right, Jack," assented Ray. "Shall we take your canoe or mine?"

"We'd better take yours, I guess," replied Jack. "It's safer in rough
water, and we may have white-caps to face on our way back."

So they started out in Jack's white-cedar canoe, a beautiful craft,
capable of a good rate of speed, and yet in competent hands wellnigh as
seaworthy as a row-boat.

Ray took with him his air-gun, which was something more than a
plaything, for it could send a heavy buckshot forty yards with
sufficient force to kill a bird or squirrel, and at shorter distances
was really an effective weapon for larger game.

They had a lively paddle down the river, for the breeze blew strongly
astern, and good management was necessary to prevent the canoe shipping
an occasional sea.

Landing at Oka, they spent some hours wandering about the Indian
village, purchasing candy and getting drinks of cool spruce beer at a
little French shop, and lying on the soft sward in the shade of the huge
maples that fronted the big Catholic church.

They were in no hurry to return, because the longer they lingered the
less wind and sea they would have to reckon with, and it was one of
those deliciously lazy afternoons when even sturdy boys still in their
teens do not hanker after any extra exertion.

It was accordingly well towards sundown before they again launched their
canoe, and by this time only a gentle breeze ruffled the surface of the
river.

Paddling straight up the middle of the broad stream, which at this place
was really a lake, so widely did it expand, they had got about half-way
home, when Ray, who was in the bow of the canoe, pointing to a dark
object on the water a couple of hundred yards ahead, exclaimed, "Say,
Jack, what do you make of that?"

Looking intently in the direction indicated, Jack, after a moment's
hesitation, said, doubtfully: "I can't make out what it is. Could it be
a young deer?"

"Perhaps it is," responded Ray, eagerly. "Let's paddle after it and
see;" and he dug his blade deep into the water, making it bend like a
bow with the sudden strain.

Nothing loath, Jack vigorously seconded his companion's efforts, and the
canoe cut through the water at a rate that promised to quickly bring it
close to the unknown creature ahead.

At first the animal took no notice, or was unconscious of the approach
of the canoe, but by the time the latter had covered half the distance
separating them, it suddenly awoke to a sense of danger, and put forth a
spurt that greatly increased its rate of progress.

"Hit her up, Jack! hit her up!" cried Ray, multiplying his strokes. "The
beggar's trying to get away from us."

"No fear of that," panted Jack, who was straining every nerve and
steering a faultless course. "We're too fast for it any day."

As they gained upon their quarry it soon became clear that it was
nothing of the deer kind, but some sort of a wild-cat, the fur being
very thick, and of a brownish-gray color. The ears were long and
pointed, and had a curious little plume of coarse hairs at the top.
Neither of the boys had ever seen an animal like this one before.

Had not their blood been warmed by the exertions of the chase, it is
probable that when the character of the animal was more fully disclosed
they would have deemed discretion the better part of valor, and allowed
it to go on its way unchallenged.

But they were both greatly excited, and the presence of each other acted
as a stimulant to their courage, so that they were bound to see the end
of the matter.

"Give him a shot with your air-gun, Ray," shouted Jack when the canoe
was within ten yards of the creature.

Ray at once laid down his paddle and took up the gun, which happened to
be ready for action. Aiming as carefully as he could, seeing that every
pulse was throbbing and nerve tingling with excitement, Ray pulled the
trigger, and the loud snap of the gun was instantly followed by a
startling yell of pain from the animal, which commenced to thrash around
in the water furiously.

By a lucky chance, rather than by any good marksmanship, Ray's buckshot
had taken effect in the right eye, completely destroying that optic, and
inflicting intolerable pain.

Quick to make the most of their advantage, the boys sent the canoe close
up to the struggling animal, fully determined to secure their prize,
although they had no clear idea as to how they would accomplish it.

"Give him another shot, Ray," cried Jack, anxiously, for he was
beginning to feel nervous lest the violent motions of the animal might
imperil the stability of the canoe.

Ray hastened to comply; but being greatly flurried, went too hurriedly
about getting the air-gun again ready for action, with the result that
he disarranged its machinery, and rendered it unfit for further use.

"I've broken something, Jack!" he exclaimed, in a tone of keen regret,
"and I can't fire it again."

"Then hit the brute over the head with the butt," suggested Jack,
eagerly.

Excited as he was, Ray had too much regard for his gun to risk smashing
it beyond all repair by turning it into a club. Instead of so doing he
flung it into the bottom of the canoe and seized his paddle. It had a
broad heavy blade, sharp at the edges, and being made of the best white
maple, could be relied upon not to break easily. Swinging it high over
his head, he brought it down with all his might upon the animal. His
intention had been that the blow should fall just behind the ears, and
if his aim had been true the struggle would have been at once ended. But
the combined motion of the canoe and the plunging creature threw him out
altogether, and the paddle, instead of inflicting a fatal stroke, came
down on the side of the furry head, and glanced off without even
stunning its intended victim.

"Botheration!" cried Ray, disgustedly; and he was about to swing the
paddle up for another attempt, when the animal suddenly changed its
tactics.

Hitherto it had acted entirely on the defensive; but now, doubly
enraged, no doubt, by the stinging blow of the sharp-edged paddle, it
rushed to the attack. Flinging itself upon the canoe, it got both paws
over the gunwale and buried its teeth in the thin wood, growling
horribly, and glaring at Ray with its one remaining eye in a most
terrifying manner.

Jack thought that it was now full time for him to take a hand in the
conflict. "Keep the canoe steady, Ray," he shouted. "I'll fix the
beast."

So saying, he rose from his seat and put all his strength into a swing
of his paddle, that had it taken effect would surely have decapitated
the animal.

But he was fated to have no better fortune with his blow than his
companion, for just as he stood up the weight of the creature clinging
to the gunwale proved too much for the equilibrium of the canoe, and
over it went, pitching both boys into the water with a tremendous
splash.

They were expert swimmers, and had nothing to fear in the way of
drowning; but the first thought in the minds of both as they rose to the
surface and wiped the water from their eyes was, "Where is the wild-cat?
Is it near me?"

To their great surprise the animal had disappeared. There was the canoe
calmly floating bottom up, but nothing else was visible.

"What's become of the thing?" cried Ray, looking anxiously around.

The words were hardly out of his mouth when strange, muffled sounds
coming through the bottom of their up-turned craft supplied the answer.

The canoe had turned over on top of the animal, which was now imprisoned
beneath it.

"It's under the canoe," shouted Jack. "Let's keep it there until it's
drowned."

The idea was an excellent one, and not an instant was lost in putting it
into execution.

One taking the bow, and the other the stern, the boys kept the light
vessel in its position until the sounds and struggling of the creature
desperately fighting for its life had entirely ceased.

They even waited some minutes longer so as to make assurance doubly
sure, for they desired no renewal of the conflict.

"He must be dead as a door-nail now," said Jack at length. "Let's right
the canoe and see. I hope the body won't sink, after all the trouble
we've had."

Moving with great circumspection, they turned the canoe over right side
up, and to their great delight the body of the animal floated out as
lifeless as the paddles that were beside it.

