Produced by Annie McGuire








[Illustration: HARPER'S ROUND TABLE]

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

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PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, OCTOBER 29, 1895. FIVE CENTS A
COPY.

VOL. XVI.--NO. 835. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.

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[Illustration]

ENGLISH ELIZA.

A HALLOWEEN STORY.

BY HEZEKIAH BUTTERWORTH.


"What was it that Obed saw?" That question used to be asked by
chimney-corners in the great farm-houses of an old New England
neighborhood for many years.

For Obed in his boyhood on a certain last night of October, "when the
moon was round," had seen a spectacle the account of which filled the
minds of many good people with wonder and of simple people with terror.
Even the cats and dogs seemed to be uneasy when it was discussed in an
awesome tone of voice on old red settles, for such animals seem to share
the fears of their masters. "Come, now, Obed is no fool," the
work-people used to say.

"What do you suppose it was that he saw? It was proper strange!"

Obed lived in one of the farm neighborhoods near Medfield, a town famous
in King Philip's war. The place has a fearful legend of a family who
were killed by the Indians, and a very curious story of a farmer who
saved his family at the time of the Indian attack by rolling out of the
cellar a barrel of cider.

It is a quiet town to-day, not a long ride from Boston. It would delight
a tired man or an artist; it is old-fashioned and full of rural beauty,
a bit of old New England left over, as it were. Great elms throw their
cloudlike shadows over the trim and well-kept roads in summertime. The
churches, the homes, the farms all show a historic pride. Here great
orchards once bloomed; here the Baltimore orioles still swing in the
elms, and the bobolinks topple in the clover meadows. Here the lilacs
still bloom by door-yard walls, and the people draw water from the round
stone wells of the generations gone.

Obed was a "bound boy," as an apprentice lad was called. He was "bound
out," to use another old New England term, to a certain Mr. Miller, who
was a farmer and a cobbler. This Mr. Miller was named Brister--Brister
Miller--a surname not uncommon in colonial times.

A bound boy was one who was "let out" by his parents or guardian or the
"selectmen" to the service of another for a term of years; really, a
slave for a limited time. Brister Miller had in his family a bound boy
and a bound girl.

The girl's name was Eliza. She had come to Boston from England. Her
parents had died, and she had been found a home on Brister Miller's
bowery farm. Bound children and boys and girls worked hard in the old
times, and had but few privileges. They were sometimes allowed to go to
the "General Training," and to share in the husking frolics, and they
were always permitted to listen for a time after "early candlelight" to
the stories that were told on old red settles in cool weather by the
open fires.

As Eliza had come from England she was called "English Eliza." She was a
good-hearted, resolute girl. She became a great friend to Obed, whom her
warm heart pitied, owing to her own hard and solitary lot.

It was the last day of October. There had been a warm rain, which had
kept Obed and English Eliza from the husk heap. The weather had suddenly
changed towards evening. A chill had come down from the north, and the
family and work-people had gathered after supper around the crackling
fire. Mr. Miller sat shelling corn with a cob, and Mrs. Miller began to
knit by the tallow candle.

The work-people told stories. These stories were of a strange and
exciting kind, and related to the times of the Indian war, or to people
with haunted consciences who thought that they had seen ghosts. Young
people listened to such tales in terror. English Eliza had never heard
these tales before or any narratives like them. She saw that the ghost
stories filled Obed with fear, and she pitied him.

On this particular night, after a story had been told that made Obed sit
close to an older farm-hand, Mrs. Miller paused in her work, and,
lifting her brows, said,

"There, English Eliza, what do you think of such doin's as that?"

Eliza looked at Obed, and his fixed eyes and white face nerved her to
make a very honest and resolute answer.

"I don't believe in ghosts, marm."

"Why, Eliza?"

"Honest people never see 'em; if they think they do, they find them out.
It is folks with haunted consciences that see such things, marm; folks
with something wrong, or touched in mind, marm. I wouldn't be afraid to
go right into a grave-yard at midnight. Why should I! I never did any
one harm. This is an awful night to some folks in England--those who
fear a death fetch and have sins on their souls. But to good people this
is the merriest night of all the year, except Christmas, only. It is
Halloween, marm."

What was the girl talking about? A "death fetch," and merrymaking and
"Halloween."

Mrs. Miller dropped her knitting-work into her lap. The cat, who seemed
to feel that there was terror in the air, leaped into the knitting. Mrs.
Miller gave the poor scared little animal a slap, and then looking Eliza
straight in the face, said,

"'Liza, do you speak true? Remember, 'Liza, that you are a bound girl."

"Never a word in jest, marm. My folks were honest people, marm, and I an
honest girl."

"'Liza, what is that awful thing that you told about--that death fetch?"

"On Halloween a person goes into the church and says a prayer, and when
he comes out into the church-yard he sees all the people who are going
to die during the year. An old sexton did it, and he saw himself, marm.
A death fetch is a warning, marm. There is no truth in such stories,
marm; my mother taught me never to believe 'em, marm, and she was an
honest, Christian woman, marm, and she used to say that a person who
always did right had nothing to fear. I would believe my mother's word
against the world, marm. She died in peace, marm, and I want to be just
like her."

"'Liza, what is Halloween?"

Brister Miller stopped shelling corn. The company on the settle snuggled
up close to each other, and the poor cat uttered a faint little "meow,"
and received another slap from her mistress, which seemed to be comfort.

"Ghost night, marm. The night when good spirits visit their friends,
marm. It is All-Hallow eve--the eve of All Saints' day."

"'Liza, remember that you are a bound girl."

"I never forget it, marm."

"Now, tell the truth. What do they do on Halloween?"

"They put apples into deep tubs full of water, and bob for them with
their heads, marm; and they puts 'em also on sticks like a wheel, and
hangs the wheel from the ceiling, with a burning tallow candle on one
side of the wheel, and you catch an apple in your mouth as the wheel
turns, marm, or else get smutched with the candle, marm, which is more
likely, and then you gets laughed at, marm. And you pare apples, and
throw the paring over your right shoulder, and it makes the first letter
of the name of the man that you are to marry, marm."

Mrs. Miller lifted her hands.

"And you eat an apple before a looking-glass, holding a candle in your
left hand, and the one you are to marry comes and looks over your
shoulder into the glass, marm. And they tell you to find fern-seed, and
you will become rich, marm. But there ain't any fern-seed to be found,
marm. And they do lots of things."

"'Liza, what do the saints have to do with such doin's as these?"

"They like to see young folks enjoy themselves, I expects, marm."

"It is the ghost of the living that seem to come, 'Liza."

"All the more interesting, marm."

"Oh,'Liza! 'Liza! such things bode no good! Mercy! what was _that_?'"

There came a succession of loud raps on the door.

"I hope that Halloween is not coming here," said Mrs. Miller.

The door suddenly opened with a gust of wind. A tall girl appeared out
of breath, and said, "Please, Mrs. Miller, Mrs. Hopgood's very sick. Ma
wants to know if you'll let Obed go for the doctor?"

"Yes, yes, yes. Obed, you put the horse into the wagon, and go!"

"Yes," echoed Mr. Miller. "Obed, you go!"

Obed's face was filled with pain and terror. English Eliza saw the
expression, and she understood it. Obed stood up, but did not move.

"Why don't you go?" said Mr. Miller, severely.

"It is that night!"

"What?"

"Halloween," he added. "And I'll have to go by the way of the
grave-yard."

English Eliza's heart was full. "I'm sorry I said these scary things,
marm. Let me go with him, marm. I ain't afraid of anything, marm, and I
do not wonder that Obed is afraid after such stories as they tell in
this new country, marm."

"Yes, 'Liza, you may go. I can trust you anywhere."

Obed's cords seemed to unloose, and his feet flew. In a few minutes Obed
and English Eliza were mounted on the carriage seat, and were soon
speeding away towards the doctor's, which was in the centre of the town.

"Now, Obed, you shall keep Halloween. Young people in England sometimes
ride on this night by lonely places just to test their courage. Obed, I
believe that you have only one fault, and that is what my poor mother
would have called superstitious fear. I think it is wrong to tell such
stories to children as they have told you in this country. It will unman
you."

It was a still cool night. The wind after a changing day had gone down.
The moon hung high in the heavens, now and then shadowed by a fragment
of a broken cloud. The road was filled with fallen leaves, which
deadened the sound of the wheels. The walnut-trees with their falling
nuts sent forth a pleasant odor, and there was a cidery smell about the
old orchards that here and there lined the way. They emerged at last
from a wood, and came into full view of the old country grave-yard on
the hill-side, when something really surprising met their view.

Obed dropped the reins, and Eliza caught them. His knees began to shake,
and he chattered, "Prophets and apostles!"

The horse trotted on.

"Whoa! What is that?"

"Go long!" said English Eliza, in a firm voice.

"Turn round--quick," said Obed.

"I can't, Obed; the road is too narrow. And I am on an errand of duty to
a sick woman, and I will not do it."

"Eliza, it is awful. I shall go mad if you go on. My brain is turning
now."

The sight indeed was a wonder. As it appeared from the road under the
hill, a white horse arose from the grave-yard on the hill-side, and
stood on his hind legs with his forefeet in the air.

"He is _pawing_ the sky," said Obed; "never did any mortal man see a
sight like that. He is climbing a shadow. I shall go crazy. Whoa!"

Eliza shook the reins, and said, firmly, "Go along!"

"Eliza, it must be that Halloween. My nerves are all shaken up. I've
heard of white horses before. I tell you, stop! We'll get out of the
back of the wagon, and run home."

"Never!" said Eliza.

"Well, I am going, anyway." Obed leaped from the wagon, exclaiming,
"I'll give the alarm!"

"I am going for the doctor," said Eliza.

Obed flew. It was indeed a fearful tale that he had to tell when he
reached the farm-house. We think that there seldom ever was heard a
Halloween tale like that.

"It was a white horse, standing in the grave-yard, with his hind feet on
the graves and his paws in the sky," said he, "and under him was a
shadow like a cloud, and--"

"But where is Eliza?" asked Brister Miller.

"She rode right on after the doctor!"

"And you left her to meet such a sight as that!" said Mr. Miller.

"She would do it; she's onerary. There was no need that _both_ of us
should go for the doctor!"

Brister Miller called his hired people together, and they alarmed the
neighborhood. At midnight a company of men had gathered before the
house, who should go and see what this remarkable story could mean.

"I always thought that the girl was rather strange," said Mrs. Miller.
"There may be some witchery or other about this Halloween."

Eliza, brave girl that she was, rode firmly towards the hill-side
grave-yard. As she came nearer to it the white horse did not appear to
be so large as when she first saw it. It was indeed a horse, a live one;
it had its forefeet on the lower limbs of an old apple-tree, which limbs
were bent downward toward the ground. It was eating apples off the high
branches, reaching its long neck up to pick them.

Horses are very fond of apples, and try in every way to get into
orchards when they have gained a taste for the fruit. They have been
known to unhead apple barrels, and they will eat apples from the lower
limbs of a tree, and reach high for the apple limbs after the fruit on
the lower limbs are gone. They like sour apples, and in this way become
cider drinkers.

Eliza stopped the wagon. She got out of it, and tied the horse to a tree
by the roadside. It was midnight--Halloween. She thought of English
merrymakings, of the games with apples, of the curious old stories and
songs that she had heard on such nights as this in her girlhood. She
hurried past the graves and came to the white horse, and said, "Jack!
Jack!" The horse seemed alarmed, let his raised body down to the ground,
snorted, and trotted away.

Eliza stood there all alone at that still midnight hour.

The moon rode clear in the heavens now; the woods were still, and around
her were graves. Did she believe in spirits? Yes, in her mother's, and
as soon as she thought of that she recalled that she had been sent for
the doctor, and that it was her duty to hurry on. Her heart would have
been light, but for her pity for Obed. He had indeed proved a coward,
but he had been wrongly taught and trained.

She rode to the doctor's house, roused the doctor, and brought him back
with her to the neighborhood, and left him at poor Mrs. Hopgood's, and
then rode home.

She was surprised to see a crowd of men before the door. Obed stood
among them. They awaited her coming in intense interest, but in silence.

She got down from the wagon, saying, "Some one will have to carry the
doctor back again."

"Who will go?" asked Mr. Miller.

There was no response. No one wanted to meet a white horse with his body
on a cloud and "his feet in the sky" on this mysterious night of
Halloween.

"I will go," said Eliza, firmly.

"Yes, Eliza, you go," said Mr. Miller. "You are a brave girl."

Eliza mounted the wagon seat.

Obed stepped up to her, and whispered, "Say, Eliza, what was it?"

"I will never tell; remember, now remember once for all, for your sake,
Obed, I will never tell. You played me a mean trick, Obed; but other
people were to blame for it; you never had any one to teach you like my
mother. For your sake, Obed, left, as you are, all alone in the world, I
will never say another word. Now I have done my whole duty, Obed, and,
although I cannot trust you, I will always be your friend."

Obed turned away.

"What did she say?" asked the people.

"She said that she would never tell what she saw," said Obed.

"I shall keep a close eye on that girl hereafter. There may be witches,
and she may be one. This is a very strange night, this Halloween." So
said Mrs. Miller.

Obed had received an arrow in his heart. "_Although I cannot trust
you_," the words spoken by Eliza haunted him. He went about a dull,
absent-minded young man, and the people attributed his sadness to the
sight that he had seen in the midnight ride.

Eliza was always very kind to him. She never spoke to him of the night
that he had deserted her but once. It was on the eve before she united
with the village church.

"Obed," she said, "I have something on my conscience. I owe it to you to
say that what I saw on that Halloween night would never have harmed you
or me."

This confession added to his depression of spirits. He had indeed been a
coward, and forfeited the trust of the best and truest heart that he had
ever known.

The Revolution came. A new flag leaped into the air. Obed had heard the
cannon of Bunker Hill, and seen from afar the smoke of the battle as it
arose on the afternoon of that fateful day.

There was a call for minute-men. A horseman came riding into Medfield,
blowing a horn, and calling upon the farmers to volunteer.

Obed started up at the sound. He knew what was wanted.

He called Eliza out under the great elms.

"English Eliza, I am going. I shall never come back. You will never see
me again. I shall never come back. Some one must die in this cause, and
who better than I? Coward you think me, but you do not know me. I am not
afraid to die. We were thrown upon the world together, and I have
thought well of you. Don't you remember how we used to go sassafrasing
with each other?"

"Yes, Obed."

"And looking for Indian-pipe when we were not looking for anything?"

"Yes."

"And picking blue gentians in the old cranberry meadows?"

"Yes."

"And listening to the bluebirds when the maples were red; and to the
martin birds when the apple-trees were in bloom; and to the red robins,
and all?"

"Yes, yes."

"And we used to sing out of the same book on Sundays."

"Yes."

"You remember; I do. Eliza, I want you to make me one promise."

"I always thought well of you, Obed. I would die for you."

"I am going away, and I shall die for the cause. Some day the news will
come back to ye that I am dead; that I fell on the field somewhere. I do
not know where it will be. Will you forgive me, then, for being a coward
on that Halloween night when I was a boy and you was a girl? Promise me
that now."

"I forgave you long ago. I believe you to be a brave, true-hearted man,
Obed. I think the world of you."

"But you don't _know_ that I am not a coward. You will know. You will
forgive all, then?"

"Yes; there is nothing between us now."

"'Yes,' you say. That word is all that I desire in this world. I am now
ready to go."

He fell fighting bravely at Monmouth. Then English Eliza for the first
time told the story of the midnight ride on Halloween, and what it was
that Obed saw, and she added in tears,

"_But_ he was a brave man, Obed was!"




HER FIRST SEA VIEW.


  She walked across the glistening sands,
    Beneath the morning skies,
  With tangled sea-weed in her hands,
    And sunshine in her eyes.

