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Title: Harper's Round Table, June 2, 1896

Author: Various

Release date: September 24, 2018 [eBook #57969]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Annie R. McGuire


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HARPER'S ROUND TABLE, JUNE 2, 1896 ***




Produced by Annie R. McGuire








[Illustration: HARPER'S ROUND TABLE]

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

       *       *       *       *       *

PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, JUNE 2, 1896. FIVE CENTS A COPY.

VOL. XVII.--NO. 866. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.

       *       *       *       *       *




[Illustration]

CRISTOBAL THE CATALAN.

BY WILLIAM DRYSDALE.


A cell in the great Morro Castle of Havana was a strange place for a boy
of fourteen; but there sat young Cristobal Nunez on the cold stone
floor, his face hidden in his hands, and bitter tears trickling between
his fingers. He was a small boy for fourteen, and not dark, like the
Cubans, but fair as any sunburnt American boy.

He was not alone in the cell, for it was a great damp vault twenty feet
wide by a hundred feet long, with an arched roof of stone, the lower
part of a storehouse standing just within the outer wall of the
fortress. He was only one of the 108 political prisoners confined in
that unhealthy vault, where was not a cot for them to lie upon, nor a
chair or bench to sit upon.

"Cheer up, my son," said a well-dressed elderly gentleman, one of his
fellow-prisoners, stooping beside him, and laying his hand kindly on
Cristobal's shoulder; "these dark days must have an end; and tears, at
any rate, will do no good. You are young to be engaged in this
business."

"I am not engaged in this business, señor," Cristobal quickly answered,
brushing his hand across his eyes and looking up. "I am no insurgent; I
am a Spaniard, a Catalan, and know nothing about rebellions. And it is
not for myself that I shed tears, but for my young sister, who is alone
on this strange island, with no one to take care of her."

As he spoke of his sister the young Catalan again buried his face in his
hands, and his little frame shook.

"This is strange," said the gentleman; and he seated himself on the
floor beside Cristobal, and kindly drew the young Spaniard's smooth
cheek against his shoulder. "If you are a Catalan, and no insurgent, how
do you come to be here?"

Though the cell was crowded with prisoners, there was no danger of
interruption, for each was amusing himself in his own way. Some played
games with strange Spanish cards, on which were pictures of swords and
men and horses; some read books, for no newspapers were allowed them;
some sang brave songs to keep their spirits up; and others, sickened by
the bad air and bad food, lay stretched upon the stones, groaning.

"They have made a mistake," Cristobal answered, as soon as he was able
to speak. "I am only a poor boy from Barcelona, trying to take my young
sister to our uncle in Cienfuegos. But they have arrested me for an
insurgent, and what is to become of my poor sister? We were in a
cane-field only twenty-five miles from Cienfuegos, when they tore me
away from her; and there I had to leave her, without a friend on the
island, unless she finds our uncle. Oh, señor, what is to become of
her?"

"They have made many mistakes," the kindly old gentleman replied,
ignoring Cristobal's last question. "Here in this miserable cell are old
men and young--merchants, professional men, clerks, laborers, and what
not--at least half of whom are entirely innocent. It is one of the
misfortunes of war that the innocent must suffer with the guilty. But if
you are a Catalan from Barcelona, tell me how you come to be in Cuba,
and at such a time."

"My mother knew nothing about the troubles in Cuba," Cristobal answered.
"She died in Barcelona four months ago, telling us to come to her
brother, our uncle, in Cienfuegos. There was barely enough money left to
bring us in a sailing vessel to Havana, and from here I wrote and wrote
to our uncle, but received no answer, so I am afraid he must be in the
field. We started to walk--"

"To walk to Cienfuegos!" the gentleman exclaimed; "a hundred and twenty
miles! How old is your sister?"

"She is only twelve," Cristobal answered, sadly; "but she has the sense
of a grown woman--a great deal more than I have."

"And then?" the old man said, encouragingly.

"We walked as far as Ysabel," Cristobal went on, "seventy-five miles
from here, and there, by accident, I got a situation in a small store.
For nearly three months I was able to take care of my sister; but then
my employer was arrested for a rebel, and we started on for Cienfuegos."

"Poor little chaps!" exclaimed the old gentleman; "fourteen and twelve;
in a strange country; no money or friends! Well?"

"There is not much more," the young Catalan answered. "We were within
twenty-five miles of Cienfuegos, and at noon we went into a small patch
of cane for our dinner, for sugar-cane was almost our only food. It was
part of a great field, but all the cane had been burned but one little
corner. We made a spark of fire to boil our coffee, and while it boiled
there came along a squad of Spanish troops. They saw the smoke, and
accused me of firing the field, and in a minute they had handcuffs on me
and tore me away. They took me to Sagua la Grande, and in a few days I
was brought here in a steamer. But what they did with me is nothing.
What can have become of my poor sister?"