"Hurrah!" cried Ray. "We've got him right enough. Now, then, let's bale
out the canoe and make for shore as quick as we can."

For such expert canoeists this was not a matter of much difficulty, and
in a little while they were underway again, with their furry victim
safely stowed amidships.

They were naturally very jubilant over what they had done, and exhibited
their prize with much pride.

It proved to be a fine specimen of the Canadian lynx, an animal very
rare in that part of the country. In fact, none had been seen there for
many years.

On the advice of their parents the boys presented the lynx to the
Natural History Society, by whom it was carefully mounted and placed in
a prominent position, with a card at its feet giving the credit to the
donors.

Since then Ray and Jack are always eager to take friends and visitors to
the museum, and to make sure that they do not miss the section in which
the big lynx stands so well to the front.




LEAVES AT PLAY.

BY FRANK DEMPSTER SHERMAN.


  Scamper, little leaves, about
   In the autumn sun;
  I can hear the old Wind shout,
    Laughing as you run,
  And I haven't any doubt
    That he likes the fun.

  When you've run a month or so,
    Very tired you'll get;
  But the same old Wind, I know,
    Will be laughing yet
  When he kicks you in your snow-
    Downy coverlet.

  So, run on and have your play,
    Romp with all your might;
  Dance across the autumn day,
    While the sun is bright.
  Soon you'll hear the old Wind say,
    "Little leaves, Good-night!"




WHERE THE CANARIES COME FROM.


A great many of our finest singers have come from Italy and France, but
until we read it in an English newspaper some days ago we never knew
that Germany carries on a very large trade in the rearing and exporting
of canaries, and that the largest establishment in the world for the
breeding of these creatures is situated within the domains of that
empire, away up among the Hartz Mountains of Prussia. From this and the
few surrounding but much smaller nurseries no fewer than 130,000 birds
are despatched every year to the United States and Canada; while in the
same time at least 3000 go to Great Britain, and about 2000 go to
Russia.




IRVING'S STORY OF KING ARTHUR AND THE ROUND TABLE.

BY JOHN RUSSELL DAVIDSON.


Many of the wide-awake Knights and Ladies of the ROUND TABLE read the
daily newspapers, and by this time know that Sir Henry Irving, the great
English actor, has been treating the people of New York to a magnificent
production of a play that deals directly with the ancient founder of the
Order of the Round Table.

[Illustration: THE MAGIC MERE.]

Mr. J. Comyns Carr, the writer of this beautiful and sadly picturesque
drama, does not give us many glimpses into the lives of the great
company of valiant knights that bound Merlin's table with a hand of
steel, but there is much in the stage pictures to interest and instruct
those who have fed upon the legends of Tennyson. In the prologue we find
the young King Arthur by the Magic Mere or Magic Lake, receiving from
the spirit of the lake the mighty sword Excalibur, and with it
predictions of great power for the future of this warrior knight who was
to rule over a kingdom that should rule the sea. The old sage Merlin is
standing by, telling Arthur that the blade is of such a temper that no
man can withstand its stroke, and that the scabbard is worthier than the
sword.

As the play progresses a band of one hundred knights of the Round Table
are seen gathered together in the great Hall of Camelot, kneeling before
the King, and begging his permission to leave the court to search for
the sacred cup of Christ's, known throughout the world as the Holy
Grail. This Holy Grail, the legend tells us, was a cup filled at the
cross with the Saviour's blood and brought to the British Isle by
Joseph. Some unknown hand had stolen it away, and the burning desire of
many a brave knight in those days was to seek, and, happily finding the
holy treasure, to restore it to its proper place.

[Illustration: "WE WHO GO FORTH TO SEEK THE HOLY GRAIL."]

Our illustration of this scene pictures the spokesmen for the departing
company of knights craving the King's blessing on their quest. As they
rise to go, Sir Lancelot enters and kneels before the throne; he is
encased in full armor, and carries a great sword on his left arm. This
youth, possessing so many of the graces and traits that were necessary
to add lustre to the fame of an English knight in the olden time, had
endeared himself to the good Arthur and all his court, and so great was
the King's love for Lancelot that he refused to grant the earnest prayer
of the gallant knight that he might be permitted to take his departure
from his sovereign's side, and join his companions in their wellnigh
hopeless search for the Holy Grail.

The next act brings us to a beautiful nook in a vast forest. It is the
Queen's Maying, and the great old trees and the blooming flowers tremble
with the glad music of Guinevere's laugh and the joyful songs of her
ladies-in-waiting.

Sir Lancelot remains at Arthur's court, and being ever near the gracious
Queen, his love for her grows deeper and dangerous, until at last it
becomes known to the King, who banishes the unhappy young knight and
condemns the Queen to imprisonment. From the moment when Sir Lancelot
enters Camelot the play deals with that which is sad and fateful--the
love of Arthur for Guinevere, the mutual love of this lovely Queen and
Sir Lancelot, and the traitorous acts of Arthur's trusted Sir Mordred
that finally end in the King's death by Sir Mordred's hand.

Merlin had told Mordred that he, being born on the May day, was the only
man whose power could prevail against the mystic charm of Arthur's
sword.

In King Arthur's life the great sword Excalibur plays a prominent part;
it is ever present and exerting vast influence in his victories and
rapid rise to mighty power. Morgan le Fay, the mother of Sir Mordred and
active partner in his schemes to overthrow their master, enters the
King's chamber at night, steals the scabbard, and throws it into the
lake from which it came; and as Arthur is dying he charges his faithful
follower Sir Bedevere to take the blade to the forest and cast it back
into the depths of the Magic Mere. At Arthur's death Queen Guinevere is
condemned to be burned, but is saved from the flames by the faithful Sir
Lancelot, who in turn slays the false Sir Mordred. This latter knight
had usurped the throne some time before the dying moments of King
Arthur.

"And after he was dead Arthur was borne by the three Queens of Night to
that sweet isle of sleep which is called Avalon."

We read books, we idly turn the pictured page of history; but here we
have before us a scene painted in colors deeper than the artist's brush
can know--a picture infused with the vitality of living humanity clothed
with the garments of the Middle Ages. All this, stirred with the gleam
of spear, the clink of mail, and the thrust of sword, bathes our dream
of the early mother-land with an interest that is alive, and a reality
that otherwise we could never know.

To be noble then was to be a man of war; to be noble now is to be a man
of peace.




[Illustration: INTERSCHOLASTIC SPORT]


The formation of a National Interscholastic Athletic Association, that
shall be for the schools of this country what the I.C.A.A.A. is for the
colleges, seems now assured. At a meeting of the New York I.S.A.A. two
weeks ago it was decided to invite all the interscholastic associations
whose names and addresses could be obtained to send delegates to a
convention to be held in this city on or about December 28th. At this
convention the New York association will propose the formation of a
national association, and the plans for organization will be discussed,
and officers will doubtless be elected. This is probably the most
important step ever taken by the schools for the welfare of scholastic
athletics, and it should be encouraged in every way possible by all who
are interested in matters interscholastic. The legislators will no doubt
find a number of difficulties to overcome at first, and they should not
hesitate to seek the best advice obtainable, or assistance, whenever
required, from older sportsmen.