  Far off--as far as she could see--
    The snowy surges beat,
  And once--she laughed delightedly--
    The water kissed her feet.

  She tossed her pretty curly head--
    Her lips, half-open buds--
  "It's mermaids' washing-day," she said;
    "The sea is full of suds!"

  Then part in glee, and part in doubt,
    And wholly in surprise,
  She added, "When the wash is out,
    I wonder how it dries?"

  MARTHA T. TYLER.




HOW TO FIND AND MOUNT SIGNETS.


[Illustration: SCARABÆUS.]

There is nothing prettier or more attractive, hanging on the walls of
one's parlor or chamber, than a group of signet impressions in
sealing-wax of various colors, artistically arranged and handsomely
mounted; while the pleasure to be derived in seeking them is quite as
keen as that which the coin or stamp hunter enjoys, without the expense
attached to them, for our seals cost comparatively nothing. The outfit
is simple, consisting of a dozen sticks of sealing-wax in different
colors--black, brown, red, gold, white, and green, making a charming
combination with any other shades that take the fancy of the collector.
A light wooden or strong pasteboard box to carry the articles, a box of
matches, a white taper (cut in half for convenience' sake), and, later
on, a piece of stiff white card-board (16 x 22, 22 x 28 being good
sizes) to mount them on.

[Illustration: SEAL OF CONFEDERATE STATES.]

Keep in the bottom of the box containing the wax a dozen or more pieces
of thick, white, unruled writing-paper cut into ovals, circular, oblong,
and square shapes, varying in size from one-half inch in width to two
inches in length. This is all that is required. Now for our hunt. As you
meet friends and acquaintances notice their rings and watch-charms. When
any are discovered with a figure, title, handsome monogram or initial on
it, borrow it, and make your impression. This is accomplished by laying
a piece of your writing-paper, at least half an inch larger than the
seal to be used, on some smooth surface like a table. Then take a stick
of wax between the thumb and forefinger of the right hand. With the left
hand light a match or taper, and bring them together just on the paper
where the wax melts sufficiently to drop freely, rub the end of the
sealing-wax quickly over the middle of the paper. Then moistening the
seal with the tongue to prevent the stone adhering to the burning wax,
press it firmly into the hot bed prepared for it, a second or so, being
careful to lift it straight up when taken off, thus securing a clean
edge. If this is properly done a fine impression of your subject is
secured. Repeat this operation several times, taking different-colored
wax for duplicates, which will enable you to make exchange with other
collectors, who are unable to get these same figures, but have others
not in your collection.

In this manner one is able to secure rare and beautiful heads of men and
women, animals, birds, and fishes. These should be placed in a box by
themselves carried for the purpose--as fast as taken. When the writer
started his group, which was mostly made in Washington, D.C., a few of
the young people met one evening at a friend's house and decided to
begin together, which greatly enhanced our amusement. Some one suggested
we should assemble once a week at each other's homes, and bring our
friends with us, so that all could see the impressions and make
exchanges.

[Illustration: KNIGHTS OF GOLDEN CROSS.]

This was carried out an entire winter, and we found such a course added
immensely to our finds and pleasure, as there is no collecting that
adapts itself better for club purposes than this for both boys and
girls. The capital proved, too, a particularly good field for us, being
full of people who had seals gathered from all parts of the world.
English, French, German, Italian, and Spanish coats of arms were found,
besides quite a variety of exquisitely cut heads in antique rings,
gathered from the tombs and curiosity shops of Greece, Italy, and Egypt.
In most cities the seals may be found in museums and private
collections, and as the act of making an impression in wax is not
injurious to them, and requires but little time, we found people
generally very willing to allow it. When a sufficient number of seals
are gathered, _i.e._, enough to fill a card-board, they are mounted by
first marking the place where they are to go faintly with a lead-pencil.
Begin by making a square-cut line in the centre of the board, a little
smaller than the writing-paper which contain the seal impressions. This
is for the largest of them, then, according to size, graduating to the
smallest.

[Illustration: Socrates.]

The others may be clustered around the first, which should have the most
space about it, with at least an inch of border. When the outlines are
all drawn take a sharp knife and, following the pencil marks, cut
entirely through the mounting-board.

[Illustration: Homer.]

The seals are placed in their proper position by covering the outer
edges of the paper they are on with mucilage and then pressing the
card-board on to them, taking care that the seal shows through the
centre of the cut space.

[Illustration: Treasury Dept. Con. States.]

For a pretty effect, if the largest seal in the middle is red, surround
it by a circle of yellow ones, followed by blue, gold, brown, and black,
giving a harmonious whole. Some collectors run a line of blue or red ink
about the card-board, with ornamental curves at the corners as a
finishing touch.

Have it framed in some light wood, like ash, oak, or holly, three and a
half to five inches in width, with a glass over it.




SEA RANGERS.

BY KIRK MUNROE,

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


CHAPTER IX.

THE RANGERS HAVE DEALINGS WITH PIRATES.

When the rest of the Rangers were awakened to the fact that there were
others on the island besides themselves, they were so certain that
Captain Crotty had returned, and so excited over the prospect of being
rescued from their unpleasant situation, that but for Will Rogers they
would have rushed to the beach at once with shouts of welcome.

"Hold on, fellows," he said, in a low tone. "I don't believe the skipper
is down there, for, you know, he never swears--at least we never heard
him--while those men are swearing like pirates. The rest of you wait
here while Hal and I slip round to that far point, where we can get
close to them without being discovered. Come on, Hal."

The other boys were not at all satisfied with this arrangement, however,
and the two scouts were hardly out of sight before Mif Bowers said:

"Look here, fellows, I don't see why we should be left behind doing
nothing. We are just as anxious to know who those men are as anybody.
Besides, supposing they should go off before Will and Hal got to the
point. Then we'd be as bad off as ever, and I, for one, am too sick of
this plaguey island to be left on it any longer. So I'm going to sneak
down a little closer, and make sure they don't get away without our
knowing it."

As the speaker started to carry out this intention the others followed
him. Only little Cal Moody, who was afraid to go, and almost equally so
to stay alone, remained behind. The others had not got more than
half-way to the beach before they saw a tall figure coming directly
toward them.

"Lie low, fellows!" whispered Mif Bowers, throwing himself flat amid a
growth of bayberry and sweet-fern. The rest of the boys instantly
followed his example, and the approaching figure had almost passed them
without discovering their presence, when it stopped to listen to a sound
of pattering feet and an anxious voice calling in suppressed tones:
"Mif! Fellows! Wait for me!" The next moment little Cal Moody ran with a
startled cry plump into the stranger's arms.

[Illustration: "ANSWER ME INSTANTLY, YOU YOUNG RASCAL, OR I'LL THROTTLE
YOU."]

"Hello!" cried the latter. "What's this? Who are you? and what are you
doing here? Answer me instantly, you young rascal, or I'll throttle
you."

"Please, sir, I didn't mean any harm," gasped poor Cal, frightened
nearly out of his senses. "I'm only a Road Ranger-- I mean a sea-- That
is, I'm only a boy, and the others left me behind, and I got scared, and
was looking for them. But I'll go right back, if you'll only let me go."

"So there are others, are there?" remarked the stranger, at the same
time keeping a tight hold of Cal's arm. "Who are they? and where are
they?"

"Only boys, sir, like me, and we're camping out, and waiting for Captain
Crotty to come for us, and we've drunk up all our water, and are 'most
out of everything to eat, so we thought, perhaps, you--"

"Where is your camp?" interrupted the stranger.

"Right back here a little way."

"Then come along and show it to me."

So Cal and the stranger started toward the tent, and the hidden Rangers
crept after them to see what was to be done with their youngest member;
only Cracker Bob Jones sped swiftly away in the direction taken by Will
and Hal to notify them that the camp was discovered, and bring them back
to its defence in case the new-comers should prove aggressive.

As Will and Hal were moving slowly, and with all the caution of scouts
approaching an enemy's camp, Cracker Bob overtook them before they
reached the point toward which they were making their way; and, on
learning of the new turn of affairs, they hastily retraced their steps.

By this time daylight was appearing, and when the Ranger scouts neared
their camp they saw the other boys gathered about a strange man, who did
not appear either ferocious or inclined to enmity. In fact, they were
all chatting and laughing in the most friendly manner.

As the three late comers approached, the stranger stepped forward, and
extending his hand said, "So this is Captain Will Rogers is it? I am
happy to meet you, my lad, and glad that I am in a position to offer you
some assistance out of your present difficulty. My name is Bangwell,
Zenas Bangwell, at your service, and I am the owner of this island,
having recently purchased it. I am about to erect a summer residence
here, and have just run over from Newport in my yacht _Whisper_, for the
purpose of selecting a building site, getting acquainted with the
harbor, and so forth. The season being so well advanced, I have got to
hurry things, and took advantage of the calmness of the night to strip
my yacht of her interior fittings, and fetch them ashore, as I intend to
bring over my lumber and supplies in her. Now I am about to return to
Newport, which is, as you doubtless know, only a couple of hours' run
from here, and if you want to take passage with me I shall be most
delighted to have you do so, especially as my young friend here tells me
you are all good sailors. That will enable me to leave my crew behind,
to begin clearing a place for the foundation of my cottage."

"But," said Will Rogers, doubtfully, "we are expecting some one--"

"Oh!" interrupted the glib stranger, "I forgot to say that I met your
friend, Captain Crotty, who was forced to take his sloop, the
_Millgirl_, to Newport for docking, and as he cannot be ready for sea
under several days, he begged me to bring you back with me, always
supposing that you were ready to leave the island. Now as I am in a
great hurry to be off, for I hope to go to Newport and return to this
place again before night, I must ask you to gather up your traps as
quickly as possible, while I return to the beach and have a boat got
ready to take us to the yacht, where you will find breakfast waiting,
and, of course, plenty of fresh water. You need not bother to bring
anything except your personal belongings, as I shall make Captain Crotty
a handsome offer for the Camp as it stands, to be used by my workmen. In
five minutes I shall be ready."

Thus saying, Mr. Bangwell took his departure, waving his hand pleasantly
to the boys as he went.

"Isn't this the biggest kind of luck?" cried Mif Bowers. "I tell you
what, Will, you are altogether too suspicious. Now, I didn't think those
chaps were pirates or anything of the kind from the very first."

"Well," replied the Ranger Captain, "it may be all right; but I'm not
wholly satisfied yet, and I don't know as we ought--"

"Oh, yes, we ought, fast enough," interrupted Mif Bowers. "We'd be great
fools if we didn't take this chance, when Captain Crotty has sent for us
too. Anyhow, I for one am not going to stay here any longer to die of
thirst, let alone hunger."

"Nor I," and "Me, too," shouted others.

So Will yielded to the voice of the majority, and busied himself with
rolling up his blankets. If he had not been so very thirsty he might
still have argued the question, but no argument could prevail against a
vision of the yacht's water-tanks. And, after all, Mr. Bangwell's story
was very plausible. If at that moment he could have been present at an
interview on the beach between the stranger who had just left them and
several tough-looking men who had suspended their work to gather about
him, the young Ranger's misgivings would have been replaced by
certainties of a very disquieting character. The speaker was saying:

"You see, mates, I suspicioned that some of the kids we heard of as
camping out on this island might still be here, so I just strolled up to
have a look. Sure enough, I found them, or, rather, another lot, I take
it, who are waiting here for some craft to come along and take them off.
They are green as grass, though, and I pumped them dry in a hurry. As
quick as I found that they are as anxious to get away from here as we
are to have 'em, I faked up a yarn about having just bought the island,
and being in a hurry to get back to Newport in my yacht for supplies.
They claim to be first-class sailors, though, between you and me, I
don't believe they know enough to navigate a scow at anchor. It gave me
a lead, though, and so I invited them to help me sail the yacht over to
Newport, while my crew--you fellows, you understand--staid behind to
begin building operations. They jumped at the chance, and will be down
in a minute with their plunder. So we want to be ready for them, and set
'em aboard at once without giving them a chance to examine any of this
stuff." Here the speaker pointed to a miscellaneous pile of boxes,
barrels, and bales, with which the other men had been busy.

"I'll sail far enough with them to get 'em well started," he continued,
"and then give 'em the slip some way, and I don't believe they'll know
enough to get back again, even if they want to. So we'll get rid of
them, and the yacht, too, before the schooner comes, as well as throw
any craft that's hunting us off our track, till we've had plenty of time
to get clear, for they're certain to sight the yacht and follow her. Oh,
it's a fine graft, and we want to work it for all it's worth! So,
Scotty, you take the yawl up to the far end of the beach, and I'll take
the gig, while you other fellows lie low till we are off."

The plan thus arranged was carried out to the letter, and ten minutes
later the Sea Rangers found themselves once more afloat in a natty
schooner-yacht, evidently brand new, with Mr. Bangwell at the wheel, and
the gig towing astern, while the second boat was being rowed back to the
beach by an evil-looking man, who answered to the name of "Scotty."

In his haste to be off, Mr. Bangwell had not waited to get up the
anchor, but had slipped the cable, saying that he could pick it up on
his return.

The yacht was not more than a mile outside the harbor, and Mr. Bangwell
was just informing Will Rogers that the course for Newport was east by
south half south, when the former noticed a dingy-looking schooner
approaching them from dead ahead. Without drawing attention to her, he
exclaimed:

"By-the-way, boys, breakfast is ready in the cabin, so just tumble down
and pitch in without waiting for me. I'll steer till one of you can come
up and take the wheel."

The Rangers having quenched their thirst immediately on getting aboard,
were feeling more than ever hungry, and so needed no second invitation
to breakfast. Thus in another minute Mr. Bangwell had the deck to
himself. With a muttered excuse for so doing, which the boys only heard
indistinctly and heeded not at all, he drew the companion-hatch and
closed the cabin doors. Then he lashed the wheel in a certain position,
cast loose the painter of the gig, slipped into the boat, and rowed
rapidly away toward the on-coming schooner, leaving the yacht to take
care of herself.


CHAPTER X.

CAPTURED BY A MAN-OF-WAR.

The breakfast that the boys found awaiting them was not particularly
inviting, as it consisted principally of a big pot of muddy coffee, a
pan of hardtack, and a dish of cold bacon. Still, they were too hungry
to be dainty, and so pitched into it, with a right good-will.

"My! I should think he had stripped her," said Hal Bacon, gazing about
the dismantled cabin. "It's a shame, too. The idea of carrying lumber in
such a fine craft as this!"

"Yes. Isn't she a beauty?" cried Cracker Bob Jones, admiringly. "I'd
like to cruise in her for a month. If Captain Crotty isn't ready for us,
suppose we offer to help bring her back to the island again."

"I wouldn't mind taking a cruise in her," acknowledged Will Rogers, "if
only Captain Crotty or some other first-class sailor was in charge, but
somehow I can't wholly trust this Mr.--"

"Oh, pshaw, Will!" cried Mif Bowers. "If you aren't the most suspicious
chap I ever knew. The man is trusting us, and I don't see why we
shouldn't trust him. Besides, what could he do, anyhow, against so many
of us? Why, we could take possession of this yacht and run away with her
if we wanted to."

"Who'd sail her if we did?" asked Will, laughing at the idea of his
Rangers turning pirates in that way.

"Why, we would, of course. I rather guess we know enough by this time,
after all the experience we've had, to sail a boat of this size. I know
I would, anyhow."

Just here there came such a tremendous flapping of sails, thrashing of
ropes, and banging of blocks from overhead that the boys made a rush for
the deck to see what was up. To their dismay the cabin doors were not
only closed but locked. In vain did they pound, kick, and shout to be
released. There was no answer to their cries, though the terrifying
racket overhead continued with increasing violence.