"My son," said the old gentleman, devoutly making the sign of the cross
upon his forehead, "your sister is in stronger hands than yours. The
Friend of the Fatherless will take care of her. And mark my words, my
poor boy, it will be through your sister that you will be released from
this unjust imprisonment. For yourself you can do nothing, nor can I aid
you in any way. But she is your sister, and at liberty. She will go on
foot to the Governor-General, perhaps; perhaps she will besiege every
public office in Havana. I cannot say what course she will take; but if
she has the wisdom you give her credit for, she will never rest till she
sets you free. You Catalans are called 'the Yankees of Spain,' and a
Catalonian girl will never desert her brother."

"Every Sunday and Wednesday," he continued, "the friends of prisoners
are permitted to visit them here. It may not be next Sunday or next
Wednesday, but on some Sunday or some Wednesday you will hear from your
sister."

As he arose from his uncomfortable seat the old gentleman laid his hand
upon the young prisoner's forehead, and muttered a few words that led
Cristobal to believe him a priest in disguise, as in fact he was.

But Wednesdays and Sundays came and went, and Cristobal heard no tidings
of his sister. The coming of the visitors, however, made an agreeable
break in the terrible monotony. On visiting-days the prisoners' friends
were carried across the harbor from Havana in row-boats, and after
landing on the pebble-paved road at the base of the fortress, went up
through the great portal, where a hundred Spanish soldiers were
constantly on guard. There they were formed in line, only one at a time
being allowed to approach the barred front of the vault.

Cristobal had spent three weeks of misery in his dismal cell, and one
Wednesday afternoon he lay half stretched out on the cold floor watching
the visitors and listening to their conversation. They brought all the
comforts to their friends that the guards would allow--baskets of food,
blankets to lie upon, books, clean linen, medicines--and every package
was carefully examined by the guard before it was passed into the cell.
He saw a well-dressed young Cuban step up in turn behind the bar with
nothing in his hands but three long stalks of sugar-cane tied together.
He could hardly believe his ears when the guard called,

"Cristobal Nunez!"

Cristobal sprang to his feet, and made his way up to the front. He was
sure that he had never seen his visitor before, and he could not
understand why the Cuban, instead of speaking to him at once, stood
looking him straight in the eyes, as if he would look through him, and
then looked intently at the sugar-canes--at the top cane, Cristobal
thought, the one that was gnarled and bent.

"Your sister sends you these," the young Cuban said at length, handing
the bundle to the guard for examination. "And be careful of your teeth,
Cristobal. Our Cuban cane is tough and hard to bite in March."

The guard twirled the bundle of canes in his hand, and laughed
derisively at the meanness of the gift as he passed it through the bars
to the prisoner. Even some of the other prisoners laughed to think that
one of their number was so poor that his friends could send him nothing
but a few canes.

Being one of "the Yankees of Spain," Cristobal knew on the moment that
his sister had not sent him sugar-canes merely for the sake of the
sweet.

"Be careful of my teeth!" he repeated to himself, with the canes lying
across his lap. "That means something, for Maria knows my teeth are all
right, and able to chew most anything. And it was this top cane the
Cuban looked at so hard--the crooked one."

After a few moments' thought he took out his knife and cut a piece about
a foot long from the larger end of the crooked cane, intending, at any
rate, to eat it, or to solve the mystery if there was a mystery.

At almost the first bite the cane cracked like a hollow reed, showing
that the interior had been cut out--for sugar-cane in its natural state
is very hard and solid.

Watching his chance when no one was observing him, he split the hollowed
cane open with his hands, and saw in the cavity a small packet wrapped
in paper. Quick as a flash he slipped the bit of cane into his pocket,
and worked with his fingers to release the packet. It was heavy when he
got it loose, and was evidently a roll of coins--gold coins, the weight
told him. He was afraid to take them out to look, but he hurriedly
removed the wrapping, sure of finding a message upon it. And he was not
disappointed, for upon the inner side of the little paper he found this
note:

     "DEAR KIT,--Here are five American gold eagles to help you out of
     prison.

     "I am with kind friends--Americanos--on the Buena Vista plantation,
     near La Flora, district de Cienfuegos. They have furnished the
     money. Our uncle has been shot.

     "When you get out go to Numero 19, Calle O'Reilly, Havana, and ask
     for Pedro. He will help get you here.

  "YOUR LOVING SISTER."

Cristobal could hardly help shouting when he finished reading the note;
his sister safe, money to help him, and a friend in Havana to help him
through the lines! For many days after the arrival of the sugar-cane it
was a mystery to Cristobal how his sister had found friends so quickly
in a strange country; but now it is a mystery no longer.

When her brother was dragged away and she was left alone in the
cane-field, little Maria Nunez first shed tears, and then stamped her
feet with rage. Then she took counsel with herself. She could not stay
there alone in the cane-field; she could not travel alone in roads
filled with soldiers and lawless men. Surely there must be some good
Christian on that island who would give her shelter; and she dropped
down upon her knees in the muddy field and fingered the cheap beads that
hung about her neck, and made many signs of the cross upon her little
chest and forehead.