Such an association of schools cannot fail to benefit track and field
sports. It will simplify the schedule of events, and officially
recognize those that are distinctly athletic; it will raise the standard
of performance; it will bring the best material of American schools
together; and it will establish definite figures in records, which up to
this time have, in many cases, been subject to doubt. The question as to
when and where the first field meeting should be held is just now a
matter of secondary importance, but one that the prospective delegates
to the convention will do well to keep in mind. The questions to
consider at present are the best methods for organizing the association,
and the best means of putting it upon a firm basis. It should be
remembered that no business enterprise can be run on any but a business
basis; and whereas the proposed association will not in its foremost
features be a business enterprise, there will be many business
transactions in connection with its management that must be attended to
in a businesslike manner.

Above all things, the association should be kept free from politics.
Politics is enough to ruin the best-regulated enterprise. The offices
should not be looked upon as spoils, and divided among the several
component associations. Elect those men to the offices who are the best
qualified to carry out the work and to fulfil the duties entrusted to
them. In almost every school, or association of schools, there is one
man who is recognized as a "worker," one man whose interest in whatever
he undertakes is such that it helps him to perform his duties better
than others could. Such a man--such men, indeed, are needed to take
charge of and conduct the affairs of the National Association. If such
men are put into office, the organization cannot fail to be prosperous,
and to reflect credit upon all the institutions that are members of it.

The Thanksgiving day game between Berkeley and St. Paul's, the first of
a series of annual contests, should attract a large crowd. Both teams
are in prime condition, and good football may be expected. Berkeley will
undoubtedly win, and St. Paul's will score if her men get the ball in
the first half. On the other hand, if St. Paul's kicks off, and the ball
goes into Berkeley's hands, the New-Yorkers will have things all their
own way should they score in the first ten minutes of play. St. Paul's
is weak in defensive work, and her men seem to lose heart if scored
against early in the game. I can not quite account for this in a team
that has had such good training, but it is a characteristic particularly
noticeable this year. Their offensive play is good, and the men put up a
fast and strong game in both halves--when they don't lose heart. The
centre and guards are weak, but the other positions are pretty well
taken care of.

[Illustration: Platt. Baker. Linn. Starr. Glenny. Starr. Brown. Hare.
White.

Hall. Loraine. Goldsborough. Cluet. Gardiner. Symons.

ST. PAUL'S, GARDEN CITY, FOOTBALL TEAM.]

Captain Starr is a veteran player, although new to the position of
full-back; he is a fair runner, a good punter, and better at plunging
through the centre than at circling the ends. Blackstone and
Goldsborough are good running half-backs, not afraid of the crowd, and
the latter is particularly clever at following his interference. Baker,
at quarter, passes well, is a good general, and tackles hard. Both the
end men follow the ball well, and Weller is the strongest defensive
player on the team, but is liable to get pocketed by the interference.
Gardiner, at tackle, is another strong man in the line, and is a
ground-gainer when given the ball. Symons, the other tackle, is a new
man, but is learning rapidly, and is one of the best tacklers of the
eleven. Cluet blocks poorly at centre, but breaks through well; his
guards, Glenny and Brown, are somewhat slow, and do not hold their men.
They will have their hands full with Lefferts and Hayden.

[Illustration: BERKELEY SCHOOL VS. SCRUB--SHOWING THE SYSTEM OF LINE
UP.]

The Berkeley team that is to line up against these players is the best
eleven the New York school ever put into the field. The end players are
particularly good. Young got his experience at Lawrenceville, and won a
reputation on the '94 team there. He is quick, rarely misses his man,
and on kicks gets away very fast. He blocks well, and strikes
interference hard and low. Hasbrouck, the left end, is powerfully built
and stocky. He is seldom put out of a play, tackles his man hard and
sure. Captain Bayne plays next to him at tackle, and the two work well
together. Bayne played on the champion team of 1893. He weighs 192
pounds, and is very strong. He is good at bucking the line, striking it
low, with head well down, and is sure for a good gain every time he is
sent with the ball. Yale will have a valuable acquisition in him. E.
Irwin-Martin, the right tackle, is an aggressive, hard-working player,
six feet tall. The strongest feature of his play is a trick he has of
twisting when running with the ball, and then breaking away from his
tacklers. He tackles hard, but has a bad fault of getting his own head
under his opponent, instead of giving his man the full force of a hard
fall.

Berkeley's three centre men have been constantly improving this season,
and are now in condition. Rand, the centre, weighs only 165 pounds, but
he has held his end up in every game played. His great faults are lack
of aggressiveness and slowness. During the last week, however, he has
taken a brace that has made a marked improvement in his play. He is very
steady in putting the ball in play, breaks through well, and tackles
hard. His strongest feature is in following the ball and getting into
every play. Lefferts and Hayden give promise of developing into
first-class guards. Both are comparatively green men at football, but
their willingness to learn and determination to succeed have already
made them most valuable in the play of the team. Lefferts plays left
guard. He is strong and a fast runner. His great fault earlier in the
season was his inability to block centre plays. This he has overcome to
a great extent, and now stands firm. He runs fairly well with the ball,
and on the defensive goes in with dash and aggressiveness. Hayden, the
right guard, is a powerful player, and weighs 162 pounds. Like Lefferts,
his great weakness has been in stopping centre plays, but now he is
showing marked improvement. He can always be counted on for a good gain
when given the ball. At interfering he also does good work, and puts a
man out of the play when he goes against him.

For a school team Berkeley is especially strong back of the line. Scott
has shown such marked improvement at quarter-back during the past week
that he has succeeded in making the team, although Hurlbert gave him a
hard fight for it. His weight was a strong factor in aiding him,
Hurlbert weighing only 127 pounds. His great faults are nervousness and
an inclination to fumble, but he is fast growing out of them under
constant coaching. He is a hard worker, gets into every play, is very
fast, and tackles well. Clinton Irwin-Martin, the right half-back, and
field Captain of the team, is a tower of strength. He is six feet tall,
and weighs 180 pounds. At tackle, end, guard, or back he does equally
good work, but it is especially at half-back that his work stands out
most prominently. His line-breaking is unusually good, and once clear of
the end he is seldom caught, as he is a good sprinter. Galloway, at left
half, is fast rounding into a reliable back. Some of the longest runs
made this season have been placed to his credit. He follows his
interference fairly well, but is inclined to run back at times. His
great fault in centre plays is striking the line high instead of with
head down, and though he is a ground-gainer, he would cover greater
distance if he always plunged into the opening with head well down.
Franklin Bien, Jun., Captain of the 1896 baseball team, is at full-back.
He has developed rapidly. Not only is he a strong kicker, but he is a
running full-back too, and bucks the line low and hard. His baseball
experience makes him a sure catch, while his punting and drop kicking
are of a high order. He has several times kicked goals from the 35-yard
line, and on the kick-off easily sends the ball over the opponent's
goal-line. Always cool and steady, he is said not to have missed his man
once this season, whenever the runner has passed the line. The most
prominent substitutes are Hurlbert, Jackson, Poor, Irvine, Thomas,
Boyeson, Shinkle, Doudge, and Blakeley.