"Something serious has happened," shouted Will Rogers, with a very pale
face. "Perhaps Mr. Bangwell has fallen overboard, and a squall has
struck us. Anyway, we must break open these doors."

But the doors were stout, and for several minutes resisted their utmost
efforts. Finally, however, they gave way, and the boys poured on deck.
By this time the alarming noise had ceased, for the yacht, which had
thrown her head into the wind, had again filled away and resumed her
course of her own accord.

The Rangers gazed about them in bewildered amazement. There was no trace
of the man whom they had left on deck, nor of the boat that had towed
astern.

"He must have fallen overboard and got drowned," said little Cal Moody,
in an awe-struck tone.

"He must have deserted us and gone off, though I can't understand why,
nor see where he has gone," answered Will Rogers, as he mechanically
stepped to the wheel and cast off its lashing. "There is something wrong
about this whole business, and we are left in a pretty pickle. Now the
question is what shall we do about it?"

"Go back to the island and wait for Captain Crotty," suggested several.

"Keep on to Newport," advised others.

"But we don't know where it is," objected Sam Ray. "I'd run for the
nearest land."

"And be wrecked again. Not much."

"We could anchor when we got near shore."

"No, we couldn't, 'cause we haven't got any anchor. Don't you remember
we left it behind?"

"That's so. Well, then, let's keep on till we meet some vessel, and then
ask where Newport is."

"We know the course to Newport," suggested Mif Bowers, "for I heard him
telling you, Will."

"Yes," admitted the latter. "He told me that Newport lay east by south
half south, but I don't believe it. In fact I think it lies just the
other way."

"All right, then; let's go that way."

As it seemed to be the general opinion that this was the best thing to
be done, Will Rogers, who was gradually getting the hang of the
unaccustomed wheel, brought the yacht close on the wind, and ordered all
sheets trimmed flat. This much he had learned on board the _Millgirl_.
By thus doing, he could lay a course a little north of east, which he
hoped would take them to the vicinity of Newport.

The others discussed their situation, the disappearance of Mr. Bangwell,
and the probable ending of this most remarkable cruise with unwearied
tongues. They still believed themselves to be good enough sailors to
handle the yacht, and take her anywhere they chose. At the same time
they devoutly hoped that fair weather would hold until they reached some
safe harbor, and earnestly wished for the sight of one.

In the mean time Will Rogers was puzzled to account for his inability to
keep the yacht on her course. She persistently fell off from it, and
seemed to be making leeway almost as fast as she did headway, although a
good breeze was blowing. "There must be a tremendous current," he said
to himself, "and I guess I'd better head the other way."

So, in imitation of Captain Crotty's well-remembered order, he sung out,
"Ready about!" and then put the helm hard down. He did not, however,
remember to slack his head-sail sheets, and none of the others
remembered it for him. The yacht shot up into the wind all right; but
after hanging there for a minute with slatting sails, she gracefully
tilled away again on her former tack. She had missed stays. Again and
again Will tried to get her about, but failed in every instance.

Now, for the first time, the Rangers began to grow alarmed, and to
realize that something was lacking in their knowledge of seamanship.
Their craft would sail all right where she chose to go, but not where
they wanted her to.

"I never heard of a boat acting this way!" cried Will Rogers, finally,
and in utter despair.

"Let me try," said Mif Bowers; and, glad to share his responsibility,
Will released the wheel.

Mifflin met with no better success than Will, and not only that, but
became so badly rattled by a sudden puff that heeled the yacht over
until her lee rail was under water, that he let go of the wheel in
terror, yelling to Will to take it before they were capsized.

Even their hoped-for assistance from other craft failed them; for,
though several, all evidently yachts, approached at different times
during the day, they all sheered off when near enough to distinguish the
signals fluttering from the _Whisper_'s mast-heads.

So the unhappy Sea Rangers, growing more and more terrified with each
passing hour, sailed all day without making any land or being able to
hail a single vessel. By nightfall they were enveloped in a thick fog,
the wind had whipped round and was blowing half a gale from the
eastward, a heavy sea was running, and most of the boys were so
prostrated by sea-sickness that they no longer cared whether they lived
or died. Just before dark Will Rogers and little Cal Moody, who were the
only ones not affected by sea-sickness, lowered all the sails, and
managed clumsily to secure them.

None of the Rangers had ever dreamed of anything so awful as the long
hours of darkness that followed, during which their craft drifted,
rolling and pitching furiously, and utterly at the mercy of wind and
wave. At length, after what seemed an eternity of darkness and terror,
Will Rogers, who, with little Cal cuddled close beside him, was half
dozing with utter weariness in the cockpit, was roused into a sudden
activity by the unmistakable boom of breakers close at hand.

"Hello, fellows!" he yelled, springing to his feet, "tumble up here in a
hurry and make sail or we'll be lost. We're almost on the rocks now!"

This thrilling summons was sufficient to banish even sea-sickness, and a
few minutes later the yacht, under mainsail and jib, was slowly drawing
away from the dangerous though still unseen reef.

Some hours afterwards a hot sun, scattering the sullen fog-bank, poured
its cheery rays over the haggard-looking Rangers, who, in various
attitudes of utter misery, occupied the wet decks of the yacht. All at
once they sprang to their feet with shouts of dismay and terror, for,
out from a low hanging bank of mist, that was slowly rolling away
astern, there came a flash as of lightning, and the thunderous roar of a
heavy gun. At the same moment, as though it had been cloven in twain by
the shot, the fog opened and a United States man-of-war, snow-white and
gleaming in the sunlight, loomed up directly behind them, terrible and
yet grandly beautiful in its on-rushing majesty.

The Rangers gazed at this bewildering apparition in speechless terror,
fully expecting that another minute would see them run down and crushed
like an egg-shell. As the monster dashed up abreast of them, at the same
time slackening her speed with reversed engines, an officer, hailing
from the bridge, demanded to know the yacht's name.

"_Whisper!_" shouted Will Rogers, recovering somewhat his self-control.

"What do you mean by that, you impudent young pirate?" roared back the
officer, angrily. "Why don't you heave to? Heave to, sir, at once, or it
will be the worse for you."

"We don't know how," sang back Will, while all the others trembled in
their bare feet, and almost expected to receive a broadside from the
gleaming guns that grinned at them not a stone's-throw away.

"Then lower your sails and come to anchor, while I send a boat aboard,"
shouted the officer, as the great white ship glided by.

The yacht's crew could not anchor, but they let down their sails by the
run, and a few minutes later were approached by a boat from the
man-of-war, bearing a brass howitzer in its bows, and manned by a lusty
crew of blue jackets.

"Way enough! Oars!" commanded a voice from the stern of the boat, as it
dashed alongside, and at the sound every Ranger was thrilled as though
by an electric shock. In another moment they had rushed forward, and
were overwhelming with their clamorous welcome the younger of the two
officers who had just gained the yacht's deck.

"Mr. Barlow! Sir! I am amazed. What is the meaning of all this?"
demanded the elder officer, sternly.

To this Billy Barlow, Ready Ranger, and naval cadet, just now attached
to the United States practice-ship _Bancroft_, made bewildered answer:
"Why, sir, they are not pirates, after all, but my own schoolmates from
Berks. I know every one of them, and can vouch for their character as
for my own."

"Then, perhaps," said the lieutenant a little less sternly, but still
with a decided trace of suspicion in his voice, "you can explain how
they happen to be in possession of the yacht _Blue Billow_, which was
stolen from her anchorage in the East River by a gang of thieves four
days ago, and run off with the most valuable cargo of plunder ever taken
out of New York city. If you or they can explain this satisfactorily,
well and good. If not, it is my duty to clap them in irons, and convey
them aboard the ship as prisoners."

"I think I can explain the situation to your satisfaction, sir," said
Will Rogers, boldly, "though this is the first we have heard about
thieves or stolen goods."

The officer listened with closest attention to Will's story, and when it
was finished, he said, with a smile: "Well, young gentleman, I am very
much inclined to believe you, and am very glad to be able to carry back
such a favorable report to our commanding officer. Mr. Barlow, you will
remain, with two men, in charge of the yacht. Make sail and stand off
and on within easy hail of the ship."

As soon as the Lieutenant had departed, and Billy Barlow had carried out
his instructions, the naval cadet was overwhelmed by a torrent of
questions from the bewildered Rangers.

Why did he call this yacht _Blue Billow_ when her name is _Whisper_? How
did a man-of-war happen to be sent after her? How did you know where to
find us? etc., etc.

"Because," answered Billy Barlow, laughing, "she belongs to Admiral
Marlin, who has only just built her. He named her after your play, which
he happened to see in Chester; and when she was reported stolen, we got
orders to keep a lookout for her during our cruise down the Sound. We
heard of you yesterday evening from several yachtsmen, who had
recognized your flag; but thinking you were a lot of pirates, had no
desire for a closer acquaintance. It's big luck, though, that I happened
to be along to identify you, for our first luff is in a towering rage at
your supposed insult in telling him to whisper when he hailed you."

The yacht was shortly hailed again, and ordered to follow the _Bancroft_
to the vicinity of the island on which the Rangers had so recently
camped, and which, to their great surprise, they now learned was not
more than a couple of miles away.

As they sailed toward it, with Billy Barlow at the wheel, he asked Will
Rogers how it happened that he had been trying to sail close hauled with
his centreboard up.

"Why," replied the Ranger Captain, "I never thought of that, and don't
believe I should have known what to do with it if I had, for, you see,
the _Millgirl_ didn't have any centreboard, and so we didn't learn about
it."

"Which shows," remarked Billy Barlow, sagely, "that it isn't safe to go
to sea, especially in command of a vessel, without a previous and pretty
extensive experience in various styles of craft."

"And after you've got your extensive experience, perhaps you won't ever
want to go to sea again," laughed Will Rogers. "At any rate, that's the
way I feel now."

"I don't care whether you call it extensive experience or sea-sickness,"
chimed in Mif Bowers, "but I know I've had enough of it to last me a
lifetime."

"Last night I promised myself that if ever I set foot on dry land again
I'd stay there, and I mean to keep my promise, too," announced Cracker
Bob Jones, with an expressive shake of the head.

"I think," said little Cal Moody, "that I'll resign from the Sea
Rangers, for I don't seem to care as much about being one as I did."

And this was the opinion of the entire wet, ragged, dirty, barefooted,
sunburned, hungry, and generally disreputable looking crew of the yacht
_Blue Billow_.

At the island they found the _Millgirl_, with poor Captain Crotty almost
beside himself with anxiety. He was so overcome with joyful emotion at
the safe reappearance of his missing charges that, as they thankfully
scrambled aboard the old sloop, he could only exclaim, "Waal, I'll be
blowed!"

He had met a dingy old schooner sailing out of the harbor as he entered
it, and described her so minutely that the commander of the _Bancroft_
decided to go in pursuit of her at once. This he did, ultimately
capturing her, with Mr. Bangwell and his pals, together with all their
plunder, including the handsome fittings of Admiral Marlin's yacht on
board.

The _Blue Billow_ was sent to New York in charge of prize-master William
Barlow and a picked crew of seamen, while the sturdy old _Millgirl_ bore
her picked crew of landsmen, who no longer had the least desire to
become seamen, safely back to Berks.

Here, after showing up at their respective homes, the Rangers met in
special session at Range Hall for the purpose of giving honorary member
Pop Miller a full account of their recent expedition. The little old
gentleman listened with absorbed attention, and when the tale was
concluded he exclaimed:

"Marmaids, mutiny, shipwreck, cast away on a desolate island, hungry,
thirsty, kidnapped, pirates, lost at sea, captured by a man-o'-war, and
safe back home, all inside of one week, is a record what I don't believe
can be beat by any other lot of Sea Rangers in the hull world"--which
conclusion is fully shared by every member of the Ready Rangers of
Berks.

THE END.




OAKLEIGH.

BY ELLEN DOUGLAS DELAND.


CHAPTER XIX.

It was four years later, and it was again the day before Christmas.

Cynthia sat in her own room by the bed, which was covered with presents
in various stages of completion; some tied up and marked, ready to be
sent, others only half finished, and one or two but just begun. Bob, as
usual, lay at her feet.

"There!" cried she, as with a loud snap her needle broke for the third
time; "there it goes again. I believe I'll give up this wretched frame
and all the other things that are not finished, and go to Boston this
morning. I'll just buy everything I see, regardless of price."

"You would never get near the counters, the shops are so packed,"
observed Edith, who was hovering over a table full of lovely articles on
the other side of the large room. "Just send what you have, Cynthia, and
let the rest go. You can't possibly finish them in time. You give so
many Christmas presents."

"Oh, it's all very well for you, with all those wedding-presents and the
Christmas things you'll have besides, to think other people won't want
them! You don't take half as much interest in Christmas as usual this
year, Edith, just because you are going to be married so soon. Now I
should never change about Christmas if I were to be married forty
times--which I hope I sha'n't be. In fact, I've about made up my mind
never to marry at all."

"Nonsense! I think I used to say that myself when I was as young as you
are."

"And you're just two years older, so according to that you were saying
so this time two years ago, which was not by any means the case, for you
were already engaged to Dennis then! In fact, I don't believe you ever
said it. Oh, another needle! I'm too excited to work, anyhow. What with
weddings and Christmas and the boys coming home, I am utterly incapable
of further exertion."

She tossed the unfinished photograph-frame across the bed and leaned
back in her chair. Then she began to gather up her work materials.
Finally she moved restlessly to the window.

"It is beginning to snow. I hope the boys won't be blocked up on the
way. Wouldn't it be dreadful?"

"I suppose you mean Neal. Of course Jack can get out from Cambridge. Ah,
here comes Dennis!" and Edith hastily left the room.

"Dennis, Dennis--always Dennis!" said Cynthia to herself. "I wonder if I
could ever become so silly? Certainly I never could about Dennis Morgan,
though he is a dear old fellow, and I'm very glad I'm going to have him
for a brother-in-law."

Cynthia stood for some time at the window, looking out at the swiftly
falling flakes which were already whitening the ground. Bob stood beside
her, his fore-paws resting on the window-sill. He belonged to Cynthia
now; but she patted his head and whispered in his ear that his master
was coming, which made the black tail wag joyfully.

Four years had, of course, made considerable change in Cynthia; and yet
her face did not look very much older. Her fearless blue eyes were just
as merry or as thoughtful by turns as they had always been--at this
moment very thoughtful; and the pretty head, with the hair gathered in a
soft knot at the back, drooped somewhat as she looked out on the
fast-gathering snow.

She was wondering how Neal would be this time. During his last visit he
had seemed different. She wished that people would not change. Why was
one obliged to grow up? If they could only remain boys and girls
forever, what a lovely place the world would be! She had hated to have
Edith become engaged, and now in two days she was going to be married
and leave the old home forever. To be sure, she was to live in Brenton,
in a dear little house of her own, but it would not be the same thing at
all.

Of one thing Cynthia was sure. She would never marry and go away from
Oakleigh; she would stay with her father and mother forever. The next
wedding in the family would be either Jack's or Janet's. Jack had
overcome his shyness and become quite a "lady's man," and as for
Janet--but just then the young woman in question came into the room.

She was eleven years old now, tall for her age, and with her hair in a
"pig-tail," but the roguish look in her eyes showed that, like the Janet
of former times, she was ever ready for mischief.

She carried a pile of boxes in her arms, and was followed by Willy, who
staggered under a similar load, and by Mrs. Franklin, also with her arms
full.

"More wedding-presents," Janet announced. "Edith and Dennis have been
looking at them, and they sent them up for you to see and fix."

As she uttered the last words one of the boxes slipped, and away went a
quantity of articles over the floor--spoons, forks, gravy-ladles, and
salt-cellars--in wild confusion, cards scattered, and no means of
telling who sent what, nor in which box anything belonged.