Far away across the blackened fields she saw a roof of red tiles. There
must be a house, she knew, under the roof, and she started in that
direction.

On the broad front gallery of the house sat Señor Walter Pickard, of
Ohio, the owner of the seven thousand acres of land comprising the Buena
Vista plantation, which, in times of peace, produces its fifteen
thousand hogsheads of sugar every year. There is one larger sugar
plantation in the world, and only one. On one side of him sat the Señora
Pickard, also of Ohio, and on the other was the young Señor Pickard,
aged seventeen. The three were looking across the lane at the great
"works" that should have been alive with men and the hum of machinery,
but which stood deserted and silent, its walls riddled with bullets;
looking over the seven thousand acres of land that should have been rich
with cane, but which lay charred with fire and trampled by troops,
ruined for many years to come.

"Who is that pretty little girl I saw you taking out toward the quarters
a few minutes ago?" the Señora Pickard asked of the butler through the
open window.

"A little Spanish girl, madame," replied the French butler, "who says
that her brother has just been arrested for a rebel, and who came to us
for shelter."

"Well, I say, we're not such foreigners yet but we can give shelter to a
little girl!" exclaimed the Señor Pickard, in remarkably good English
for a Cuban planter. He knew the danger of harboring the relative of a
suspected rebel.

"Bring her to me," said the Señora, calmly.

The mistress of such a plantation is a queen in her own dominions, and a
minute later Maria Nunez stood before her, telling her sad story, much
as Cristobal told it to the kind old gentleman in Morro Castle.

Perhaps it was because he was an Ohio boy, and not a real señor at all,
that the young Señor Pickard grew excited while the story was a-telling,
and walked nervously up and down the gallery. Or it might have been
because Maria was a remarkably pretty little Spaniard, with the dark
flashing eyes of her countrywoman, and their thick black hair and rich
complexion and delicate features. Her little story was soon told, and
she stood there looking doubly pretty in her excitement and grief.

"You shall stay with me, you poor child, till the times are settled,"
said the señora, still calmly, and in good Spanish. "Alphonse, call my
maid."

"Is that all?" exclaimed the young señor, in English, looking as if he
had determined to drive out the Spanish troops single-handed. "Aren't
you going to get the girl's brother out of prison? He will be sent to
the Morro, and you know what will get him out of there. Can't Pedro--"

The elder señor stamped his foot impatiently.

"Have you no more sense than to mention that name?" he exclaimed. "Keep
quiet, and leave this thing to me. For just about one York shilling I'd
hoist the stars and stripes here and fortify the place. I am growing
sicker of such doings every day. Go and tell Henry to have his horse
ready to start for Havana at eight o'clock to-night."

Ignorant of course of these things, Cristobal had to devise a way of
using his money for his liberation. One of those golden eagles, he knew,
represented four months' pay of any of the soldiers who were guarding
him. There was one young soldier in the guard, a boy of scarcely twenty,
barefoot and ragged, whom he had marked long before as a fellow Catalan.
For days this young fellow was kept at other work, but at length he
appeared on guard again before the bars of the cell.

Cristobal's heart beat fast when he saw who was pacing up and down just
outside the bars. Pressing up to the front of the cell, he leaned for
some time against the bars without speaking, and then, as the young
soldier passed, he asked, softly,

"Cataluna?"

"No," said the guard; "Asturias."

"So much the better!" Cristobal said to himself; "it is only proper that
a Catalan should buy an Asturian. He is mine, for I shall buy him with
gold."

For some minutes more he stood leaning against the bars, without saying
another word, biding his time. When a favorable moment came, he took one
of the golden eagles between his thumb and forefinger, and held it in
front of his breast, where no one in the cell could see it, and there
was no one outside but the young guard.

Up and down paced the soldier, his eyes apparently straight in front of
him. But somehow with each walk past he was a little closer to the bars.
Seeing this encouraging sign, Cristobal took out another eagle, and held
up two. By that time the young guard was so close that Cristobal might
have touched him as he passed. After several more turns the soldier
raised his eyebrows questioningly as he passed.

There were no other prisoners close up against the bars, but some were
near enough to make great caution necessary. Only a single short
sentence could be spoken at each passing of the sentinel.

"The first means through the portal," Cristobal whispered, as the
soldier went up.

There was not a sign to show that he had been heard or understood.

"The second means a boat on the beach," Cristobal whispered, as the
soldier went down.

Still the sentinel's eyes looked dead ahead; but before he was past the
bars he shifted his musket from one shoulder to the other, and in doing
so the stock struck lightly against one of the bars. Perhaps it was
accident; but Cristobal, being one of the Yankees of Spain, did not
think so. He instantly knew that it meant, "I cannot get you through
these bars." That was an objection that he was ready to meet; and when
the guard passed again he hurriedly whispered,

"I can squeeze between the bars; I have tried it."