The two most important games played thus far this season were at Andover
on the 14th, and at New Haven on the 16th--the first between
Lawrenceville and Phillips Academy, the second between Hartford and
Bridgeport High-Schools. Both were of the closest and most exciting
description, particularly the latter, which was played to decide the tie
of 10-10 of November 9th, and resulted in a second tie, 4-4. The Andover
contest was a hard battle, resulting in a victory of 12-10 for
Lawrenceville, but this score (as is very often the case with football
scores) does not really show what the players did. The weight of
Lawrenceville had been greatly exaggerated, the centre men being
reported to weigh 210 pounds. As a matter of fact the average was 187,
and the entire team averaged 167. Andover averaged 165.

[Illustration: C. W. DIBBLE,

Captain Lawrenceville Football Team.]

The centre men of the two teams seemed about equal in strength, and no
gains were made at that point by either side. Andover gained twice
around the ends, one gain resulting in a touch-down. Chadwell of Andover
was better than either of the Lawrenceville ends, while Young, the P.A.
Captain, showed up about on a par with Eddy and Righter. Goodwin played
the best game for Andover, making both touch-downs, the first after a
brilliant run of fifty yards. Andover was outplayed at the tackles and
guards, for here is where Lawrenceville has played strongest all through
the year. Captain Dibble did the best work by far for the Jerseymen,
making seven long runs with the aid of fine interference. Powell
surpassed himself, making only one fumble, whereas Wentworth did
wretched work, devoting more of his attention to personal encounter than
to the science of the game, which finally resulted in his being
disqualified near the end of the first half for punching Dibble.
Lawrenceville got through a number of times and brought either
Andover's quarter or half back down for a loss. Andover gained a great
advantage by having Goodwin kick right back of the line. Kafer for
Lawrenceville outpunted Barker of Andover, his best punt being fifty
yards.

Lawrenceville's first touch-down was made in eight minutes after the
game began. Plays on the tackles and ends brought the ball down well
toward Andover's goal line, when Dibble rushed it over, and Cadwalader
kicked a good goal. On the line-up Lawrenceville secured the ball, and,
by a double pass, got Powell through Andover's whole line for the second
touch-down, after he had run fifty yards. Hereupon was made the only
wrong decision of the game. The ball was brought back by the umpire for
alleged holding. None of the other officials could uphold him. On the
next two plays Andover made her first touch-down by Goodwin's good runs
around Lawrenceville's right and left ends respectively. Barker kicked
an easy goal. On the next line-up Lawrenceville rushed the ball to
Andover's fifteen-yard line, when time was called. During this first
half Andover played a kicking game entirely, rushing with the ball only
seven times.

In the second half Lawrenceville rushed the ball down the field, making
a second touch-down by sending Dibble through the tackles and around
left end. After the goal had been successfully kicked, Barker kicked off
for Andover, Dibble catching. Kafer then attempted to punt on the first
down, but Mull blocked the kick, and the ball went flying off on the
grand stand, whereupon Young secured it on Lawrenceville's two-yard
line. A fumble lost two yards, and it looked as though Andover would
lose her opportunity to score, but Goodwin carried the ball over on the
next play. He punted out to Butterfield, who made a pretty catch, but
Barker failed to kick a goal. Lawrenceville took a big brace after this,
but just as a thirty-yard run by Dibble had brought the ball to
Andover's twenty-yard line, time was called on account of darkness,
although there still remained eight minutes of playing time. Andover's
cheering was very effective, and served to prevent the fast playing that
Lawrenceville is usually capable of. The Jersey team also suffered
somewhat from the effects of the 300-mile trip from Lawrenceville.

The second game between Bridgeport and Hartford was a better exhibition
of football than the first--although little fault could be found with
that. The day was an ideal one for the sport, and both elevens showed
the result of the week's training with the benefit of the knowledge each
had acquired of the other's play. In the first game Bridgeport made most
of her gains around Hartford's left end; but in the second contest
Morcom was put into that position, and Bridgeport found it easier to
turn the right flank and to plunge through left tackle and end. Foster
went around right end for the touch-down, while Ingalls scored for
Hartford through guard and centre. The play was mostly confined to short
gains, and outside of a thirty-yard run by Ives, and two twenty-yard
runs by Goodell, most of the advances were secured five yards at a time.
On the whole, Bridgeport played a steadier game than Hartford, keeping a
high average in both halves. Hartford was weak in the first, especially
in interference, although her centre was solid; she remained almost
entirely on the defensive, becoming aggressive only in the second half.
Bridgeport was aggressive all the time, and punted rarely. Her
interference was excellent, and her ends the best I have seen in the
Connecticut League for some years, excepting perhaps Cady and Winslow of
last year's Hartford eleven.

As for individual play, Goodell excelled by far any player on his side
both in running with the ball and in tackling; Lyman and Morcom made
good gains; Ingalls blocked splendidly, and made his distance every time
he took the ball; Luce did some first-rate punting and got around the
ends well; and Chapman deserves especial credit for his plunges through
the centre. For Bridgeport, Foster did the best work. He is a strong
runner, and frequently travelled down the field with two or three men on
his back struggling to down him. Ives seldom missed a tackle, and headed
the interference in line style. Keane played a good game, but could not
quite meet Luce in a punting match. Hartford worked Bridgeport's centre
for slow and sure gains, and occasionally sent a man around the right
end.

  THE GRADUATE.




ADVERTISEMENTS.




Highest of all in Leavening Strength.--Latest U. S. Gov't Report.

[Illustration: Royal Baking Powder]




Arnold
Constable & Co

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Wrappers, Matinees,
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Children's School Dresses,
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NEW YORK.




BREAKFAST--SUPPER.

EPPS'S

GRATEFUL--COMFORTING.

COCOA

BOILING WATER OR MILK.




CARDS

FOR 1896. 50 Sample Styles AND LIST OF 100 PREMIUM ARTICLES FREE.
HAVERFIELD PUB. CO., Cadiz, Ohio.




Ruth and
Naomi--
The DeLONG
Patent Hook
and Eye.

See that
hump?

[Illustration]

Richardson
& DeLong Bros.,
Philadelphia.




[Illustration: $1.00 AMERICAN WATCH]

THE LATEST OUT.

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tested, regulated and guaranteed for one year. On receipt of $1.00 we
will send the watch postpaid with our years' guarantee. If you will
mention this paper we will include free a handsome chain and charm also
our Catalogue of 1000 novelties. Address,

ROBT. H. INGERSOLL & BRO.,
Dept. 62.
65 CORTLANDT STREET, N. Y. CITY.




[Illustration]




[Illustration: BICYCLING]

     This Department is conducted in the interest of Bicyclers, and the
     Editor will be pleased to answer any question on the subject. Our
     maps and tours contain much valuable data kindly supplied from the
     official maps and road-books of the League of American Wheelmen.
     Recognising the value of the work being done by the L. A. W., the
     Editor will be pleased to furnish subscribers with membership
     blanks and information so far as possible.


[Illustration: Copyright, 1895, by Harper & Brothers.]