"Janet," groaned Cynthia, "if that isn't just like you! You ought to be
called 'The Great American Dropper,' for everything goes from you."

"Never mind," returned Janet, cheerfully. "Willy, you pick them up while
I see who's coming. I hear wheels. It's a station carriage."

"Is it?" cried Cynthia. "Can it be already?"

"It's Aunt Betsey," was Janet's next piece of information.

"Oh!" came from Cynthia, in disappointed tones.

"Why, who did you think it was?" asked her young sister, turning and
surveying her calmly and critically. "Aren't you glad to see Aunt
Betsey? And why is your face so very red? Are you expecting any one
else?"

"No, only the boys," said Cynthia, busying herself with the scattered
silverware.

"The boys! I don't see why your face should look so queer for them."

Mrs. Franklin glanced at Cynthia quickly.

"Come," said she, much to her daughter's relief, "we must go and welcome
Aunt Betsey."

The little old lady was as agile as ever. She had come for Christmas and
for the wedding, which was to take place on the twenty-sixth.

"I am glad you didn't put it off," she said to Edith when she had kissed
her and kissed Dennis, and patted them both on the shoulder. "Never put
off till to-morrow what can be done to-day, as I learned to my cost late
in life--though not so very late, either. And now I want to see the
wedding-presents."

And she trotted upstairs in front of them just as nimbly as she did
years ago, when she went up to show her nieces her new false front.

Jack arrived in the afternoon. He was a Sophomore at Harvard now--very
elegant in appearance, very superior as to knowledge of the world, but
underneath the same old Jack, good-natured, plodding, persevering. He
still ran the poultry farm, though he paid a man to look after it while
he was away.

The day wore on, night came down upon them, and still Neal did not
appear. He was to have left Philadelphia that morning, where he had been
living during the past four years. He had grown more accustomed to the
confinement of business, he had made a number of friends outside of the
Quaker element, and he expected Philadelphia to be his permanent home.

His cousin was apparently satisfied with his success, for Neal had risen
steadily since the beginning, and would one day be a partner. He had
come home to Oakleigh every summer for two weeks' vacation, but he had
not spent the Christmas holidays there since the year that his sister
was married.

This Christmas eve, Cynthia, in her prettiest gown, donned for the
occasion, grew visibly more and more impatient, in which feeling her
step-mother shared. Mr. Franklin laughed at them as he sat by the lamp
reading the evening paper as usual.

"Watching won't bring him," he said when they opened the front door a
crack for the twentieth time and then shut it hastily because of the
snow that blew in; "and in the mean time you're freezing me!"

"Papa, how can you be so prosaic as to read a stupid old newspaper
Christmas eve?" cried Cynthia, as she caught the paper out of his hand,
tossed it aside, and seated herself on his knee.

"Seems to me my little daughter looks very nice to-night," he said,
looking at her affectionately. "She has on a very fine frock and some
very superior color in her cheeks."

"Well, it is Christmas eve, and the fire is hot," explained Cynthia.

"Ho!" laughed Janet, "that isn't it! You began to get blushy when you
thought the boys were coming this morning. You thought--"

"Janet," interposed Mrs. Franklin, "run up stairs quickly and get the
little white package on my dressing-table, dear. I forgot to put it in
the basket. You can slip it in."

For the old Oakleigh custom still obtained, and the presents were
deposited in the basket in the hall.

Janet, her explanations nipped in the bud, departed obediently, her love
of teasing overcome by her desire to see, feel, and even shake the
"little white package," which had an attractive sound.

And at last Neal arrived. The storm had begun at the south, and there
had been much detention; but he had finally reached his journey's end,
and here he was, cold and hungry, and very glad to reach the friendly
shelter of Oakleigh.

From the moment he came in Cynthia found a great deal to do in other
parts of the house--things which seemed to require her immediate and
closest attention. She left her mother and sister to attend to the wants
of the traveller, and beyond the first shy greeting she had very little
to say to him. When there was nothing left to be done she devoted
herself to Aunt Betsey. But as soon as Neal had appeased his appetite
the excitement of opening the presents began, and the assumption of
indifference to his coming was no longer necessary.

On Christmas afternoon Neal asked Cynthia to go out with him. The day
was clear, the sleighing fine, and he anticipated having an opportunity
for a long talk with her, uninterrupted by the claims of relatives. It
seemed to him that there were more people than ever who received a share
of Cynthia's attention. He would like to have her all to himself just
once.

Very much to his chagrin, however, Cynthia, who accepted his invitation
with apparent cordiality, insisted that they should go in the double
sleigh, and that Aunt Betsey and some one else should go too.

"It would be very selfish and quite unnecessary for us to go in the
cutter when Aunt Betsey is so fond of a sleigh-ride," she said,
severely.

Neal grumbled under his breath, but could say nothing aloud, as Miss
Trinkett was in the room. To be sure, when they drove off, Cynthia sat
in front with him, while his sister entertained her aunt on the back
seat; but it was not by any means the same thing as going with Cynthia
alone would have been.

That young woman, with apparent unconsciousness of his dissatisfaction,
chatted gayly about the wedding, the various bits of Brenton gossip, and
everything that she could think of to keep the ball of conversation
rolling. Somehow it had never before been so difficult to talk to Neal.
She wished that he would exert himself a little more.

"How do you like the idea of being usher," she asked--"you and Jack and
four others, you know? Tom Morgan is to be best man, Gertrude and Kitty
Morgan are to be bridesmaids, and I maid of honor. But, Neal, did you
hear the story about Tony Bronson?"

"No; what?"

"Oh, he did some terrible thing not very long ago. He forged his uncle's
name, I believe. It got into the papers at first, and then it was all
hushed up, and his father paid the money. But wasn't it dreadful?"

"I should say so! But it is just what one might have expected Bronson to
do, Cynth."

And then Neal relapsed into silence again, and Cynthia determined that
she would make no further effort at conversation. If Neal would not talk
he need not, but neither would she. And after this, with the exception
of Miss Betsey's voice from behind, nothing was heard but the jingle of
the sleigh-bells until the drive was over and they were at home again.

The wedding the next day passed off well. The bride looked lovely, as
all brides should, and Cynthia was as pretty as, if not more so than,
her sister. After the ceremony at the church there was a reception at
the house, which, notwithstanding the winter aspect without, looked warm
and gay in its dress of Christmas-greens and wedding-flowers.

Edith was upstairs in her old room, and her mother and Cynthia were
putting the last touches to her toilet when she had changed her dress to
go away.

"Mamma, I want to say something to you," she said, putting her arms
around Mrs. Franklin's neck. "You know how I love you now, and you know
only too well how hateful I was to you when you first came to us. I look
back on it now with horror, especially the day you heard me say it was
so dreadful to have the Gordons come. I want to tell you, mamma, that
next to Dennis the coming of the Gordons was the very best thing that
ever happened to me in my whole life!"

Mrs. Franklin could not speak; she could only kiss her and hold her
tenderly.

Cynthia said nothing aloud, but she thought that the coming of the
Gordons was the very best thing that had ever happened to her, without
any exception whatever. Dennis, in her eyes, was of minor importance.

The bride and groom went off amid a shower of old shoes, and then the
guests slowly betook themselves to their homes. It was the first wedding
at Oakleigh for many years, and it was celebrated in a manner befitting
such an important occasion. Some of the intimate friends staid during
the evening, and when they left, the family, tired and worn with
excitement, separated early.

The next day Neal went to see some of his former friends. He was absent
several days, for he had been granted extended leave, and was not due in
Philadelphia until the 2d of January.

It seemed very lonely and strange at Oakleigh after the wedding was
over. It was the first break in the family of that kind, and Cynthia
could not become accustomed to it. She thought that accounted for the
unusual fit of depression which seized her the morning Neal went away,
and which she could not shake off, try as she would.

Edith and Dennis were to return the last day of the year, and spend a
short time at the old homestead before going to their new house. Neal
also was to come back that day, and Cynthia found herself longing for
New-year's eve. She did want to see Edith so much, she said to herself a
dozen times a day.

And at last New-year's eve came, and with it the absent members of the
household. A merry party sat about the supper-table that night. Cynthia
was the gayest of the gay. Her contagious laugh rang out on all
occasions, but, indeed, everybody laughed at every one else's joke, and
particularly one's own joke, apparently without regard to the amount of
wit contained therein.

As the evening lengthened Cynthia grew more quiet. The last night of the
year always impressed her with its solemnity, young though she was. She
left the others where they were sitting about the fire waiting for the
clock to strike, and wandered off to the dining-room, to the library, up
stairs--anywhere. She could not sit still.

[Illustration: SHE WAS JUST COMING DOWN THE BROAD OLD STAIRCASE.]

She was just coming down the broad old staircase when Neal suddenly
appeared at the foot. He had been waiting for her. He was to go back
to-morrow, and he had determined to speak to her before he left.

She paused a moment in surprise, and the light from the Venetian lantern
which hung in the hall shone down on her soft curly hair and young face
as she stood with her hand resting on the bannister. Neal thought he had
never seen so lovely a picture.

"I want to speak to you, Cynth," he said, leaning against the carved
post at the foot of the stairs and effectually barring the way. There
was nothing for her to do but to listen. "I have tried for ages, ever
since I came, and you never will give me a chance."

"Nonsense! You have been away. How could you expect to talk to me if you
went away?"

"I know; but I had to go. Besides, you wouldn't have let me if I had
been here."

"Let us go back to the parlor. It is almost twelve."

"No, I want you here."

Cynthia was about to reply defiantly, but something in Neal's eyes made
her drop her own. She stood there in silence.

"Cynthia, do you remember that day on the river in the rain?"

"Yes."

"Do you remember what you called me then?" No reply.

"Tell me, Cynth; do you remember what you called me?"

"Yes," very low.

"You called me a coward. Do you think I am one now?"

"Oh no."

"But you also said you had faith in me, Cynthia; and in Philadelphia
that spring I told you I was going to prove to you that I was worthy of
your faith. Do you think I have, Cynthia?"

"Yes, Neal."

He said nothing for a minute. Then he glanced at the old clock in the
back part of the hall. It was five minutes of twelve.

"Come to the hall window, Cynthia," he said, taking her hand; and
Cynthia went with him. "That other New-year's eve we stood here and
looked out on the snow just as we're doing now. Do you remember?"

"And I made good resolutions which I never kept," said Cynthia, finding
her voice at last. "Oh, Neal, my bureau drawers are just as untidy and
my tongue is just as unruly as ever! I make the same good resolutions
every New-year's eve, but I always break them. You were wiser. You would
not promise that night when I wanted you to, but you have done a great
deal better than if you had."

"I would not promise when I should have done so. But won't you return
good for evil, Cynthia, and promise me something? Promise me that before
many more New-year's eves have come and gone you will be my wife! For I
love you--love you, Cynthia! I have loved you ever since that day on the
river--indeed, long before that! Hark! the clock is beginning to strike.
Promise before it stops."

And Cynthia promised.

And the old clock struck twelve, as it had done thousands of times
before, and the old year died, and for us the story is finished. But for
Neal and Cynthia a new year and a new life were dawning, and for them
the story had but just begun.

THE END.




RATHER ODD.


"Papa," said Jimmieboy, "you are the nicest man in the world."

"And you are the nicest boy in the world," said his father.

"Yes; I guess that's so," said Jimmieboy. "Isn't it queer how we both
managed to get into the same family."




THE BOMBARDMENT OF THE GOLDEN GATE.

BY YATES STIRLING, JUN.


"A strange fleet is in sight to the westward." This is the startling
report of the telephone from the Farallone Islands, situated
twenty-eight miles nearly due west of San Francisco. The General
receives the report without a sign of the anxiety he feels, and
continues his study of the huge maps before him. He is contemplating the
vast amount of work that has been accomplished in the last three months
since war had been declared. Then San Francisco had been a defenceless
city at the mercy of the most insignificant enemy; now it is as near
impregnable as human skill and ingenuity can make it.

The General takes a lingering look at the maps on his desk; running over
the different forts, he sees with pride that there is nothing left
undone.

[Illustration: Point Bonito. Point Diablo. Lime Point.
Point Lobos. Sutro Heights. Mortar Battery. Mining Station. Fort Point.

BIRD'S-EYE VIEW OF THE GOLDEN GATE.]

On Point Lobos, the southern cape of the outer harbor, on high bluffs,
are three 16-inch rifles mounted on disappearing carriages, the guns, in
the loading position, being behind breastworks of earth and concrete. In
this position the guns are sighted, then going up to the firing position
above the earthwork for only a few seconds on firing, and then recoiling
to their position of safety. On the high land between Point Lobos and
Fort Point are two 12-inch and two 10-inch rifles in Grueson turrets,
the armor consisting of eighteen inches of Harveyized nickel steel. The
turrets are segments of a sphere, and are manipulated similarly to those
on a battle-ship. A little higher up is one of the two formidable
pneumatic guns, the explosion of whose shell within twenty yards of a
ship would send her to the bottom. At Fort Point, the southern cape of
the Golden Gate, in earthworks of old design patched up and
strengthened, are four 10-inch rifles with disappearing carriages. On
the northern cape of the Gate, Point Bonito, are three 16-inch rifles
mounted in a similar way. The second pneumatic terror is also at this
point, commanding the entrance to the Gate. Point Diablo is fortified
with three 12-inch and two 10-inch rifles on disappearing carriages, and
Lime Point will defend the harbor with four 10-inch rifles mounted in
the same way. The outer harbor seaward of Fort Point and Point Diablo
has been well mined, making it impossible for a vessel to enter in
safety even though she had escaped the tons of steel hurled at her. The
cables from the mines are led to a central station on the bluffs back of
Fort Point. If by chance the enemy's ships should ride over this hidden
explosive, the simple pressure of a key in this station would send them
all to destruction. At the mine station are two observers, who, by an
instrument similar to a range finder, discover from time to time the
position of the enemy on their chart. When the unlucky vessel is over a
mine the key is pressed.

On Sutro Heights is a heavily armored tower, the inside of which to an
inexperienced eye would appear like a central telephone station. It is
the General's headquarters in action. From here he and his staff will
direct and control the battle. This is the brain of the intricate
fortifications. The nerves run to every battery and central station,
making it but the work of a minute to transmit orders to any point.
Before another half-hour has slipped away everything is activity within
the forts. The wires from the General's tower are busy with the many
orders transmitted.

Actual hostilities began months ago in the East, but as yet have not
laid their cruel hand on the Pacific slope. New York has been the scene
of most of the strife.

While the army has been making the Golden Gate a fortress, the navy has
not been idle. All the fighting ships on the coast have been collected,
and the work on the new ones so expedited that a formidable fleet has
been massed in the harbor. The _Oregon_, the only first-class
battle-ship of the West, cleared for action, the Admiral's blue flag
flying at her truck, is lying behind Alcatraz Island; made fast to the
different mooring-buoys by slip-ropes is the rest of the Pacific fleet.
The _Monterey_, low and formidable, is nearest the island, barely
distinguishable against the dark land; her heavily armored turrets,
bristling each with two great 12-inch rifles, are a menace to any
battle-ship. The _Monadnock_, a double-turreted vessel, is close to the
_Oregon_; in her turrets she carries two 12-inch and two 10-inch rifles,
and inside of her dark hull are brave men who will show the enemy that
the American monitor is as deadly a foe as of old. The _Olympia_,
_Philadelphia_, _Baltimore_, _Charleston_, _Bennington_, and _Yorktown_,
all protected cruisers, are equally ready to do battle with any of the
enemy that it is their duty to encounter.

The foreign fleet is now in sight from Sutro Heights. A glance through
the powerful telescope tells the General it is the enemy--six
first-class battle-ships and eight cruisers, for the belligerent country
depends upon the capture of this rich city to defray the heavy expense
of the war.