Still the sentinel looked dead ahead; but for the next few minutes as he
passed he was saying something softly to himself every time he put his
left foot foremost, just as a drill-master says, "left, left, left!"
What he said softly to himself was, "dos," "dos," "dos," meaning, in
English, "two," "two," "two."

"Dos!" Cristobal said to himself; "that means the two coins; both
propositions accepted;" and he left the bars and went back into the
darkness, and sat down satisfied.

When he offered that night to share his little store of gold with the
kind old gentleman, his friend patted him upon the head.

"Bless your kind little heart!" said he. "I have no need of gold." Then
removing his hat, he added, "Kneel, my son."

When Cristobal arose, after the priestly blessing, he noticed that the
top of his friend's head was shaven bare, and the brief benediction made
him feel stronger for the night's dangerous work.

For four days and nights he lay hidden in a big closet in the attic of
No. 19 in the Calle O'Reilly, and then a Spanish pass was given him that
carried him safely through the lines to La Flora. And Pedro? Pedro must
remain a mystery till that cruel war is over. Americans are a people of
great resources, and can often send their agents even within the walls
of Spanish castles. It may safely be told that Cristobal and his sister
are together on the Buena Vista plantation, and that Señor Pickard has
not yet hoisted the stars and stripes and fortified the place.




HOW MAGIC IS MADE.

BY HENRY HATTON.

IV.


One of the best tricks of De Kolta is called, "The Miraculous Production
of Flowers." It may be exhibited on the stage or in the drawing-room,
and is equally effective in either place. The performer shows an
umbrella from which the covering has been removed and its place supplied
by multicolored ribbons, which go from rib to rib, leaving a space
between. He then opens this umbrella, and stands it upside down on the
stage, resting the ferrule end in a piece of metal tubing, which, in
turn, is supported by a stand. He also shows two or three empty shallow
wicker baskets, and a sheet of heavy brown paper. His arms being bared
to prevent the possibility of anything being concealed in his sleeves,
he folds, or rather twists, a sheet of paper into a cone or cornucopia.
Every one knows this cone is empty, as they have seen it made, and yet
the performer shakes from it enough flowers to fill not only the
baskets, but also the inverted umbrella. Every once in a while, when the
supply of flowers is apparently exhausted, the paper is opened and shown
to be empty, and yet, when again rolled up, the flowers pour from it in
as great volume as at first.

[Illustration: FIG. 1.]

The flowers in this case are emphatically _spring_ flowers, though it
may be truthfully said that "the flowers that bloom in the spring have
nothing to do with the case." They are made in a variety of shapes, but
the most simple form is, to my thinking, the best, and any one can make
them by following these instructions:

[Illustration: FIG 2.]

Cut a number of pieces of red, blue, yellow, or pink tissue-paper of the
shape shown in Fig. 2, and an equal number of that in Fig. 3. Fold them
at the lines A A and B B, shown by the dotted lines, so that C and C and
D and D come together. Then cut some flat thin spring steel, not highly
tempered, into strips about one-eighth of an inch in width and from an
inch and three-quarters to two inches and a quarter in length, according
to the size of the "flower." The latter, for the drawing-room, should be
about two and a half inches long and two inches at the widest part,
while for the stage they are best when three and a quarter long and
proportionately wide. The strips of steel must next be cut in two the
longer way, until within about a quarter of an inch of one end, and
these halves must be bent outward in opposite directions, so that they
assume the position shown in Fig. 4.

[Illustration: FIG 3.]

[Illustration: FIG. 4.]

[Illustration: PAPER LEAF.]

Place the spring between the folds of Fig. 3, so that the arms will lie
on F F, and then paste them firmly down by placing over a strip of paper
of the same color as the "flower." Next put Fig. 2 between Fig. 3; paste
the points C C to E E and G G to B B, and let them dry thoroughly. The
flower has now assumed the shape shown in Fig. 5. All that it needs to
complete it are two green leaves of paper, silk, or muslin, which are to
be pasted one on each side at the smaller end. To make much display,
about five hundred of these flowers ought to be used.

[Illustration: FIG 5.]

Having made the flowers, the next thing to learn is how to get them into
the paper horn without being seen. Some performers load the cone--to
load being the technical name for filling--by simply holding a bundle of
flowers in the right hand, and deliberately placing the hand inside the
cone, under pretence of taking out a flower, but that is anything but
artistic.

Do up three bundles of, say, seventy-five flowers each. To do these up
place them between two oblong pieces of thin green card-board, putting
an elastic over the longer way; and that this may not slip, have nicks
in the ends. Pressing these ends will cause the card-boards to bulge out
in the centre, and allow the flowers to escape. Two of these bundles
must have loops of rather stiff wire run through the elastics, so that
when the bundles lie on the table the loops stand up. These bundles are
laid at the back of the table, behind a basket, at the performer's left.
The third bundle, also on the table, is a little to the right of the
others.