One of the best trips out of Boston is the westward run to South
Framingham. The distance is not great, and the country which the rider
passes through is as fine as any in the vicinity of Boston, or, for that
matter, anywhere in the East. Start from Copley Square, with Public
Library on the left. Go through Dartmouth Street (macadam road) to
Commonwealth Avenue, turn to left, and follow this Avenue to Beacon
Street Boulevard; bear to left out this boulevard, following
electric-car tracks direct to Chestnut Hill Reservoir. Fine residences
all the way. Finely macadamized road. Some hills and good coasts, which
must be taken with caution on account of cross-roads. Shortly after
crossing railroad bridge on Beacon Boulevard keep to extreme left-hand
road; it usually has the best surface and gives the best shade. At the
Reservoir Electric-Car Station turn to right up short steep hill; at top
turn to left, pass through stone gateway, and take delightful spin
around reservoir, keeping water on left till Beacon Street is reached,
then turn to right on Beacon and up long hill, which is followed by two
excellent coasts into Newton Centre. Good macadam road. Keep on Beacon
Street (now good gravel road, small hills followed by level stretch),
which crosses railroad at Waban Station and brings one to Great Sign
Boards, then turn to the left, and follow Washington Street up long
hill, then good coast towards Newton Lower Falls, good gravel road to
Wellesley Hills. Keep to right on Worcester Street, cross railroad, then
first left, thus entering Wellesley by way of Linden Street. Here it
will pay to run out Washington Street to Wellesley College, see the fine
grounds and Lake Waban, on the shores of which are famous residences,
notably that of the Hunneywells, with extensive Italian gardens terraced
from hill-top to the water's edge. Leaving Wellesley, follow Central
Street to East Central, comparatively level way, to Natick. Keep direct
road, passing Long Pond on the right and Cochituate Reservoir on the
left. Good gravel road. Follow West Central Street into South
Framingham, distance about twenty miles. Old Colony House a good place
for dinner. Returning, follow same route to Great Sign Boards. To vary
trip, instead of turning to right keep direct road, _viâ_ Washington
Street, to Auburndale, past Lee's Hotel, one of the most popular
suburban hostelries. Road in this region is excellent and well shaded.
From Lee's keep direct road across railroad, then bear to the right and
keep straight way into Newtonville, which we pass, keeping railroad on
the right into Newton. After passing the station take first turn to
right, and follow direct way to Oak Square. This brings one on to
Cambridge Street, which is followed to Union Square, here turn to right,
and follow Commonwealth Avenue to Dartmouth, then turn to right to
Copley Square. Round trip about forty-three miles. If one desires, a
short run of a little over a mile from Lee's will bring him to
Riverside, on the Charles River, where are the Boston Athletic Club's
summer quarters and those of the Newton Boat Club. Canoes and boats to
let. Good place to spend an hour or so.

     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.




Life on a South African Farm.


     As your readers seem interested in letters from other lands, I will
     write a little about life on a South African farm. Our farm was in
     the Little Karroo, the principal produce of which was ostrich
     feathers and mohair. I dare say you will have heard how much we
     suffer from drought in parts of the Cape Colony, and how
     comparatively useless the rivers are owing to their steep descent
     towards the coast. During these droughts it often becomes necessary
     to feed the ostriches with prickly-pear leaves, which are cut up in
     a machine. Our goats are fed on a prickly shrub which is burnt with
     an inflammable bush called "kers bosch" (candle bush) until the
     thorns are off, when the stock rapidly devour it.

     After the rains the water is preserved in large dams, and the
     ostrich cocks often become very vicious and prove dangerous to
     people on foot, as I know to my cost. In such a case the best
     weapon is a thorny branch with two prongs. In the prongs you catch
     the long neck. The animal is far too valuable to kill, or this
     could easily be effected by a blow with a stone or stick on the
     head. The ostriches have great strength in their long legs, which
     are their only means of attack.

     My own experience was this: One day, while after cattle in the
     veldt, a vicious bird attacked me, and compelled me to get into a
     tree, where he kept me for half a day, until a native boy on
     horseback came to my assistance. During my imprisonment he made
     every effort to kick me down, and as the tree was none too large he
     nearly succeeded. If any of your readers would like to open a
     correspondence for exchanging stamps I am ready, and would be able
     to send them Cape Colony, Natal, British Bechuanaland, and
     Transvaal stamps in exchange, as well as some others. They should
     let me know what sort they want.

  F. HOBSON.
  SOMERSET EAST, CAPE COLONY.

       *       *       *       *       *

Questions and Answers.

Does your Chapter want a corresponding member in Central America? Louis
A. Doubleday, Palacio de Artes, Guatemala, wants to belong to such a
one. Write him. Bernard W. Leavitt wants to know how to clean a
banjo-head without injuring it. Can some one tell him? He says the yell
of Guilford College, N. C., is "Bumbio, Bumbio, Guilford, Guilford Ho Ho
Ho!" No colors. Humes Rogers wants to meet members who come South to
attend the Atlanta Exposition. His address is Marietta, Ga.

       *       *       *       *       *

RECALLED STORMY TIMES.

"Well, that looks natural," said the old soldier, looking at a can of
condensed milk on the breakfast-table in place of ordinary milk that
failed on account of the storm. "It's the Gail Borden Eagle Brand we
need during the war."--[_Adv._]




ADVERTISEMENTS.




Girls!

If you only knew what the

"Elfin" Watches

are like, you would not rest satisfied until you had one in your
possession. We cannot get room enough in the ROUND TABLE to tell you all
we desire about them.

So you must send for the

"Elfin"

Catalogue, and that will show you exactly what they look like.

The Waterbury Watch Co.,
Waterbury, Conn.




[Illustration]

Oh, Boys and Girls,

AND ALL WHO ARE YOUNG AT HEART
IF NOT IN YEARS,

_HERE IS FUN FOR YOU!_

=WATERLOO= is novel and =exciting=! It costs $1.25 ($1.50, express prepaid
from publishers). It is one of the famous

Parker Games

Our Illustrated Catalogue, including "=Innocence Abroad=," "=Chivalry=,"
"=Authors=," "=Napoleon=," "=Yankee Doodle=," and 100 others, for two-cent
stamp. "=Brownies=" and "=Wonderland=," by mail, 35 cents each. Look for
the imprint

PARKER BROTHERS, Salem, Mass., U.S.A.




HALF A DOZEN NEW BOOKS

FOR BOYS AND GIRLS.

=The Partners=, by Wm. O. Stoddard. A story for girls. The best girls'
book of the year and yet a boys' story too--for _all_ admire Stoddard's
stories. 12mo, cloth, $1.50.

=The Book of Athletics=. Edited by Norman W. Bingham, Jr. All about
out-of-door sports, football, golf, bicycling, etc., by the best
athletes in the American colleges. 8vo, cloth, $1.50.

=The True Story of George Washington=, by Elbridge S. Brooks. The best
"child-life" of the "Father of his Country." Told for youngest readers,
but full of interest for all ages. 4to, cloth, $1.50.

=The Hobbledehoy=, by Belle C. Greene. The unique story of a "changing"
boy, that every boy and girl, every father and mother, will heartily
enjoy. It is a modern temperance story, too, and a fine one! 12mo,
cloth, $1.25.