They are approaching in double column, the battle-ships leading. Nearer
and nearer they come. The range-finders at the different batteries show
the range is rapidly diminishing. News has reached San Francisco, and
the high bluffs about the city are thronged with an excited crowd. The
blue-coated regulars have dispersed from the little knots about the
guns, and have gone to their stations, and stand ready at the command to
open the greatest battle the West has ever seen. On the ships of the
enemy come, majestically cutting the smooth sea, throwing the silvery
spray upon their bare forecastles, over which their heavy turret guns
are to soon speak.

"Four miles, sir!" reports one of the General's aides. The batteries at
Lobos and Bonito are ordered to open fire. The six big 16-inch rifles
thunder forth their challenge almost simultaneously, and nearly three
and a half tons of steel go speeding toward the approaching enemy. All
eyes are turned seaward, and are just in time to see columns of water
thrown up close aboard the on-coming ships. Again and again the heavy
batteries speak; shot after shot goes on its deadly flight, making havoc
on board the silent vessels. The fleet is approaching at nearly
fifteen-knot speed; it will take them but eight minutes to reach the
range, when tons of gun-cotton will be sent out to meet them both above
and below the peaceful sea. They are heading directly for the entrance.
What can be their intention? Will they dare attempt to run the forts? Do
they suppose the harbor is clear of mines and they have naught to fear
save the guns? The range-finder dials point to 4000 yards from the Gate.
All the guns on the forts are blazing forth fire, but the gunners' aims
are poor, and the better part of the shots are fruitlessly ploughing up
the sea in the vicinity of the enemy. One well-aimed 16-inch shell
strikes home on the nearest ship; her armor is pierced, and she has
become unmanageable and drops out of the advancing columns. Nearer and
nearer comes the fighting. At last the dreaded puffs of smoke dart from
the battle-ships' turrets, and the shells are coming screeching ashore,
tearing up the earth in the fortifications. With a glass one of the
aides is scanning the sea at the entrance to the harbor. An exclamation
escapes him as his glass focuses on some object of interest; with a
flinger trembling with emotion he points out to the General two small
red flags, barely distinguishable on the water's surface, midway between
Point Lobos and the nearest ship. A glance shows it to be the flags on
the Sims-Edison controllable torpedo. Out it goes at a terrific speed;
nearer and nearer it approaches its intended victim. Harmless enough
look these small pieces of bunting, but underneath the water not many
feet lurk nearly five hundred pounds of deadly gun-cotton. It has passed
astern of the leading ship. Will it run out its scope and fail? A small
column of water is seen to ascend from the flags, and the next moment
the second battle-ship is nearly engulfed in a mighty explosion. The
first charge tears the torpedo net; the second makes one less ship to
attack the batteries, for she is fast sinking. The gun-cotton has
exploded against her steel hull. A cruiser drops out to render
assistance.

An explosion that seems like an earthquake to those in the
fortifications tells that the first gun-cotton shell has exploded near
the enemy. One of the leading battle-ships heels over and slowly sinks
beneath the waves; her seams have been opened by the force of the
explosion. The enemy now is in irregular formation, more nearly like
double echelon; they are pouring in a scathing fire on all the
batteries. As they approach the torpedo range they starboard and stand
out to sea, bringing to bear their after turrets. Some of their shots
have committed awful havoc ashore; gun after gun has been dismounted,
one of the pneumatic guns has been struck by a shell and is a total
wreck. The remaining controllable torpedoes have failed.

The pneumatic gun on Point Bonito is aimed at the nearest ship, but a
mile and a half away; the gauge on the accumulator shows the air
pressure is sufficient. The lever is tripped, and the quarter-ton of
gun-cotton, with a whir, is hurled on its errand of destruction. The eye
can distinguish the aerial torpedo as it soars to the height of its
trajectory, and then majestically and swiftly steals down toward its
helpless prey. Will it explode? It strikes the water a few yards from
the target, but the looked-for explosion does not follow; the fuse has
failed. The next minute every gun of the enemy is trained upon this
terrible weapon, knowing that if the shell is again let loose their
ships will be like chaff before this tremendous power. The enemy is now
confident of victory. Signals go up on the flag-ship, and in a very few
minutes the old formation is resumed, and once again they head for the
harbor.

The firing becomes hot and furious; broadside after broadside belches
forth from the enemy's steel sides; a few shells go wide into the city,
and dense columns of black smoke from the buildings set on fire lend a
more awesome aspect to the picture depicted.

The observers at the mining-station are nervous with the suppressed
excitement within them. The ships of the enemy plot on their chart only
eight hundred yards away from their mines. Will it be their fortune to
decide the fate of the Golden City? The ships still advance. Soon they
will be over the mines. A pressure of the key under the hand will
discharge tons of the hidden explosive.

But the enemy has stopped. What does this foretell? Five hundred yards
from the mines the ships are nearly motionless in the troubled sea
lashed to foam by the ploughing of so much steel.

All the batteries are now doing splendid work. Explosion follows
explosion on board the intruding ships. Two cruisers are unmanageable
and on fire; they drift onto the rocks almost within a stone's throw of
one of the batteries. Suddenly torpedoes shoot from the bow tubes of the
leading ships, and a few moments afterward tremendous columns of water
are seen to rise from the bay, and the next second the sound of a mighty
discharge reaches the expectant ears of the defenders of the Gate. The
officer at the mining-key knows from the spark that jumps across under
his hand that the enemy has countermined and the harbor is clear. The
struggle has come to such close quarters that the rapid-fire and machine
gun fire lends its sharp cracking report to the dull roar of the heavy
guns.

But the foe has stopped too long! The mortar battery on Lobos has gotten
his range. Suddenly with a whir a column of smoke rises in the air just
over the bay, and a bunch of 16-inch mortar shells falls upon the
battle-ships' unprotected decks. One shell strikes over the boilers of
one of the ships, penetrating them a second later, the explosion of
which rends her asunder; and where this powerful steel-clad had been but
a moment before is but the hissing foam of troubled waters.

The General sees the fight has now reached the critical point; the
cruisers have dashed ahead and will soon be within the harbor. Many of
the batteries have been put out of action by the well-aimed shots of the
enemy. The navy is needed, but the telephone connection with the station
has been severed; the signal has not been made. Time is precious. A few
minutes more, and the whole fleet will be within the bay of San
Francisco, and, without the batteries, will be more than a match for the
few United States ships.

[Illustration: HE SEES THE FAMOUS "OREGON" COME RUSHING DOWN TO THE
FIGHT.]

An exclamation involuntarily escapes from the General's lips as he sees
the famous _Oregon_ emerge from behind Alcatraz Island, and come rushing
down to the fight.

The small fleet was thought too valuable to hazard against such as the
enemy brought. The plan was not to expose it till the signal was made.
But the Admiral, behind Alcatraz Island, has been pacing up and down the
deck of his battle-ship, tugging at the restraining bonds, growing more
and more impatient as the cannonading has become more furious. The crews
of the ships feel the inactivity keenly; anything is better than this
suspense. Why does not the signal come? The Admiral will wait no longer,
but slips his moorings, regardless of consequences, and appears in the
nick of time with his fleet to bar the entrance to the bay.

[Illustration: "PREPARE TO RAM."]

The _Oregon_, _Monterey_, and _Monadnock_ engage the two remaining
battle-ships. There is no sea-room for manoeuvring, and the rapid way
in which the Yankee guns are served shows that they are more than a
match for their huge enemies. The cruisers have closed in for the
death-struggle; every weapon of modern warfare is being employed; two
ships of the foe and one of his opponent's have been torpedoed, and in
another moment one of ours rams their biggest battle-ship. The General
on shore can almost hear the command, "Prepare to ram." It is so quickly
and skilfully executed. The forts have now become inactive, fearing to
fire lest by chance one of their own ships might be struck.

[Illustration: ANOTHER IS FORCED TO STRIKE THE WHITE FLAG.]

The enemy suddenly begins to retreat, leaving two of his ships on the
rocks, while another is forced to strike the white flag.

Night has come on. The sun has an hour ago gone below the western
horizon. The evening fog-bank comes in and mingles with the battle smoke
about the silent batteries, which only a short time before were the
scene of bloodshed and war. The brave defenders may sleep in peace in
their blankets and hammocks. The pride of the enemy has been humbled,
and the beautiful city of San Francisco is safe from torch and shell.




SHARK-CATCHING IN MID-OCEAN.

BY A. J. KENEALY.


The _Rajah_ made good progress south, the northeast trades blowing her
thither swiftly. We were fast approaching the belt of calms, squalls,
rain, and variable winds known to sailors as the "doldrums."

The skipper had four coops of fat ducks which he tended with loving
care. He just doted on them stuffed with sage and onions, and while they
were being roasted he used to hang about the galley enjoying the savory
odors that escaped from the oven. One morning while it was raining as
though the gates of heaven had been opened wide the Captain thought he
would give his pets a treat. The ship was heeling over considerably,
being close-hauled on the starboard tack, with all her flying kites
dowsed to the puffy breeze. He ordered the lee scuppers to be plugged
up, and as soon as a sufficiently large pool had collected on deck, he
liberated the ducks so that they might enjoy the luxury of a fresh-water
bath. The ducks were delighted, and demonstrated their joy by noisy
quacks. The pigs in the pens forward responded with joyous squeaks. The
cocks and hens in the long-boat joined in with a merry chorus of crows
and cackles. The combined music was that of a barn-yard.

[Illustration: AWAY WENT A DOZEN OF THE DUCKS INTO THE SEA.]

The ship heeled over until the scuppers were awash. The weight of all
the fresh water on deck as the ship inclined to the squall and rose on
the next wave was thrown against a lee port aft near which the ducks
were disporting themselves. Now it happened that the lashing of this
port was only of spun-yarn, rotten at that. The wash of the water
against the port parted the lashing, swung the port wide open, and away
went a dozen of the ducks into the sea with a great whir of wings and
clamorous cackling.

One of the sailors closed and secured the port before any more of the
birds escaped. Then the rest of the watch came aft, running
helter-skelter at the hurried hail of the mate, and drove the rest of
the flock into their pen. Had there been the slightest chance of
capturing the runaways the Captain would have backed the main-topsail,
hove the ship to, and lowered the quarter-boat.

Meanwhile the wind had died out. The sails flapped lazily against the
mast, and the ship rolled sluggishly on the heaving bosom of old ocean.
The clouds rolled away, and the pitiless burning sun shone down on the
deck and dried up all the moisture on wood and rope in a few minutes. It
was one of those sudden meteorological changes so common in equatorial
latitudes. An awning was rigged up over the man at the wheel. The
skipper put on a huge _topee_, or Indian pith helmet, to shelter his
head from the sweltering rays which made the pitch boil and bubble up in
the seams of the main-deck, and promised plenty of work for the
carpenter's calking-irons.

The ducks, obeying a sort of homing instinct, I suppose, swam up to the
now almost motionless ship, and continued their sport nearly within a
stone's throw. Suddenly a bright idea struck the skipper.

"See the lee quarter-boat clear for lowering!" he shouted to the second
mate. Then he put his head down the cabin skylight and ordered the
steward to bring up his breech-loader and a lot of cartridges. The boat
was lowered and manned. A side ladder was rigged; the Captain with his
gun descended and took up a position in the bow, from which he directed
operations. The cockswain seized the tiller-ropes. "Shove off let fall
give way!" he cried, all in one breath, without any regard to
punctuation, so excited was he, and in such a hurry to get within
gunshot of the ducks. If he could not catch them alive, he meant to have
them dead.

The boat was headed for the flock. When within easy range the skipper
let them have it right and left. His aim was so good that he brought
down three. It took some time to pick them up, which gave the scared
flock an opportunity to get out of gunshot. None others, as it happened,
were fated to fall victims to the deadly breech-loader of our
sportsman-skipper. The dorsal fins of six sharks were observed sticking
up above the surface of the water, and converging from different
directions on the doomed ducks. Sharks are abundant in equatorial
waters, and they follow ships for miles. Some of them are very large.
All are voracious and ugly customers to tackle.

The way those sharks gobbled up those ducks was a sight to behold. They
were disposed of in three minutes. The Captain was terribly angry. He
tried to revenge himself by peppering the sharks with shot, but it is
doubtful if the leaden pellets made the slightest impression on their
tough hides, even if he succeeded in hitting them.

The boat pulled back to the ship, and was hoisted to the davits. The
calm continued. Four of the sharks came up alongside, eager for more
ducks. Such appetizing fare was seldom theirs. Stray garbage from
passing ships, flotsam from the forecastle, composed the diet upon which
they usually depended in addition to their steady prey of fish. The
Captain brooded over the loss of his ducks for some time. Then he made
up his mind to have a little shark-fishing, and thus combine revenge and
recreation.

He sent below for a brand-new shark-hook with a sharp and cruel barb. To
the ring of the hook was attached a stout chain a fathom long. A shark's
teeth are so sharp and strong that they can bite through the stoutest
rope with singular ease. To the end of the chain the skipper bent on a
two-and-a-half-inch manilla line, and having impaled a four-pound piece
of pork on the hook, hove it overboard, with the remark that he intended
to have a slice of fresh shark for supper.

The sharks were playing about the rudder on the lookout for any stray
trifles that might come along their way from a sailor down to a beef
bone. They are not at all fastidious or dainty. It was my first
experience of shark-fishing, and I was a keen and interested observer.
The water was so clear that I could watch every motion of the four
monsters as they swam slowly about, each one attended by his own
particular body-guard of pilot-fish--pretty little creatures shaped
something like perch, with blue vertical stripes. Ichthyologists declare
that these fish attend the shark for the purpose of preying upon the
parasites that infest him. This may be a true explanation, but I cannot
understand how it is that a hungry deep-sea shark, that will snap up
anything living or dead, permits these plump little fish to play
unscathed about his enormous jaws. There are other curious things about
these pilot-fish that naturalists cannot explain. They only attach
themselves to the pelagic species found in deep water; there are always
five or seven of them to each shark, never an even number; they stick to
the shark while he is floundering about in the water with a hook through
his jaws, but as soon as he is hoisted above the surface of the sea they
immediately disappear. Nobody knows what becomes of them.

I have had several good opportunities of studying the habits of sharks,
and have always been curious about them. As a matter of fact, very
little is known concerning the ocean variety, which is quite distinct
from that of the shore.

No sooner had the pork plashed into the sea than one of the rapacious
monsters made a rush for it. The remarkable velocity of this fish was
surprising to me, who had never before seen a deep-sea shark in his
native element. The water was so beautifully limpid that his every
action could be accurately observed. I thought he would gorge the bait
immediately, but he did not. When he came up with it, he made a sudden
stop. Then he sniffed at it with an air of expectant and suspicious
curiosity. The next thing he did was to turn his tail to it
contemptuously, and swim away a considerable distance.

[Illustration: "WATCH HIM MAKE A DART FOR IT NOW," SAID THE SKIPPER.]

"Watch him make a dart for it now," said the skipper, who was an old
hand at shark-catching.

Like a flash the hungry fish went for the tempting bait, turning over so
that he might grasp it more conveniently with his wide and cruel jaws.
In an instant it was engulfed in his maw. And then there was such a
floundering and threshing in the water as I had never before seen. The
fierce shark, maddened with the pain of the sharp hook, made frantic but
fruitless efforts to escape. He snapped savagely at the strong chain
attached to the hook, with the sole result of damaging his own
cruel-looking teeth. Meanwhile the fish had been dragged forward to the
starboard gangway in spite of his wild struggles. A running bowline was
sent down the line that held him, and as the shark was hoisted over the
side it was passed over his body and hauled taut round his tail, in
order to control the movements of this his most formidable weapon.
Instances have been known of a blow from a shark's tail breaking a man's
leg on the deck of a vessel immediately after being hauled in over the
side.