The performer first bares his arms, then rolls up his cone and throws it
on the floor, mouth toward the audience, or lays it on a table. Now
picking up the third bundle with his left hand, and putting it, almost
in the same movement, under the bottom of a basket which he picks up, he
advances to his audience to show that the basket is empty. Returning to
the stage, he lays the basket on his table, retaining the bundle of
flowers in his left hand. Then picking up the cone by the smaller end,
he remarks, "The hands are empty." As he says this he passes the cone to
the left hand, which he places inside the mouth, thus dropping the
bundle in, shows the right hand empty, and taking the cone in that hand
again, shows the left also empty. Putting both hands around the lower
part of the cone, he squeezes it and the card-boards, and the flowers
being released, he begins to pour them into the basket.

As the flowers fall out, he pretends to guide them with his left hand,
and this gives him an opportunity to catch the wire loop of one of the
bundles on the table between his fingers.

When the cone is emptied, the performer unrolls it and straightens out
the paper, prior to working in the second bundle. This bundle,
understand, is back of the left-hand fingers. Taking the sheet of paper
at one edge by the tips of the fingers of that hand, and letting the
paper fall in front, he smoothes it with the right hand, and presently
seizing the lower edge by that hand, he brings the sheet back over his
left hand, thus leaving the second bundle inside the cone thus formed.
This is a remarkably neat and clever move, almost impossible to detect,
and is well worth the little practice needed to acquire it.

The cone is now emptied, and the third bundle picked up in the same way
as the second, and the cone again formed over the back of the hand. The
flowers for the umbrella are loaded into the cone in an altogether
different way, but one quite as difficult to detect if well done.

About three hundred flowers are placed between two sheets of stiff
card-board, and these are tied together in a single bow-knot with silk
floss, the end which unties the knot being allowed to hang down, and
having a tiny shoe-button fastened to it, so that it may be found
easily. Hanging from one of the pieces of card-board is a loop of strong
black thread. This bundle is placed in the inside right breast pocket of
the performer's coat, and the loose end of the loop is passed over a
button or small hook sewn on the vest.

To load the bundle into the cone, the performer holds the open flat
sheet of paper in his right hand, which hangs at his side. Turning it
front and back, he says, "Absolutely empty, as you all can see." And
while his audience have their eyes fixed on it, his left thumb finds the
loop, and passing through it, lifts it off the button. "I shall hold it
away from my body," he continues, and as he says this he raises the
sheet in front of him so that it nearly covers his breast. As he does
this, almost simultaneously, his left hand grasps the upper edge of the
sheet about the centre, and thus pulls the bundle out and holds it
dangling behind the sheet. The left hand, still holding bundle and
paper, is pushed well out, so that the sheet is not near the body. The
right hand now seizes the upper right corner of the paper, and drawing
it towards him, the performer twists it into a cone. His hand is thus
left inside, and as he withdraws it, what more natural than to catch
hold of the shoe-button, give a steady pull, and release the flowers?
Walking round and round the umbrella, the performer continues to shake
flowers from the cone until the novel receptacle is filled.

The professional conjurer has large deep pockets inside the breast of
his coat, the mouth towards the front; but as many of my readers will
not care to have specially prepared coats, they may substitute a large
oblong black bag, which can be fastened to the coat by small black
safety-pins. The mouth should come within about two inches of the front.
Similar but smaller pockets can be pinned to the back of the trousers
leg, when they will be covered by the coat tails, but will prove handy
for small articles.

Some conjurers allow themselves to be firmly tied with ropes, and yet
while in this condition perform feats that apparently require the free
use of both hands. These, however, are always done behind a curtain or
other screen. Just how this is done I may explain later, but for the
present here is a very good substitute. The performer locks his hands,
and his crossed thumbs are tied tightly together with a long strong
cord, the ends of which are held by two of the audience. A soft hat or
handkerchief is thrown over the hands, and almost instantly one is waved
in the air. It is as quickly thrust back, and on removing the covering
the knots are found as firmly tied as at first.

There are two ways of doing this, both of which I shall explain.

[Illustration: FIG. 6.]

In the one method, when the hands are brought together the forefinger of
the left hand is on top; then follow the right forefinger, the left
second finger, the right _third_ finger, the left third finger, the
right little finger, and last the left little finger, as shown in Fig.
6, the right second finger being inside the hands. When the cord is
placed under the crossed thumbs, preparatory to tying them, this right
second finger, which will not be missed from the clasped hands, grasps
the cord and holds it down, thus _gaining slack_ which is at the bottom
of every tie exhibited from the time of the Davenport brothers to the
present day. Of course with so much slack it is a very easy matter to
release the thumbs, and the next moment to present them apparently
tightly tied. At the conclusion of the trick the cord must be gathered
up and put out of the way, lest some of the audience should get hold of
it, and thus discover the secret.