=Child Sketches from George Eliot=, compiled by Julia Magruder.
Illustrated by Birch and Amy Brooks, and introducing young readers to
the children in the great writer's stories. 8vo, cloth, $1.25.

=The Boy Life of Napoleon=, from the French of Mme. Eugénie Foa. The only
story-life of the boy Napoleon. 8vo, cloth, $1.25.

       *       *       *       *       *

_For sale at all bookstores. Send for Illustrated Holiday List, New
Descriptive Catalogue, and THE PANSY PRIZE OFFER to boys and girls._

LOTHROP PUBLISHING COMPANY,
92 Pearl Street, Boston.




[Illustration]




THE BEST HOME GAME

"What Shall We Play?"

For twenty years the answer has been

[Illustration: Parcheesi]

[Illustration]

The Royal Game of India.

For Children or Adults

A Christmas Present that's enjoyed for years.

PRICES

  Paper Bound,       $1.00 each
  Cloth Bound,       $2.00 each

Sold by leading Book, Stationery, Toy, and Department Stores, in the
United States, or mailed, postpaid.

SELCHOW & RIGHTER, 390 Broadway, N. Y.




[Illustration]

Highest Award

WORLD'S FAIR.

SKATES

CATALOGUE FREE.

BARNEY & BERRY, Springfield, Mass.




Postage Stamps, &c.




=1000= Mixed Foreign Postage Stamps, including Fiji Islands, Samoa,
Hawaii, Hong Kong, for 34c. in stamps; 10 varieties U. S. Columbian
stamps, 25c.; entire unused 5c. and 10c. Columbian Envelopes, 25c. the
pair. Only a limited number were issued by U. S. Government. E. F.
GAMBS, Box 2631, San Francisco, Cal. Established, 1872.




STAMPS!

[Illustration]

=800= fine mixed Victoria, Cape of G. H., India, Japan, etc. with fine
Stamp Album, only =10c=. New 80-p. Price-list =free=. _Agents wanted_ at
=50%= commission, STANDARD STAMP CO., 4 Nicholson Place, St. Louis, Mo.
Old U. S. and Confederate Stamps bought.




U.S. STAMPS--

  250 well mixed           12c.
  30 var. all different    25c.

53 var. only 50c.--100 var. $2.50.--125 var. $5.75.

_Send for an assortment on approval sheets._

Lock Box 672. K. E. BURTON, Lake Geneva, Wis.




[Illustration]

100 all dif. Venezuela, Bolivia, etc., only 10c.; 200 all dif. Hayti,
Hawaii, etc., only 50c. Ag'ts w't'd at 50% com. List FREE! =C. A.
Stegmann=, 5941 Cote Brilliante Ave., St. Louis, Mo.




=500= Mixed Australian, etc., 10c.; =105 varieties=, and nice album. 10c.;
15 unused, 10c.; 10 Africa, 10c.; 15 Asia, 10c. F. P. Vincent, Chatham,
N.Y.




=FINE PACKETS= in large variety. Stamps at 50& com. Col's bought.
Northwestern Stamp Co., Freeport, Ill.




CARDS

The FINEST SAMPLE BOOK of Gold Beveled Edge, Hidden Name, Silk Fringe,
Envelope and Calling Cards ever offered for a 2 cent stamp. These are
GENUINE CARDS, NOT TRASH. =UNION CARD CO., COLUMBUS, OHIO.=




HARPER'S CATALOGUE

thoroughly revised, classified, and indexed, will be sent by mail to any
address on receipt of ten cents.




[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.


Owing to the large number of questions requiring answers, the Department
this week will be entirely made up of them.

SIR KNIGHT A. U. SMITH, New Jersey, asks what is the matter with a
negative when the picture can hardly be seen, and the film is so thick
that a print cannot be made from it. The plate has been
over-developed--that is, left in the developer so long that the film has
become too dense. An over-developed plate can be reduced by using the
following formula, called Farmer's Reducer: Ferricyanide of potassium, 3
grs.; hypo, 30 grs.; water, 4 oz. Wash the negative till the film is
thoroughly wet, then place in the reducing solution for two or three
minutes; wash, and if not reduced enough repeat the operation. It is
better to make two or three trials than to leave the plate in the
solution too long. Wash the negative thoroughly and dry as usual. Mark
bottle "poison."

SIR KNIGHT JOHN H. CURTIS asks if an under-exposed plate can be remedied
after it is fixed. An under-exposed plate can be strengthened after
fixing by the following method. Make up three solutions as follows: No.
1--bichloride of mercury, 120 grs.; chloride of ammonium, 120 grs.;
distilled water, 10 oz. No. 2--chloride of ammonium, 120 grs.; water, 10
oz. No. 3--sulphite of sodium crystals, 1 oz.; water, 9 oz. Wash the
plate for half an hour, and then place for ten minutes in a
five-per-cent.-solution of alum and again wash for half an hour. Place
in a developing-tray, and flow enough of No. 1 over it to cover it; the
negative will turn white. As soon as it is white or nearly so turn off
the solution, rinse the plate, and flow with No. 2 for one minute. Rinse
again and cover with No. 3, and let it remain till the negative has
turned a dark brown or black. Wash for an hour or two and dry. Solution
No. 3 can be returned to the bottle after using, but the others had
better be thrown away after use. Remember that these solutions are very
poisonous, and mark the bottles, and put them away in a safe place when
not in use. Number the bottles No. 1, No. 2, and No. 3.

SIR KNIGHT J. M. KOLLER wishes to know if pictures sent for competition
must be burnished. It is not necessary, and unless it adds much to the
appearance of the picture one does not care to have pictures burnished.
The mat-surface papers are very easy to use, and do not require
burnishing.

SIR KNIGHT SAMUEL R. BOUCHER, JUN., Box 68, Gravesend, L.I., says that he
will send formula for developing and fixing ferrotype plates, and
directions where the plates may be obtained by any amateur who wishes to
make ferrotypes.

SIR KNIGHT D. M. BELL wishes to know as soon as possible how to make
photographs of microscopic objects. The explanation and directions would
take up too much space in the "Answers to Queries"; but we shall soon
publish two or three papers on microscopic photography, giving full and
plain directions which the amateur will have no trouble in following.

SIR KNIGHT TREBOR ROBYAT asks the best way to take a picture from a
photograph. He says that his camera takes a picture 3-1/4 by 4-1/4, and
the photograph which he wishes to copy is about 4 by 5. The picture must
be placed exactly parallel with the lens, and an easy way to make a
copy, where one has not a copying stand, is to take a board about six
feet long and fasten a wooden box at one end of the board, and use the
side or end to attach the print to be copied. Then place the camera on
the board as near the picture as possible, and have a clear focus. This
simple way of adjusting the camera saves much trouble in trying to get
the camera and picture exactly parallel. The copy will be quite small if
made from so small a print as the 4 by 5. Sir Knight Trebor also asks
for formula for making blue-print paper. Formulas for blue paper may be
found in Nos. 797, 823, and 828, with suggestions for its use.