This fish in question was gigantic. It took eight men to hoist him
in-board. "Chips," the carpenter, stood by with a keen axe, and as soon
as Mr. Shark's struggling carcass was landed on the deck, with one
powerful blow he severed his tail from his body, and thus incapacitated
him from mischief. From time immemorial it has been the ship carpenter's
privilege and duty to out off the tails of all sharks captured during a
deep-sea voyage, and the cook generally despatches him much after the
fashion of a Japanese when he performs on himself the queer right of
hari-kari.

"Chips," said the skipper, addressing the carpenter, "before you cut
that shark up, just pull that rule out of your pocket and measure him.
He seems quite a big fellow."

And a big fellow he proved to be, measuring 30 feet 8-1/2 inches long.
The Captain said he was the largest one he had ever seen, but the chief
mate declared he had once captured one that measured 38 feet, and he had
sailed with a skipper who had hauled one in-board that was fully 40 feet
in length. As a matter of fact, specimens of pelagic sharks are
displayed in museums that exceed 40 feet, but they are very rare. In
Florida varieties of fossil sharks have been dug up whose length "over
all" averages more than 50 feet, but these are now happily extinct.

Seafaring men are not as a rule a bloodthirsty race, but they look upon
sharks as their natural enemies, and against them they wage relentless
warfare; and whenever one is hooked they rejoice with an exuberant
pleasure, and will sacrifice their watch below in order to see him cut
and carved. There is also much curiosity with regard to the contents of
his interior. I once had for a shipmate a man who swore hard and fast
that he once found in a shark a ship's chronometer that was still
ticking. He was quite a truthful man too, but somehow I never believed
that yarn. Of course a shark is one of the most ravenous and rapacious
of fishes, and queer articles have undoubtedly been discovered in their
stomachs.

Inside the one just caught there were two of the Captain's ducks, and
not a morsel of anything else, which probably accounted for the greed
with which he swallowed the four-pound chunk of briny pork. It is a
tradition among sailors that sharks will not bite at a piece of beef,
and I never heard of one being hooked with any bovine bait. In this the
shark shows excellent taste and judgment, for the "salt junk" served out
to seafarers is by no means a succulent or dainty dish. As a matter of
fact, I have known a sailor to whittle out of it a fair model of the
hull of a ship, and to dry it in the sun for two or three weeks, when it
would come out for all the world as hard as a block of mahogany, which
it resembled--and this too after the beef had been boiled for hours in
the cook's coppers!

The Captain ordered the cook to cut off the fins and prepare them for
his own particular use after the Chinese fashion, the almond-eyed
Celestials esteeming them as an especial dainty. Then he carved two long
cutlets from the back, which he also ordered to be cooked for his
supper. The rest of the huge carcass he surrendered to the crew. The
boatswain cut out the heart of the shark, which was still palpitating,
and placed it in a tin dish. He told me it would continue to beat till
sundown, when it would suddenly become motionless. I did not believe
him, and told him so, but he prophesied truly. I watched that throbbing
heart pretty closely for several hours. It beat firmly and regularly
until the upper rim of the sun disappeared beneath the western horizon.
Then it made a sudden stop, and became limp and pulseless. This may seem
a yarn fit only to tell to the marines, but it is gospel truth on the
word of a sailor. I have told the story to scientific men, but they have
pooh-poohed at it, and declared it to have been impossible. But then it
was not to be supposed that they would know anything about sharks,
having got all their knowledge from musty books instead of from the sea
itself. Old sailors who have crossed the line will, however, corroborate
me as to this phenomenon.

The carpenter claimed the backbone, which he fashioned into a quite
handsome walking-stick by impaling the finest sections of the spine on a
slender bar of steel. And I may as well tell you that the "shark
walking-canes" so frequently offered in South Street by impostors
disguised as hardy mariners are as a rule made of sections of ox tails,
prepared in a very cunning manner, and well calculated to deceive the
inexperienced.

The Captain gave me the jaws, which were immense. I boiled them all
night in a big kettle until all the flesh fell off them and they shone
like ivory. I preserved them for many years as a souvenir of my first
deep-sea voyage and of the first shark I had seen hooked.

The tail was nailed in triumph to the end of the flying jib-boom,
replacing one of much smaller dimensions that had long braved both wind
and weather. Sailors think that a shark's tail at the extreme end of a
ship's "nose-pole" is the harbinger of good luck. While these things
were being done the rest of the shark's carcass was thrown overboard for
his mates to gorge upon. The only people aboard the _Rajah_ that ate
shark for supper that night were the Captain and the spinner of this
yarn. The skipper feasted on the fins, followed by a big dish of
cutlets. Of the last named delicacy I partook very sparingly, I warrant
you, being actuated less by appetite than by curiosity. Not being an
accomplished ichthyophagist like my Captain, I am forced to confess that
I found his flesh to be not only flavorless but coarse.




[Illustration: INTERSCHOLASTIC SPORT]


It is an excellent thing for young men to be eager and enthusiastic in
their pursuit of sport, but they should never allow their eagerness and
enthusiasm to get the better of them. In a hotly contested game it is
sometimes impossible for spectators to retain that composure which lends
dignity to the Supreme Court, but, on the other hand, we should never
allow our partisanship to carry us beyond the bounds of good behavior. I
don't want to preach a sermon here on the etiquette of sport, because I
am fully aware that my readers know just as much about the subject as I
do; I merely want to urge them now to act on the grand stand, or along
the ropes, or in the field itself just as in calmer moments they know
they ought to act, and feel confident that they will.

In looking over a bundle of school papers the other day, I came across
an editorial which started me to thinking about the behavior of
spectators and players at school games, and I want to quote a portion of
it. It does not matter what particular schools are under discussion, and
so I have eliminated their names from the paragraph, substituting A and
B, but otherwise the quotation is taken word for word. I did not write
it myself.

     There is one thing that we must condemn, and condemn very
     strongly, too, and that is the ungentlemanly conduct on the part
     of our boys, in jeering their opponents and trying to rattle their
     contestants. It is true that the "A" School started this, but this
     is no excuse for the boys to so far forget themselves and their
     school, and act like anything but gentlemen. The boys feel
     somewhat justified in the act, in that they did not begin jeering
     for quite a while after the "A" School had started, but at no time
     and for no cause are they excusable for forgetting that they are
     gentlemen. But to cap all this, a free fight was engaged in after
     the field day on some trivial cause. The less said about this the
     better, but we very strongly condemn the conduct of both the "B"
     and "A" schools in the field day on Saturday.

The occurrences referred to above took place at a track-athletic
meeting, but they might just as well have happened at a football or a
baseball game. The two schools are rivals in sport, and the single aim
of each is to defeat the other. This spirit is commendable and should be
encouraged, and I know of no one who will yell louder and longer for his
own side than I will. But when it comes to jeering, we must draw the
line. It is unsportsmanlike, and that means that it is ungentlemanly,
cowardly, and indecent. We go into sport in order that the best man may
win, and if the best man is on the other side, this may be a
disappointment, but it is never a disgrace. If we start in to jeer at
the best man's efforts we are openly trying to prevent him from winning,
which is conduct directly opposite to the motives that led us to
encourage the competition. It is as cowardly to jeer at an opponent as
it is to adopt unfair means to defeat him: and any act calculated and
intended to injure the chances of an antagonist is unsportsmanlike.

As to the particular case mentioned in the editorial, I can make no
comment beyond what has already been said, except that fighting after a
friendly contest is wholly irreconcilable to sport. I don't know, of
course, whether there was an actual fight or not. The editor may have
exaggerated; let us hope that he did. But to allow one's feelings to get
the upper hand in sport is always a sign of weakness, and persons of
such weak character as not to be able to restrain their passions should
not indulge in sport. They do not belong among sportsmen.

There is nothing better than athletic contests to develop character and
to teach a man to restrain himself. Aside from all ethics in the matter,
and looking at the case purely from the point of view of securing
advantage, it is better to be able to master one's passions and
feelings. The man who loses his temper on the football field, and begins
to "slug" his opponent, or to adopt mean methods of play, invariably
weakens his own efforts, because he is giving more thought to his spite
than he is to his game. Of two teams absolutely evenly matched in every
physical respect, the team whose members keep cool and collected, and do
not lose their tempers, is bound to win every time. It is so in
everything; in business the same as in sport. Therefore, let me repeat
that whereas enthusiasm and eagerness cannot be too highly commended,
any display of ill-feeling or displeasure in sport cannot be too
severely condemned.

At a number of schools it is the custom to allow instructors to play on
the football and baseball teams, and these instructors frequently go
into match games against other school teams. Such a system, of course,
is bad; but it is fortunate that it is not countenanced at those
institutions which hold a prominent place in the interscholastic world.
It is mostly at small private schools that the teachers play, but the
principle is the same. In the first place, a man who is old enough to be
a professor is too old to play against boys. He outclasses them in
experience and in strength, and it is unfair to pit such a player
against a young athlete who has gone into sport for the sake of trying
his skill against his equals. It is also discouraging to any team of
young men to have to face opponents among whom there may be one or more
college graduates. The mere presence of an older man on a boys' team
serves to overawe the other side.

A Captain is perfectly justified in refusing to play against any school
team that puts an instructor or professional trainer into the field with
the school players. In fact, I should strongly urge every Captain of a
school team to refuse to arrange games with any institution where the
professor habit prevails, and to retire from any contest in which the
opponents propose to play an older man. A few years ago there was a
school team in Pennsylvania that won most of its baseball games simply
because the pitcher was so much superior to any school pitcher the team
ever met, and so much better an all-round player than any school-boy
could be, that their opponents had no chance. That was not sport. There
was no glory in those victories. The school team did not win. It was the
professor against the field. He was a graduate of Williams College, I
think, and had been the crack pitcher of his year among college baseball
teams. But I think that he no longer performs for that school, and I
believe that the boys there have a truer appreciation of the ethics of
sport now, and fight their own battles on the diamond and on the
gridiron.

It is all very proper for instructors who were athletes in college to
give the scholars at the school they teach in the benefit of their
experience by coaching the players, and even by going out on the field
and playing against the first school team. But they should always play
against the team, not with it, except for the purpose of demonstrating a
play. By coaching the school players they are doing much good for the
school team and for sport. But by joining the school players in games
against other schools they do injury both to the players and to the
cause of sport.

The absurd reports which appeared in some of the New York daily papers
concerning the injury received by Captain Mynderse, of the Betts Academy
team, in the recent game against the Berkeley School eleven, only serve
to corroborate the statements made by this Department two weeks ago.
Fortunately Mr. Ely, the coach of the Berkeley team, came out promptly
with a statement to the effect that the boy was not at all seriously
injured, and that he returned to his school the next day with his
companion players, and was not, as reported, laid up in the hospital in
a critical condition. In closing, Mr. Ely remarks: "Any team of
school-boys who are properly looked after and cared for while playing
the game, and who are physically fit to play it, need have no fear of
doing so, nor need their parents have any fear that their sons will be
permanently injured or incapacitated from pursuing a collegiate or
business career from injurious effects sustained upon the football
field." Mr. Ely is perfectly right; and let me add that boys who are not
properly looked after while playing the game, or who are not physically
fit to play it, should not be allowed on the field.

The most promising eleven in the New York League, up to date, is the
Berkeley School team. Bayne has been made Captain instead of
Irwin-Martin, and he will, no doubt, put more life and snap into his
men. The change is a good one, for Martin is a good deal of a back
number in scholastic athletics, and has thoroughly outgrown the class of
players who properly belong on school teams. The protests against him on
the score of age will probably again this year pop up with persistent
regularity in the meetings of the I.S.A.A. Martin ought to get a
certified copy of his birth certificate from the Bureau of Vital
Statistics, and settle this disputed question once for all.

The league games began last week, and the schedule is divided into two
sections, as the baseball schedule was:

FIRST SECTION.

     Oct. 22.--Cutler School vs. Hamilton Institute.

     Oct. 29.--Trinity School vs. Columbia Grammar School.

     Nov. 5.--Hamilton Institute vs. Trinity School.

     Nov. 12.--Cutler School vs. Columbia Grammar School.

     Nov. 19.--Cutler School vs. Trinity School.

     Nov. 22.--Hamilton Institute vs. Columbia Grammar School.


SECOND SECTION.

     Oct. 25.--Barnard School vs. De La Salle Institute.

     Nov. 1.--Barnard School vs. Berkeley School.

     Nov. 8.--Berkeley School vs. De La Salle Institute.

     Nov. 29.--Championship game, winner first section vs. winner
     second section.

Should there be a tie, the deciding game will be played on November 26th
at the Berkeley Oval, where all the championship matches are to be held.

The Brooklyn series began almost a week earlier than the New York games,
and will be continued in this order:

     Oct. 16.--Adelphi Academy vs. Bryant & Stratton.

     Oct. 19.--Adelphi Academy vs. Pratt Institute; St. Paul's School
     vs. Bryant & Stratton.

     Oct. 22.--"Poly Prep." vs. Bryant & Stratton; Boys' High-School
     vs. Bryant & Stratton.

     Oct. 26.--Brooklyn Latin School vs. Bryant & Stratton; "Poly
     Prep." vs. Pratt Institute.

     Nov. 2.--Pratt Institute vs. Boys' High-School; St. Paul's School
     vs. Adelphi Academy.

     Nov. 5.--Brooklyn Latin School vs. Boys' High-School; St. Paul's
     School vs. "Poly Prep."

     Nov. 9.--St. Paul's School vs. Pratt Institute.

     Nov. 13.--"Poly Prep." vs. Boys' High-School.

     Nov. 16.--St. Paul's School vs. Boys' High-School; Pratt Institute
     vs. Brooklyn Latin School.

     Nov. 20.--"Poly Prep." vs. Boys' High-School; Brooklyn Latin
     School vs. Adelphi Academy.

     Nov. 23.--Brooklyn Latin School vs. St. Paul's School.

     Nov. 26.--"Poly Prep." vs. Adelphi Academy.

The game between Lawrenceville and the Princeton 'Varsity showed
considerable improvement on the part of the school team; but it also
emphasized the fact that the end players are still weak, and that both
quarter and full back can be materially strengthened. On the whole, the
playing was sharp, and the work of the team as a unit showed that it was
made up of good stuff that will, no doubt, be moulded into shape by the
time of the Andover game. The tackling and breaking into Princeton's
interference were good, but the men were slow at the start off. Their
own interference did not form in time, and as yet the defensive work is
far inferior to that of last year's eleven.

[Illustration: Crane, r. e. Cheney, h.-b. Eliason, h.-b. Ellsworth,
h.-b.
Cook, r. t. Babcock, m'gr. Reiland, l. g. Warner, f.-b. Savage, l. e.
Brown, r. g. McKelvey, q.-b., Capt. Hixon, c. McCormick, l. t.

THE HOTCHKISS SCHOOL FOOTBALL ELEVEN.]

At the Hotchkiss School, Lakeville, the outlook for football is good,
notwithstanding the loss of such men as Cheney, Conner, Sheldon,
Spencer, Gray, and Wells. Many players who were raw last year are
developing well, and some good new men have come in. The line is heavier
than last year, and will be better, but the ends and backs are light,
averaging perhaps 140 pounds. Hixon, centre, plays a strong and steady
game, and may always be depended on. Reiland, left guard, though he puts
up a stiff game, is apt to lose his side much ground by off-side plays.
Brown, right guard, makes good holes and breaks through well, but runs
poorly with the ball. McCormick, left-tackle, is playing well, and runs
with the ball with force, but is inclined to be overconfident, does not
follow the ball closely, and is consequently out of many plays. Cook,
right tackle, is playing hard, but has much to learn. Crane, right end,
although very light, tackles well but is apt to be blocked off by the
interference. Savage, left end, breaks up the interference well, but is
a little weak in tackling.