In the second method the palms of the hands are placed together and the
thumbs held up. Then a rope, about the size of an ordinary sash cord, is
laid just above the fork of the thumbs. The ends are given to two
committee-men chosen from the audience, who are asked to pull, so as to
convince themselves that the rope is sound; then the thumbs are crossed
and pressed down on the rope, which is tied in a double knot.

As in the first method, a handkerchief is thrown across the hands, and
again as in the first method the hands are rapidly freed, and just as
rapidly tied again.

In doing the trick this way the slack is gained just after the
committee-men are asked to pull on the rope. At that moment the hands
are held about two inches apart, and just then the thumbs squeeze hold
of the rope, and bringing the hands closely together, the slack is
caught between the palms, the crossed thumbs hiding all signs of it.

I once saw a man who claimed to do certain wonders "by the help of
unseen powers," but as two of these can be produced by the most ordinary
human power, I give them here, so that any of my readers who is so
disposed can set up in the "seer" business for himself.

The performer hands out some half-sheets of note-paper, measuring, say,
4-1/2 by 7 inches. These he requests the audience to fold, as nearly as
possible, into four equal strips, each of which will then measure 1-3/4
by 4-1/2 inches. These strips he distributes among the company, who are
asked to write a name of man or woman on each strip, which is then to be
folded once or twice, and thrown into a hat, when all the strips are to
be thoroughly mixed. The performer then places his hand in the hat, and
selecting one strip, announces that the name in it is that of a man or
of a woman, as the case may be. So he continues until each slip has been
taken out.

[Illustration: FIG. 7.]

Although the performer has nothing to do with cutting the paper, yet the
trick depends altogether on the way in which it is cut. Reference to
Fig. 7 will explain this at a glance. It will be seen that if the paper
is cut into four strips, two of these, No. 1 and No. 4, will each have a
sharp edge, A, and a rough edge, B, while Nos. 2 and 3 will have two
rough edges. In handing out the papers the performer always gives a
sharp-edged strip with the request, "Please write the name of a man on
this," while the rough-edged ones are given for the names of women. When
he puts his hand into the hat he has merely to run a finger over the
edges of a strip, and he can at once determine whether the name on it is
that of a man or of a woman, even without the aid of "unseen powers."

For his next phenomenon--by which name he attempted to dignify his
tricks--he required the assistance of his wife. She was conducted to a
room on another floor of the house, and while she was thus out of sight
and out of hearing the Professor introduced a pack of cards. One of the
company drew a card, and showed it to the rest of those present, the
Professor included. Then the gentleman who drew the card wrote on a
piece of thick paper the question. "What is the name of the card drawn?"
This was placed in an opaque envelope, so that the writing could not
possibly be read; the envelope was sealed, and the Professor addressed
it to his wife. She placed it for a moment against her forehead, and
then seizing a blank card, wrote on it, "The card chosen was the eight
of hearts," which was correct.

The secret is in the way the address is written. By previous arrangement
it is understood that the suits of the cards are to run as follows:
spades, hearts, clubs, and diamonds. Should a spade be drawn, a period
is placed after the first word of the address; if a heart, after the
second; if a club, after the third; if a diamond, no period appears in
the first line of the address. For the number of the suit the cards run
in their regular order, ace, deuce, etc., the Jack counting 11, the
Queen 12, the King 13. To designate the suit, an initial letter is
introduced in the address, the one used being the one in numerical order
coming _after_ the number of the suit. Thus, in the first case, the card
being the eight of hearts, the address was written

Mrs Sarah. I Smith

--the period after _Sarah_ designated the suit, while _I_, the ninth
letter of the alphabet, showed the number of spots on the card.




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

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

BY MARION HARLAND.

CHAPTER XI.


Flea's horse threw up his head with a jerk, and wheeled partly around at
the jerk upon the bridle; his rider flushed crimson, then grew white.

"Father!" she gasped. "What did you say? Miss Emily! _my_ Miss Emily is
going to marry that man?"

"So it is said, lassie. I'm afraid it is true. There has been talk of it
all winter, but I don't think the Major had any idea of how things were
going until lately. Early in May Mr. Tayloe left Greenfield and went to
board at Mr. Thompson's. Of course his moving from Greenfield, where he
was so intimate, set tongues wagging; and then it came out that he and
Miss Emily were engaged, and that her father opposed the match. I have
asked no questions, but I cannot help seeing that the Major is not
himself, and how he is ageing."

"I don't see how Miss Emily can disobey such a good father," said Flea,
indignantly. "His little finger-nail is worth more than forty thousand
Jack Tayloes. If she knows how her father feels, she will surely give up
all notion of that little--monster!"

Her father looked amused.