SIR KNIGHT LEROY W. BAKER, New Hampshire, asks where blue-print paper
may be obtained, and the sizes and prices. Blue-print paper may be
bought of any dealer in photographic goods, or one may send direct to
the manufacturers. It comes in the regulation sizes, the 4x5 costing
twenty cents for a package of two dozen sheets.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Helping Hand.

The readers of HARPER'S ROUND TABLE are trying to earn $3000 to build a
school-house for the boys at Good Will Farm. The house is to be for the
use of an Industrial School, where carpentry, moulding, etc., are to be
taught. The Order of the Round Table seeks only to erect the building,
not to be responsible for the school itself. Good Will Farm is on the
banks of the Kennebec River in Maine, but it takes homeless and
friendless boys from everywhere, so far as it has room, hence it is
national and not local in its scope and work.

It takes these boys at four to eight years of age, gives them an
education, and finds positions for them, thus turning what might grow
into hardened and depraved men into what are certain to be useful men.
There are upwards of 100 boys at the Farm now. There would be more were
there room for them. During the past two years more than 700 deserving
lads had to be denied this splendid "chance in the world" because the
Farm could not house and support them.

One building, now used for a school, may be used for a home for fifteen
additional boys as soon as the Order accomplishes its task. The Fund on
November 12, 1895, stands thus:

  Amount previously acknowledged                            $1437.79

  There have been added these sums, which came from
  nearly every part of the world: Dorothy and
  Pinneo, 5 cents; Victor R. Gage, $5; W. Stowell
  Wooster, George Tempel, William M. Mursick, Louise
  May Levy, Rose A. Levy, Mrs. P. B. Levy, Hattie M.
  Reidell, Mignonette Karelson, Johanna Girvins,
  Edwin J. Roberts, Christine, Ada, and Harry
  Norris, Paul Barnhart, Vincent V. M. Beede, Eileen
  M. Weldon, Florence E. Cowan, Maud Wigfield, Kate
  Sanborn, Two Friends, Allie and Julia K. Russell,
  Thacher H. Guild, Frederick G. Clapp, a Member,
  the Winship Family (five), Mary D. and Bella Tarr,
  Erwin F. Wilson, Charles E. Abbey, Tom R.
  Robinson, John C. Failing, Tracy French, Adella
  Hooper, John H. Campbell, Jun., and Helen F.
  Little, all in response to Mr. Munroe's appeal,
  and many of whom had previously contributed larger
  sums, 10 cents each; Ursula Minor, $5; Jessie
  Alexander, $1; Chauncey T. Driscoll, $1; J.
  Crispia Bebb, 25 cents; Christina R. Horton, 25
  cents; Lyle, Frances, and H. M. Selby, $1; Evelyn,
  Marianne, and Lyle Tate, $1; Nellie  Hazeltine, 25
  cents; Addie Brown, 25 cents; the Roof Fair,
  previously mentioned, $30.17; the Misses
  Schrenkeiser, Dey, and Hubert Fair, $71.50; Marion
  and Dora Compton (Bavaria), $1; Dan and Lucinda
  Amsden, 50 cents; Nathaniel Thompson and his
  brother, 30 cents; Barbara Arbogast, William A.
  Steel, John Pohland, and Adelaide Ermentrout, 25
  cents each; Edward Gray, 10 cents; Louise May
  Levy, $1; Edwin V. Griswold, 25 cents; Tennyson
  Chapter, of Piqua, O., $3.35; William H. Tobey, 50
  cents; Edith L. Lewis, 50 cents; "Tiger," 25 cents;
  Miss M. T. Berge, $2; Maybelle H. Seelyee, $1; E.
  J. Nichols, 50 cents; Martha J. Sisson, 25 cents;
  Elsie Hall, 60 cents; the Admiral Benham Chapter,
  of Fort Adams, $8.95; and Harold C. Day, 10 cents.

            Total                                             141.37

                                                           ---------

            Grand Total                                     $1579.16

The Order was conditionally promised the sum of $300, the same to come
to it on July 1, 1895, from a travelling salesmen association. It is due
the Order to state that this sum is not included in the foregoing, it
not yet having been received. The sum given is cash actually in hand. In
addition to both there is the stone for the foundations, worth $400, but
it is hoped to be able to raise $3000 in money.

Help is asked from any one desirous of aiding philanthropic boys and
girls who are trying to be practical Knights and Ladies in the building
of an _industrial_ school-house for boys who need such.




[Illustration: THE PUDDING STICK]

     This Department is conducted in the interest of Girls and Young
     Women, and the Editor will be pleased to answer any question on the
     subject so far as possible. Correspondents should address Editor.


Many pretty and saleable things may be made for fairs by girls who know
how to embroider. You may, for example, make a note-book by cutting a
piece of white linen a little larger than the ordinary pad which you buy
at the stores for five or ten cents. On this either draw in pencil or
stamp a pretty pattern of leaves, flowers, forget-me-nots, or vines, or,
if you choose, the letters which form a motto or a friend's name.
Embroider these in delicate colors, and then cover the outside flap of
the pad as neatly as possible. You will need a yard or so of ribbon to
bind the back and finish off the book with a graceful little bow. A
spool-case is a convenient thing to add to one's work-basket. You take
two oval pieces of pasteboard, cover them very neatly with silk or
linen, on which you have embroidered some dainty device, and on the
inner side of each you run little shirrs of silk, in which you fasten
spools of different sizes. One is always losing spools or getting them
tangled up, and by this contrivance you can keep a half-dozen spools in
order. Such a case as this, if properly made, should sell for one dollar
at a fair. A pad for the bottom of a writing case or bureau drawer, made
by laying a fold of wadding, sprinkled with sachet-powder, between two
covers of silkoleen or silk, is a dainty gift, and an acceptable
offering for a friend's table at a sale.

A convenient case may be made to hold the magazines which accumulate in
a family by simply covering two large pieces of thick card-board with
silk, linen, or canvas, on which the little artist may paint a delicate
design if she prefers to do that with her brush rather than with her
needle. These covers should be fastened together by long pieces of broad
white silk elastic, and a neat person will be very glad to put in such a
case the half-dozen papers or magazines which otherwise litter up her
table. A pretty little book for engagements, addresses, etc., may be
made by covering card-board with crépe paper. Make this just like the
cover of a little book. Fasten inside a small pad and pencil, and to the
outside attach a little bunch of paper violets perfumed and tied with
ribbon.

Flowers are easily disposed of at children's fairs, and if you can
secure ferns, carnations, and roses, and make them into tiny button-hole
bouquets, you will realize something from your investment.

You must take pains to ask as many of your grown-up friends as possible
to your little sale, as they have more money to spend than children,
though children too will be welcome. The invitations may be given as
you meet people, but it is, on the whole, best to have a few tickets
printed thus:

  AN AFTERNOON FAIR

  for the Benefit of the Babies' Hospital

  will be held at

  MISS SALLY B.'S,

  128 SWEETBRIAR AVENUE,

  ON

  SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 24th,

  at three o'clock.

  ADMISSION, . . . 10 CENTS.