McKelvey, at quarter-back, makes an excellent Captain, passes
accurately, and shows good judgment in the generalship of his team.
Warner, half and full, hits the line well, and plays a strong defensive
game. Ellsworth, left half, runs around the ends well, but is weak in
tackling. Warner must learn to punt better in order to hold his position
at full back. At present the team plays a better offensive than
defensive game. In offense the line-men block well and make good holes,
but in the defense they do not break through quickly enough, and do not
follow the ball as well as they should.

As the season advances and the teams of the Connecticut League get into
form, the struggle for the championship seems to be narrowing down to a
close fight between Hartford High-School and Hillhouse High of New
Haven, with the chances slightly in favor of the former. Hartford played
a strong game a week ago against the Yale Freshmen.

  THE GRADUATE.




[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.


Gwendoline writes that she wishes to know the secret of being popular.
"I'd like to be a popular girl," she says, "a girl beloved by
everybody."

This is a natural wish, and in itself not wrong. There is a temptation
to wrong in it if the desire be carried so far that, in order to become
popular, the girl sacrifices valuable qualities of character, as, for
instance, independence of judgment and sincerity.

But there is no need of this. The girl who chooses to be popular needs
first to be unselfish. She must not consider her own ends first nor
chiefly. The atmosphere enfolding her must be that of love and kindness.
You know how some girls always try to have the best things, the best
places, the pleasant things, while they do not try to pass the good
times along to others. These are not popular girls. Nobody can be fond
of a selfish person.

Again, a really popular person must have courage. Courage enough to be a
leader. There are only a few leaders in any city, or school, or other
corner of the world. Most people are followers. I heard of a leader this
morning. She went to a boarding-school a long way off from home. Among
the teachers there was a little shy Miss Somebody whom the girls did not
like. They made fun of her prim manner and her queer tow-colored hair,
and a sort of mincing walk the poor lady had, and they did not see that
she was really a very learned woman who could teach them a great deal if
they would attend to her. Maria Matilda observed the state of affairs,
and decided that it was unjust, so she championed the little teacher.
She sent flowers to her desk. She listened respectfully when Miss
Diffidence was in the preceptor's chair. She began to be very fond of
her, and discovered that Miss Diffidence was really a dear, only
frightened out of her wits, among a crowd of unfeeling girls. Before
long Maria Matilda changed the whole situation, and, she being a born
leader, the rest followed her willingly. I need not add that Maria
Matilda is popular, _very_ popular.

Another requisite for the popular girl is _savoir-faire_; she must know
how to do things. Any one of us can have this power. It is a mere affair
of paying attention, of will, and of considering it worth while to be
able easily, in whatever place you are, to do the right thing, in the
right way, at the right time.

Charm of speech, charm of look, charm of manner belong to the popular
girl. Do you know how she acquires charm? By simply being genuinely
interested in those about her. When she talks to you she looks you in
the face. She has nothing to conceal. When you look at her, you see a
good heart shining in her eyes.

Now that I have said all this, I must add that you would far better be
unpopular your whole life through, than to make a study of the thing
merely for the sake of ambition or vanity. He that saveth his life shall
lose it, says the best of Books, which means that one who does anything
for purely selfish--which are always purely low--motives, will in the
end be sadly disappointed.

[Illustration: Signature]




MONEY FOR TOADS.


It is said that boys living in and about San Diego, California, are
making money catching horned toads for the Hawaiian government, which is
said to be importing them to destroy an insect which is ruining many
crops in the island. The government want 5000 toads, and is paying the
boys $1 a dozen for them.




HOW TOD GOT INTO THE HALLOWEEN GAMES.


Tod Forrest was one of those kind of boys that, when asked to exhibit
the contents of his pockets, could produce the oddest lot of trash.

He stood one afternoon lazily hanging on to a split rail fence, gazing
idly over the fields at a distant wood. "Well," he muttered, "I reckon
I've got to gather some of those 'ere nuts, after all. Let me see.
'Holly eve' comes to-morrow, and the boys won't let me in on the games
unless I do, so here goes."

Heaving a sigh, he climbed over the fence and made for the woods. He
penetrated deeper among the trees than usual, and after going some
distance he found himself on higher ground and in a new spot. A large
chestnut-tree thick with burs stood near the centre of a small knoll. It
was the work of a few minutes, and he was safely perched in a fork of
the branches, breaking open the burs with his knife and filling his
pockets with the nuts. He had filled two of those capacious maws, when
he was startled by a deep growl. There beneath him, nosing around among
the empty burs, was a good-sized bear. It frightened him so that he
nearly lost his seat.

Tod could always find the humorous side of things, however, and it
seemed that one of the burs he had thrown down had lighted on the bear's
nose and stuck there, tickling him.

It made the bear snort and growl in the most ludicrous fashion. This was
a short-lived matter, for through an incautious giggle on Tod's part the
animal discovered him, and started for the foot of the tree. Now a bear
can climb a tree about as good as any one, and Tod knew it, but lazy as
Tod was, he had a mind for emergencies, and seizing a handful of
chestnuts, he threw them at the bear. This second interruption attracted
the animal's attention, and he began devouring the nuts, evidently
something he was exceedingly fond of. After that to keep the bear out of
the tree Tod was obliged to throw down handful after handful of
chestnuts, the meanwhile despairing of his situation. He searched his
pockets, and, lucky thought, there among the trash were two small rifle
cartridges.

Selecting two of the largest nuts, he bored a hole in them and inserted
the cartridges. Waiting until the bear had finished his last handful and
stood greedily eying him, he gently threw the loaded nuts to the ground.
Anxiously he watched as the bear nosed around in search of them. In a
few moments one of them was found, but before the greedy animal munched
on it he secured the other. Now it was funny, but the bear seemingly
wanted to tantalize Tod, and lifting his head, stood looking at him
without attempting to chew the loaded chestnuts. Tod was scared, and
tears came into his eyes. The bear made one or two steps towards the
tree, and then hesitating, sat back on his haunches, with his eyes on
Tod, and commenced chewing.

Suddenly a very comical look of surprise came over that bear's face, and
almost instantly an explosion took place. Tod claims that the bear
jumped six feet into the air, and when he fell back on the ground again
he never waited an instant to learn what happened him, but scampered off
in the funniest lumbering fashion. Tod waited till he thought it was
safe, and climbing down, made tracks for home. The boys let him in at
the games on Halloween to hear him tell his story again, as they had by
that time substantiated it by the blood tracks of the bear.

  HUBERT EARL.




ADVERTISEMENTS.




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

[Illustration: Royal Baking Powder]




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




=CARDS FOR 1896.= 50 Sample Styles AND LIST OF 400 PREMIUM ARTICLES
FREE. HAVERFIELD CO., Cadiz, Ohio.




[Illustration: BICYCLING.]

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


[Illustration: Copyright, 1895, by Harper & Brothers.]

The map this week is of Boston and its vicinity, and the reader in using
it on the road must remember that a great many streets in the city have
been omitted here, and in many places it is impossible to put the names
of streets, owing to the necessity for covering so much ground on a
small map. Every macadamized or asphalted street is, however,
represented on the map. The object in publishing this map is not so much
to tell a rider how to get about in the city, _i.e._, in "old Boston,"
as to give him an idea of what roads to take in order to reach certain
suburbs and to follow certain bicycle routes which we intend giving in
the Department in the next few weeks. The city of Boston is eminently
suited for bicycle riding owing to the beautiful parks which are either
finished or in course of preparation at the present moment. As a usual
thing, the starting-point for a trip in the vicinity of Boston will be
laid at Copley Square, which is at the intersection of Boylston Street
and Huntington Avenue. The best way for reaching any of the suburbs or
towns to north and west is to run through any street from Copley Square
to Commonwealth Avenue, proceeding thence to Massachusetts Avenue,
turning right and crossing the Harvard Bridge, thence proceeding through
Cambridge out North Avenue to Arlington, Medford, Malden, etc.

To reach Chestnut Hill, Brookline, or Brighton, Commonwealth Avenue
should be followed across Massachusetts Avenue to Beacon Street, thence
out Beacon Street. Any of the suburbs further westward, such as Newton,
Wellesley, Jamaica Plain, etc., can be reached over one of the best
roads that was ever made for bicycle riders, _i.e._, through the new
park that has been built along the course of Stony Brook. To reach this
you proceed across Massachusetts Avenue on Commonwealth Avenue and turn
left into the Fenway, and follow what has been named "The Fens" by
keeping on any of the roads inside the park, such as the Riverway,
Jamaicaway, through Leverett Park, around Jamaica Pond, thence out
through the Arnold Arboretum, and from there taking what direction is
desired on the country roads. This run through "The Fens" and Leverett
Park, which in time will be extended from the Arboretum over to Franklin
Park, and thence to South Boston, will make one of the pleasantest short
afternoon bicycle rides in America. It will have the advantage of never
being monotonous, because there are many variations to the route,
allowing you to wind about in the park, cross different bridges, and
leave or enter it at many different points.

To reach Milton, Dorchester, Quincy, etc., there are many routes, the
shortest of which, though not perhaps the best, being to leave Copley
Square, to Commonwealth Avenue, to Massachusetts Avenue, turning to the
left and proceeding thence straight across Boston, out Massachusetts
Avenue to Five Corners. From Five Corners the rider should turn to the
right, proceeding by Boylston Street to Upham's Corner, thence by
Columbia Street to Franklin Park, turning to the left on Blue Hill
Avenue, whence he can either run to Hyde Park or Milton, or, turning
into Washington Street, and proceeding by Milton, to Quincy. Probably
the best road, though somewhat longer ride, is to run out over the
Fenway, Riverway, and Jamaicaway, across Franklin Park, and thence to
Milton.

     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-Wiasahickon 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, 834.




[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.


Plate-number collecting is booming. The newest development is the issue
of priced catalogues of the 1894 varieties, both with and without
water-marks. As yet no one has ventured to price any of the earlier
issues, but the demand for them is already greater than the supply.

A number of correspondents ask how many stamps are taken from each sheet
in plate collecting. Usually three, and care must be taken that the
stamps are not torn apart and that the margin is kept attached. The
usual form of imprint on the sheets of the present issue is the
following:

[Illustration: Bureau, Engraving & Printing. 149]

Some collectors keep the imprints from top, bottom, left, and right
sides, but most are content with one only. Plate No. 89 is the rarest of
all so far.

The Pittsburg Library has set apart an alcove for philatelic literature.
The other American libraries will probably soon be obliged to do the
same.

     F. SCHOENTHALER.--The U.S. silver dollar of 1800 is worth $2. The
     trade dollar is worth bullion value only.

     F. M. L.--The 1845 dime is worth 20c.

     H. J. LEAKE.--Confederate bills are very common, and I therefore
     advise their collection, as it is comparatively easy to get a very
     large number by the expenditure of little money, and they are very
     interesting to all Americans. The dimes of 1829 and 1823 are sold
     by dealers at 25 cents each. Your half-dollar is worth face only.
     Mexican coins are worth their weight in silver only.

     GEORGE FRANCE, JUN.--The 5-cent U.S. Internal Revenue is the
     ordinary kind, of which many millions were used. It is sold by
     dealers at 2 cents.

     C. E. A.--I cannot undertake to look over a large lot of common
     stamps when a little study on your part would enable you to fairly
     understand them yourself. It would not be fair to you. One of the
     great merits in stamp-collecting is that it trains the eye as well
     as the mind.

     S. HALL.--I cannot advise you about joining the A.P.A. Personally
     I am not a member.

  PHILATUS.

       *       *       *       *       *

A GOOD CHILD

is usually healthy, and both conditions are developed by use of proper
food. The Gail Borden Eagle Brand Condensed Milk is the best infant's
food; so easily prepared that improper feeding is inexcusable and
unnecessary.--[_Adv._]




ADVERTISEMENTS.




Say, Boys!

We have been telling you about the

"Rugby" Watches

for some time.

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

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

The Waterbury Watch Co.,
Waterbury, Conn.




Arnold

Constable & Co

       *       *       *       *       *

  Children's Wear.
  Corsets,
  Ladies' Silk Skirts,
  Ladies' Underwear,
  Children's School Dresses,
  Misses' Coats and Dresses,
  Children's Coats and Jackets,
  Ladies' Wrappers and Tea Gowns,
  Children's Frocks for Dancing-school.

       *       *       *       *       *

Broadway & 19th st.

NEW YORK.




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.




[Illustration]

=STAMPS!= =300= 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.




[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.




=10 RARE STAMPS FREE.= Send 2c. stamp. =F. E. THORP, Norwich, N.Y.=




STAMPS

Approval sheets at 50% com. Send at once.

THE OHIO STAMP CO., Carthage, Ohio.




FREE

[Illustration]

As a sample of our 1000 BARGAINS we will send FREE this elegant Fountain
Pen, warranted a perfect writer, and immense Illus. Bargain Catalogue,
for 10c. to cover postage, etc.

R. H. INGERSOLL & BRO., 65 CORTLANDT ST., N. Y. CITY.




HARPER'S PERIODICALS.

Per Year:

  HARPER'S MAGAZINE         _Postage Free_, $4.00
  HARPER'S WEEKLY                 "          4.00
  HARPER'S BAZAR                  "          4.00
  HARPER'S ROUND TABLE            "          2.00

       *       *       *       *       *

_Booksellers and Postmasters usually receive subscriptions.
Subscriptions sent direct to the publishers should be accompanied by
Post-office Money Order or Draft._

       *       *       *       *       *

HARPER & BROTHERS, New York, N.Y.




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




Chapter Programmes Again.


One of the chief reasons that juvenile clubs often disband for lack of
interest is because nothing is laid out for them to do. In the first
place, let it be said that those Chapters succeed best which adhere to
one or the other of the following policies:

1, Choose some older person to direct everything, and then obey
implicitly the suggestions laid down by that older person; or, 2,
Resolve the Chapter into a committee of the whole. Let all have a voice.
Agree upon a programme, and then follow it. The thing to be avoided most
is the running of the Chapter by a few of its members.

After the routine business have a subject for discussion. Select this
subject a long time in advance. Name some particular phase of it, and
appoint one member to open and lead the discussion. Then have
three-minute talks, and urge each member to speak. Doing so is admirable
practice. If others fail to get much from what is said, the speaker will
himself get a good deal, because he acquires the habit of thinking on
his feet.

A good subject for a whole winter is American history. In order to have
a definite plan in its study take up the "Federal Principle." That might
do for the opening evening. Tell the member who is to open it to consult
Moore's _American Congress_, and learn how James Otis, in the
Massachusetts Assembly, made the first suggestion that the colonies get
together--furnished us with the Federal principle itself. Find out who
Otis was, and what became of his resolution when it got to the Virginia
House of Deputies. Getting down to the time of the Revolution, on later
evenings, find out why the Articles of Confederation failed--because
they had too little Federalism in them.

Another subject which Chapters might take up is American politics. This
is a good topic for ladies as well as for men. Use Johnston's book with
the above title for a basis, and get your arguments from the newspapers.
Learn the structure of our local, State, and national government.

Another topic is the study of men and women of the past and present.
Secure the exclusive use of a good biographical dictionary. Require each
member present, under penalty of a small fine, to give the name of some
famous man or woman, and tell why he or she is known to the world. This
exercise will broaden your mental horizon wonderfully. For instance,
Herbert Martin, when his turn comes, says he has found many interesting
things in the life of Cavour. How many members of the average Chapter
can tell who Cavour was? Yet he was a modern man of the first rank.

Plan something to do, and your Chapter is likely to be interested in it.
To find out what that something shall be, consult your members, and
follow their wishes. Then get outside help from older persons, not to
tell you what to do, but to aid you to do that which you yourselves have
chosen to do. Such a course will make a strong and profitable Chapter.
Thousands of men of affairs will tell you, if you ask them, that one of
the greatest sources of help to them in their later years was the
knowledge and enthusiasm that they acquired in these juvenile societies.