"He isn't a monster, but a well-born, well-educated gentleman, not
bad-looking, and with a voice like a church organ. Your mother says he
sang his way into Miss Emily's heart. I wonder the Major didn't suspect
what might come of all their music and horseback rides and walks
together; but he is so open-hearted and aboveboard himself that he
probably set it down to young folks' natural enjoyment in each other's
society. It hurts me to see him take it so hard. Miss Emily will be of
age in a few months, and she can then marry anybody she chooses. Except
that he has a hasty temper and an ugly way of showing it, I don't know
that there is anything against him. She will have money enough for both.
Her grandmother left her a nice little fortune, besides what the Major
can give her."

"Nothing against him!" burst forth Flea, passionately. "He is the
wickedest man ever created. Mean, spiteful, deceitful, and cruel as a
tiger. He looks like a tiger when his eyebrows draw together and his
mouth draws up and the roots of his nose draw in. To think of his daring
to lift his eyes to my sweet, pretty, darling Miss Emily! If I were her
brother, I'd shoot him sooner than he should have her."

"Lassie! lassie! That is strong language."

"Not half as strong as he deserves, father. You don't guess what a
creature he is. Aunt Jean never wrote to you about it, for she did not
want to distress you; but poor Dee couldn't go to school for a month
after he went to Philadelphia. He had terrible pains in his head and was
sick at the stomach all the time, and she had him examined by a great
doctor there, who said he had been seriously injured by so much beating
on the head--that a little more of it would have made him an idiot. That
monster of cruelty used to whack the poor boy every day with his heavy
ruler, because he was slow at his lessons. Dee cannot study long now
without having a sick headache. He can never be a learned scholar. And I
did _so_ hope he would be a distinguished man! Instead of getting
married, Mr. Tayloe ought to be put into the penitentiary. He deserves
hanging--and worse."

The rush of hot words choked her. Her father patted her shoulder
soothingly.

"Don't take it so to heart, dear child. It isn't like you to fly into
such a passion."

"I never knew that I had a bad temper until he brought it out." Flea
could not be quieted. "He would have made me as wicked as himself if I
hadn't fallen sick from his treatment of me, and then gone home with
Aunt Jean. He will break Miss Emily's heart. He enjoys torturing
helpless things, as a cat likes to torture a mouse. Where is he now that
the school is closed for vacation?"

"I think he has gone home. I have not seen or heard of him for a week
and more."

"I hope he will never come back. I hope he will die while he is away!"
uttered Flea, savagely.

"Fie! fie on you!" said her father, trying to look stern. "You'll make
me afraid of you if you get so bloodthirsty. Never meddle with people's
love-affairs, chick. It's worse than putting your fingers 'twixt bark
and tree. Miss Emily knows her own business, and has a fine high spirit
of her own."

They were at the outer gate of the avenue leading to Greenfield, and he
drew rein.

"Would you mind riding with me as far as the stables? I won't keep you
long. Or, perhaps you will go up to the house and see the ladies? They
always ask kindly after you."

Mrs. Duncombe was not at home, said a small darky who was pretending to
sweep one corner of the piazza. "Miss 'Liza and Miss Em'ly is
out-o'-doors somewhar," he added, staring at her until the round black
eyes almost slipped out of the lids.

"Don't you know me, Peter?" asked Flea, kindly.

"Yaas, 'm. But you done got mighty pretty sence you been away."

Flea's head was higher, her heart and step lighter, with natural
pleasure in the honest praise, as she ran down the steps to look for the
young ladies. She had determined to reason with Miss Emily, and could go
about it in better style as the well-dressed niece of her Philadelphia
aunt than the shabby child of the overseer would have presumed to do.
She was glad she had grown prettier. She wanted to look like a lady.

In crossing the lawn she saw, midway in the broad avenue cutting the
grounds in two, what brought her courage down on the run and her hopes
with it. She turned aside hastily into an arbor thickly draped with
vines to take counsel with herself as to her next movement. Miss Emily,
dressed in white, a garden hat set jauntily above her curls, sat upon a
settee by Mr. Tayloe. Across the avenue Miss Eliza occupied another
settee, and seemed absorbed in a book. Miss Emily was holding a
handkerchief to her eyes, while Mr. Tayloe talked earnestly to her.
Groups of children were playing on the other side of the lawn. Mr.
Tayloe must be pretty confident of his ground to show himself in the
sight of so many people.

After five minutes of embarrassed waiting, Flea was on the point of
going back to her horse unobserved, when Mr. Tayloe got up, stepped
across the avenue, and shook hands in brotherly fashion with Miss Eliza,
then, Miss Emily at his side, strolled down the walk in the direction of
Flea's hiding-place. They passed so near to it that she could have
knocked his hat off with her riding-whip. He was serious, but as bland
as the plait between his eyebrows would allow him to look. He was
talking low and impressively.

"All you have to do is to be resolute," was all Flea could hear.