Sell as many of these as you can. Do not charge too much for your
articles. Exorbitant prices are unwise. You must ask enough to pay the
cost of the materials, with something added to recompense you for your
time, skill, and pains.

If well managed, your little fair will net you a sum of money which will
go far in making somebody who needs help happy and comfortable next
winter.

[Illustration: Margaret Sangster]




[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.


The statement is made that the entire number of unwater-marked stamps of
the present dollar issue sold to the public was as follows: $1 stamps,
35,046; $2 stamps, 10,027; $5 stamps, 6251. The number of collectors in
this country is over half a million, of whom probably at least five per
cent. may be classed as advanced philatelists. This would make 25,000
sets necessary to fill the wants of this country alone under normal
conditions. In Europe there are probably ten times as many philatelists
as in the United States. Hence it is easy to see that the prices of
these three stamps will rapidly advance. Some copies are still to be
found on sale at various post-offices. Parties buying a few should take
those stamps only which have a part of the margin attached. When this is
done there can be no question as to whether the stamps are water-marked
or not.

     M. GIBBONS.--The rose 1861-1867 U.S. 3c. stamp has no value except
     by the thousand. The pink 1861 is an extremely rare stamp.

  PHILATUS.




ADVERTISEMENTS.




INTERNATIONAL EDITION.

Le Grand's Manual for Stamp Collectors

A Companion to the Stamp Album.

Prepared for the American collector by Henri Pène du Bois, Esq.

How this Book is Divided.

PART I. treats of stamps in general and successively of all the details
concerning their issue.

PART II. treats of the various sorts of stamps, postals, telegraphic,
fiscal, or revenue.

PART III. treats of subjects relating to stamps not discussed in the two
preceding divisions, obliterations, surcharges, proofs, reprints,
counterfeits, etc., together with an article on the _Universal Postal
Union_ and another on the formation of an album.

Bound in cloth, extra, $1.00.

Published by G. D. HURST, 114 Fifth Ave., New York.

_Your nearest bookdealer will get it for you._




Ivory Soap

It Floats

The detestable odors of many hotel and sleeping car soaps are intended
to conceal the poor quality of the soap itself. The traveler who wishes
to thoroughly enjoy his toilet and bath, will carry a piece of Ivory
Soap in his toilet case.

THE PROCTER & GAMBLE CO., CIN'TI.




PRINTING OUTFIT 10c.

[Illustration]

[Illustration: G. A. R. 25c.]

[Illustration: Brownies 10c.]

For printing cards, marking linen, books, etc. Contains everything shown
in cut. Type, Tweezers, Holder, Indelible Ink, Ink Pad, etc. Thoroughly
practical for business or household use and a most instructive
amusement. Sent with catalogue illustrating over 1000 Tricks and
Novelties, for 10c. in stamps to pay postage and packing on outfit and
catalogue. Same outfit with figures 15c. Large outfit for printing two
lines 25c.

=Brownie Rubber Stamps=--A set of 6 grotesque little people with ink pad;
price, postpaid, 10c.

G. A. R. series Rubber Stamps, 12 characters. Makes all kinds of
Battles, Encampments and other military pictures, 25c. postpaid. Address

ROBERT H. INGERSOLL & BRO.
Dep't No. 62. 65 Cortlandt St., New York.




The Favorite Magazine for Children.

[Illustration]

_The only Magazine edited especially for Children of ages 7 to 11, is_

LITTLE MEN
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[Illustration: A PELTYVILLE FISHERMAN MAKES A BIG CATCH.]




FREDDY'S FORETHOUGHT.


  I think I'll chain the bull-dog
    As soon as it is dark,
  And put him in the stable, where
   We cannot hear him bark.

  Because if I should let him
    Upon the sofa stay,
  His awful bark might frighten dear
    Old Santa Claus away.

       *       *       *       *       *

A NOVEL IDEA.

Paris is responsible for bringing out the very latest fad of the
advertising fiend, says an English newspaper. We have heard of the
American who advertised his wares on the passing clouds at night-time,
by means of reflecting written sentences extolling literally to the
skies his particular brand of merchandise with a powerful magic-lantern.
We have heard, too, of the enterprising firm of patent-medicine venders
who painted an advertisement of their wares on the rocks round Niagara,
and of those who painted them upon the roadway. It is a development of
this last method which has just come out. It is worked as follows: A
tricycle is built with very broad tires, but these tires, instead of
being smooth, are furnished with rubber type of large pattern, arranged
so as to form sentences. On the top of the wheel is an ink-reservoir,
supplied with a roller which inks the type, and at the bottom is a
blower worked by the pedals, which is constantly blowing away the dust
from the roadway in front of the wheel, so that it has a nice clean
surface on which to impress its advertisement. Of course this novel
tricycle can only print on wood or asphalt; but as most streets of Paris
are so paved, there is plenty of scope for it, and the ink, being of a
brilliant color and very permanent, leaves its mark quite readable for
days.

       *       *       *       *       *

FRANK. "I saw Mr. Fish to-day."

WILLIE. "Did he give you any message for me?"

FRANK. "Yes; he asked me to tell you to drop him a line."

       *       *       *       *       *

TEACHER. "Tell me of some rule in your experience that did not work both
ways?"

JOHN. "The rule which you broke yesterday in hitting Jack Brooks' hand."

       *       *       *       *       *

FRANCES. "Oh, mamma! are you sure Santa Claus knows my name is spelt
with an e; it makes me so worried."

MAMMA. "Why, what's the matter, my dear?"

FRANCES. "Because if he thought it was spelt with an i, he might bring
me boys' toys for Christmas, and that would be terrible."

       *       *       *       *       *

JACK. "Papa, isn't it always best to have one head to everything?"

PAPA. "Yes, my boy."

JACK. "Well, then, what makes you say two heads are better than one."

       *       *       *       *       *

SUNDAY-SCHOOL TEACHER. "Can any little boy tell me what man attained the
greatest age in the world?"

BOBBY (_holding up his hand_). "I can."

TEACHER. "Well, who?"

BOBBY. "Santa Claus."

       *       *       *       *       *

PAPA. "Well, Tommy, what do you want Santa Claus to bring you this
Christmas?"

TOMMY. "Oh, jes the same as usual--one of everything he can think of."

       *       *       *       *       *

TOMMY. "Papa, is Mr. Browne a cannibal?"

PAPA. "A cannibal? What do you mean, Tommy?"

TOMMY. "Well, I heard you say the other day that he lived on his
friends."

       *       *       *       *       *

HOW TO GET IT BACK.

TONY. "Pa, I can tell you how to get back your umbrella that was
stolen."

FATHER. "How, Tony?"

TONY. "Go to Mr. Textor. He advertises 'Umbrellas Repaired and
Recovered,' you know."

       *       *       *       *       *

"Mamma, how do you spell court-house?" said little Willie.

"C-o-u-r-t-h-o-u-s-e, dear," answered his mother.

"But I should think you ought to spell it, C-a-u-g-h-t-house, because
all the people who are caught are taken there," responded little Willie.





End of Project Gutenberg's Harper's Round Table, November 26, 1895, by Various



*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HARPER'S ROUND TABLE, NOVEMBER 26, 1895 ***


    

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