The Word Hunts.


Not the slightest injustice will be done to any competitor in the "Word
Hunts," because full rules were not published with the first
announcement. Judges will cut out of all lists obsolete or other
prohibited words, and the chances of success will not be lessened
because such words were inserted. Do _not_ roll your lists.




A Special Offer.


Teachers, students, superintendents of Sunday-schools, Ladies, members
of the Round Table, and others willing to distribute ten to seventy-five
Prospectuses and personally commend HARPER'S ROUND TABLE, will receive,
according to number of Prospectuses distributed, bound volumes of
HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE for 1893, gold badges of the Round Table Order,
packet of fifty engraved visiting-cards, bearing their name, with copper
plate for future use, rubber stamp bearing their name and address,
nickel pencil resembling a common nail, or silver badge of the Round
Table Order. This offer is restricted to one person in a town or
neighborhood. In applying, state how many circulars you can place in the
hands of those sure to be interested in them, what are your facilities
for distributing them, and what prize you seek. Apply early.




For an In-door Evening.


The season of the year approaches when in-door parties are held. At
these parties riddles are often called for. Several members send us some
riddles. We group them here, with answers, that you may use them if you
have need:

  For no crime did I come to my end,
    No rope round my neck was e'er tied;
  Though no jury decided my fate,
    I was hanged from a tree till I died.

Answer: Absalom.

  I was a baron bold and bad,
    A follower of King John;
  I lost my place, I lost my power,
    And all my wealth was gone.
  My story, told in jingling rhyme,
    Familiar is to all:
  For I'm only ---- ----
    The ---- that had a fall.

Answer: Humpty Dumpty. Egg.

  My first a party leader is,
    A river is my second,
  Whoever bears my third will still
    A man of mark be reckoned.
  An emperor, in sad disgrace,
    Knelt barefoot at the portal
  Of him whose name my whole betrays,
    In church and state immortal.

Answer: Hill-Dee-Brand.--Hildebrand.

  I'm a very busy person
    About this time of year;
  At morning and at night-time
    I'm almost always here,
  But at high noon I steal away
    To come again at close of day.

Answer: Jack Frost.




The Helping Hand.


At the approaching Christmas-time cannot the Ladies, the Knights and
Patrons assisting, hold some fairs in aid of the School Fund? As a rule,
these fairs prove the most successful of any plan so far followed. There
is some work connected with such undertakings, but there is also much
pleasure. Won't _you_ speak to your friends about it at once? See what
they say and what they will do. You will find all willing to help. What
is needed is a leader. Won't you take the lead--set the ball rolling?




Prizes for Pen-Drawings.


Members are asked to bear in mind that we cannot send proof of the prize
story promptly, as several of you ask us to do, since the Story
Competition does not close till near the end of December. It is the
first prize story of that contest that is to be illustrated. We have
about fifty requests for the proof, so the contest is to be a spirited
one. With the proof, to be sent to contestants early in January, there
will be mailed hints about size, etc. The sum of $10 is offered for the
best illustration. Contestants select their own subject. Those who wish
to try for the prize should ask for proof. If, after you receive the
proof, you think you cannot successfully compete, you merely throw the
proof in the waste basket. Better try in the contest. You risk nothing.

By-the-way, do you remember the spirited illustrations of Mrs.
Roosevelt's _Heroes of America_ published last summer? They were the
professional work of Mr. F. C. Yohn, who, as an aspiring young man, and
then living in Indianapolis, tried in one of our pen-drawing contests,
winning a first prize.




How Did the Gypsy Know?


     Years ago an old gypsy called on my grandmother and wanted to tell
     her fortune. My grandmother didn't believe the gypsy's power to
     tell of future events. But the gypsy persisted. Finally,
     grandmother declared she had no money with which to pay her.
     "Yes," said the old gypsy, "you have five dollars hid in that old
     clock."

     Well, my grandmother consented at this exhibition of the gypsy's
     supernatural powers. And then the gypsy told her, among other
     things, that she would have great trouble, leave Georgia, and go
     away down South, and be left a widow, and then years after go back
     to Georgia. Now, the strange part about this is that the gypsy's
     prophecy was literally true. My grandmother, sure enough, went
     away down on the Gulf coast, and her husband died soon after of
     paralysis, and now, seven years after he died, she is on her way
     back to Georgia. How did the gypsy know?

  HARRY R. WHITCOMB.
  UMATILLA, FLA.




Prices of the Order's Badges.


The new badges are an exact reproduction of the rose, in the centre of
which is claimed to be the original "round table" of King Arthur. You
will find a picture of the top of this table on the back of the 1896
Prospectus, and the centre of it at the bottom of the Patent. The prices
of the badges are: Pansy leaves or the rose, in silver, 10 cents--that
is, 8 cents for the badge and 2 cents for postage; of the rose, in gold,
85 cents, with nothing added for postage. All are in the form of stick
pins. Members are not required to purchase badges. We offer the silver
rose as payment for giving to your friends, whom you are sure will
appreciate them, fifteen Round Table circulars. The offer is open to all
members.




The Order's Handy Book.


Have you the Table's "Handy Book"? It has thirty-six pages, mostly
filled with useful facts. Full information is given about the Order and
the School Fund; and there are values of rare stamps and coins; lists of
words often misspelled; athletic records of 1895; books that all ought
to read; information about gaining admission to West Point and
Annapolis; populations of cities; rules of etiquette, etc. You may have
copies for yourself and friends, if you apply for them. Some members get
copies and give them to fellow-students in Sunday-school and day-school
classes.




A Question for You.


     In the ninetieth line of the First Book of Virgil, the first two
     words are _Intonuere poli_. The translation, as I have it, is "the
     poles resound," meaning that the earth echoes with the heavy
     thunders. Now will somebody please explain to me how the ancients
     knew there were poles without having some idea of the roundness of
     the earth? Almost the same expression is used in the 398th line,
     as follows, _Et coetu cinxere polum_, etc.

  ALFRED C. BAKER.
  SCHAGHTICOKE, NEW YORK.




A Venetian Night at Newport.


     On an evening recently Newport Harbor presented a fine appearance.
     Of all displays ever given in Newport this was the most beautiful.
     The procession started at half past eight. There were boats of
     every description. They were decorated with Chinese lanterns and
     colored electric lights. Among the most noticeable decoration was
     the United States flag with a search-light behind it. It looked as
     though it was painted on the sky. Across Thames Street were
     electric lights constructed in such a way as to read:

     1895.

     Welcome Yachtsmen.

     The Y.M.C.A. had a triangle made of Japanese lanterns. There were
     also pictures of the _Defender_ made of cloth and outlined with
     electric lights. It is estimated that there were between 25,000
     and 30,000 lanterns used. A great many lights were constructed in
     such a way as to make the whole outline of the boat show. There
     was red fire and green fire burning all the time, also many
     fireworks and two search-lights to brighten up the harbor. The sky
     had a reddish tint. The naval reserves had a sea-serpent about
     seventy-five feet long. Old Father Neptune took things easy on the
     back of the monster. The serpent looked very docile, and its eyes
     stuck out, taking in the grand display.

  CHESTER GLADDING.
  NEWPORT, R. I.




[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.


ABOUT OUR PRIZE COMPETITION.

Our annual Photographic Prize Competition has, as usual, attracted a
great deal of attention, not only from members of our Camera Club, but
from many who wish to become members in order to enter the competition,
for as this is the first time that the ROUND TABLE has opened a
photographic competition to all amateurs without regard to age, the
interest is much more widespread.

In order, however, that the younger members may not feel handicapped by
being obliged to compete with older ones, there is a competition opened
for them the same as in former years, and any who have not passed their
eighteenth birthday may enter this competition. There are three
classes--marines, landscapes, and figure studies. A correspondent asks
if pictures of paintings or engravings would come under the head of
figure studies. Pictures of pictures will not be admitted to the prize
competition. All pictures must be original, not copied from any other
picture. This would not prevent any one using a picture as a suggestion
of grouping or arrangement of the subject. Take, for instance, the
well-known picture by Murillo, "The Fruit Venders." A photograph of this
picture would not be admitted in the prize competition, but one might
take two children, pose them as nearly as possible like the children in
the picture, and then photograph. Such a picture would be an original
picture, but not an original idea.

Another question that was asked was if the pictures must be marked, or
if one must send a separate slip of paper with name on, etc. Rule VII.
says that "pictures must be marked with the name and address of the
sender, the class to which it belongs, and the statement whether the
artist has passed his or her eighteenth birthday." This means that the
picture must be marked, and by the picture is understood the card on
which it is mounted. The best place to mark a picture is on the back of
the card mount.

In regard to the size of a picture, a picture taken with a 4 x 5 camera
is meant, though a trimmed print is a little less than this dimension.
The picture must not be trimmed enough to bring it down to 3 x 4, as, of
course, that would bar it from the competition.

Competitors may send pictures to each class, and they are not restricted
as to number.

The students of the Illinois College of Photography are going to enter
the competition. As this is the only college of photography in the
United States we shall expect to see some very fine work.

     Will Sir Knight Robert H. Sanders, Jersey City, New Jersey, please
     send street and number. A letter addressed to him at Jersey City
     has been returned to the editor marked, "Not Found." If Sir Robert
     will send address the letter will be forwarded to him at once.




[Illustration: Ivory Soap]

A luxury is "Anything which pleases the senses and is also costly or
difficult to obtain."

Ivory Soap pleases the senses, but is neither costly nor difficult to
obtain. Your grocer keeps it.

THE PROCTER & GAMBLE CO., CIN'TI.




[Illustration]

Every whale has barnacles--every success has imitators.

The De Long Patent Hook and Eye.

[Illustration]

See that hump?

Richardson & De Long Bros., Philadelphia.




[Illustration]

"Waterloo"

The popular and exciting new battle-game for 2, 3, or 4 players. For
young or old.

Price $1.25.

The Parker Games

All PLAY WELL!

Ask for "_Innocence Abroad_," "_Napoleon_," "_Chivalry_," "_Yankee
Doodle_."

Sold Everywhere.




[Illustration]

THE

BALTIMOREAN PRINTING-PRESS

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

THE J. F. W. DORMAN CO.,
Baltimore, Md., U.S.A.




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




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




GRATEFUL--COMFORTING.

EPPS'S COCOA.

BREAKFAST--SUPPER.

"By a thorough knowledge of the natural laws which govern the operations
of digestion and nutrition, and by a careful application of the fine
properties of well-selected Cocoa, Mr. Epps has provided for our
breakfast and supper a delicately flavored beverage which may save us
many heavy doctors' bills. It is by the judicious use of such articles
of diet that a constitution may be gradually built up until strong
enough to resist every tendency to disease. Hundreds of subtle maladies
are floating around us ready to attack wherever there is a weak point.
We may escape many a fatal shaft by keeping ourselves well fortified
with pure blood and a properly nourished frame."--_Civil Service
Gazette._

Made simply with boiling water or milk. Sold only in half-pound tins, by
Grocers, labelled thus:

JAMES EPPS & CO., Ltd.,
Homoeopathic Chemists, London, England.




[Illustration]

CARD PRINTER =FREE=

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

R. H. Ingersoll & Bro. 65 Cortlandt St. N.Y. City




[Illustration]

"When Christmas was Christmas."

"Seven Crown Jewels."

A precious collection it is, indeed, both of old and new, this
"=Christmas in Song and Story=," with its nearly three hundred Songs and
Hymns and Carols, each in its musical setting. "Where can another such
garner be found, so rare, so choice, and so full?" Twenty-two full-page
illustrations, of Christmas subjects, from Nast to Raphael. The literary
selections are long, but each is complete. "To have these seven crown
jewels brought together into one diadem," says _Christian Culture_, "is
alone worth more than is asked for the entire work, to say nothing of
its rich setting both musical and pictorial." Large quarto, crimson
cloth, $2.50. Address

Harper & Brothers, New York.




[Illustration: THRILLING EXPERIENCE OF TWO YOUNG HEATHENS WHO LEARNED TO
SKATE.

I. THEY TIED THEIR QUEUES TOGETHER, SO THAT IF EITHER BROKE THROUGH HE
WOULD BE RESCUED BY THE OTHER. II. IT SEEMED DELIGHTFUL UNTIL-- III. ONE
OF THEM SLIPPED AND BOTH FELL; IV. BUT AFTER A LITTLE PRACTICE THEY GOT
ON QUITE NICELY, WHEN-- V. THEY BOTH BROKE THROUGH, AND-- VI. THEIR
CAUTION AND FORETHOUGHT PROVED THE MEANS OF SAVING THEIR LIVES.]




A TIMELESS TOWN.


The old proverb says that time was made for slaves. It is certainly true
that it was not made for Alsacians, if the following story told by a
traveller lately returned from Alsace be true. Says he: "On my return
from Belchen, I looked upon the beautiful villages of the Lewen Valley,
and being a tourist who likes to poke his nose into everything, I
turned, by chance, into the church at Kirchberg. On coming out I took
out my watch to regulate it by the clock in the church tower. But there
was no clock to be seen. Hence I went into the village inn, and there
asked the time. But my host could not oblige me. 'I can't tell you
exactly, for, you see,' he said, 'we have no use for clocks. In the
morning we go by the smoke rising from the chimney at the parsonage up
on the hill. The parsonage people are very regular. We dine when dinner
is ready. At 4 P.M. the whistle of the train coming from Massmunster
tells us that the time has come for another meal, and at night we know
that it is time to go to bed when it is dark. On Sunday we go to church
when the bell rings. Our parson is a very easy-going man, and he doesn't
mind beginning half an hour sooner or later."




FORCE OF HABIT.


Force of habit impels us to do a great many ridiculous things. That
clever little compendium of wit and information, _Tit Bits_, well
illustrates this fact with a story of a railway porter, living in
Lancashire, who was in the habit of frequently getting up in his sleep,
and from whose actions it was evident that his daily occupation was ever
present in his mind. One night he jumped up hurriedly, ran down to the
kitchen, vigorously opened the oven door, and cried out, "Change here
for Bolton, Bury, and Manchester."




A PROPER RETORT.


A good story is told of a self-respecting carpenter who was sent to make
some repairs in a private house. As he entered the room in which the
work was to be done, accompanied by his apprentice, the lady of the
house called out, "Mary, see that my jewel-case is locked."

The carpenter understood, and, as he was an honest man, he was
indignant. He had his opportunity, however, and he used it. He removed
his watch and chain from his waistcoat with a significant air, and gave
them to his apprentice.

"John," he said, "take these back to the shop. It seems that this house
isn't safe."




SOMETHING WRONG.


It was a very cold morning, and Bobbie came rushing into the house very
much excited.

"Mommer," he cried, "there's something the matter with me. Please send
for the doctor. _I'm breathing fog!_"




A DOG STORY.


A London dog story is apt to be a hard sort of a tale to believe, but it
is never lacking in interest. The latest is of a dog who takes a daily
walk with its mistress. The animal has observed that at a certain
crossing the policeman stops the traffic to allow his mistress to pass
over. The other day the dog went out alone, and when he came to the
crossing he barked to attract the policeman's attention. The policeman
observed what the dog wanted. He stopped the traffic, and the dog walked
solemnly across.




A MISTAKE.


"Now, Jimmie," said his teacher, "let us take up the alphabet. There are
in all twenty-six letters."

"Hoh!" giggled Jimmie.

"What are you laughing at?" asked the teacher.

"You're trying to fool me," said Jimmie, "'bout them letters. Our
postman has more'n a hundred every morning."





End of Project Gutenberg's Harper's Round Table, October 29, 1895, by Various