"That is more easily said than done," Miss Emily began. The rest was
lost to the eavesdropper.

Her blood was at the boiling-point by the time the young lady returned
alone. A smile hovered about her red lips, although her eyes were still
moist. Flea stepped out of the arbor.

"Miss Emily!"

"Mercy on us!" in a faint scream. "Why, it is Flea Grigsby, as sure as
I'm alive! Did you drop from the clouds? How you have grown, and how
_nice_ you look! Ain't you going to kiss me, child?"

The caress was almost wasted upon the excited girl.

"Miss Emily"--driving straight at the point--"I have something
particular to say to you. Won't you come in here?"

Miss Emily followed her into the summer-house, dropped upon a seat, and
drew her dress aside to make room for her guest.

Flea spoke hurriedly, but her voice did not shake. She was too much
wrought up to be diffident. "Miss Emily! they tell me you are going to
marry Mr. Tayloe. You don't know how I love you. I can't remember the
time when I didn't love and almost worship you. You've always been so
kind and sweet that I couldn't have helped loving you even if you hadn't
been so beautiful."

Miss Emily leaned back on the bench, well pleased and smiling.

"Oh, _come_ now, you've learned how to flatter in Philadelphia," she
simpered, hitting Flea with the handkerchief that had wiped the tears
from the blue eyes a little while ago. "And _who_, I should like to
know, has been fibbing to you about my getting married?"

Flea seized upon both the pretty hands, her face one flash of ecstasy.

"I might have known it couldn't be true. Oh-h-h!" heaving a long,
quivering sigh of relief. "If you only knew what I suffered when I heard
you were to marry him! I couldn't bear the thought."

"You jealous little puss!"

Flea had sunk to her knees upon the gravelly floor of the arbor, and was
gazing worshipfully into her idol's face. It was like the coming true of
another fairy dream when the dainty white hands were laid one on each
side of her flashed cheeks, and Miss Emily kissed her between the eyes.

"You unreasonable little _monkey_! Do you want me to die an old _maid_?
I declare"--inspecting the braided front of the habit-waist--"you look
_real_ fashionable. And you used to be _such_ a tomboy that your poor
mother threatened to make oznaburg frocks for you. But go on. Then you
won't let me marry anybody?"

"I didn't mean that," Flea protested. "But I heard that you were engaged
to Mr. Tayloe, and it made me perfectly miserable, and I felt that if I
could talk to you for five minutes you would change your mind. I'm so
happy that it is nothing but a gossip's story."

"What have you against poor Mr. Tayloe besides his admiration for a
foolish little nobody like me?"

Flea raised herself on her knees to bring her eyes on a level with her
companion's. Her young face darkened.

"You are not foolish or a nobody. You would be foolish if you were to
marry that meanest, cruelest, hardest-hearted of all men. And you would
be a nobody--worse than a nobody--when once he had you in his power.
Your brothers can tell you how he used to whip the boys and ferule the
girls' hands until they were blistered, and he grinning all the time. He
tortures people for the love of torturing. He is a bully, and a coward,
and a demon."

"Are you calling Mr. Tayloe all those names?" interposed the listener,
tartly.

"Yes, Miss Em--"

Before she could utter another syllable her idol drew away to get a
better reach, and slapped her with all her might, first upon one cheek,
then upon the other, until her astonished ears rang like an alarm-bell,
then pushed her off so violently that she fell backward to the ground.
Springing up, wild with shock and horror of it all, she faced a
red-haired fury with glaring eyes and distorted features.

"You impudent, low-lived minx!" said tones as vulgar as those of a
scolding negress. "You ought to be tied up and whipped until you take
back every word you have said. Who are _you_ that you come here to
insult a gentleman in a lady's hearing? This comes of my taking notice
of a low-down overseer's daughter, who is meaner than the dirt under my
feet! Begone! and if you ever show your face here again I'll set the
dogs on you!"

Flea did not quite know where she was or what she was doing until she
found herself in the saddle, gathering up the reins, and telling the
negro who had brought the horse up to the inner gate for her to "tell
Mr. Grigsby he would find her waiting for him under the big oak-tree on
the road."

She managed to get the words out without breaking down, and galloped
along the avenue as if the dogs were already on her heels.

Her father rejoined her in less than half an hour. She sat motionless
upon the horse under the tree. The reins lay upon the docile animal's
neck, and he was grazing in quiet satisfaction, unnoticed by his
mistress. Mr. Grigsby must have remarked her white face and swollen eyes
had he been less engrossed in his own thoughts.

"Ready, lassie?" was all he said, and "Yes, father," was her only reply.

They jogged, side by side, for a mile before either spoke again. The
bitterest cup Experience had ever held to poor Flea's lips was pressed
to them now, and the draught was the very wine of astonishment to her
soul. Five months with Aunt Jean and in a Philadelphia school had not
cured her of ambitious dreams. Miss Emily had still stood with her as
the loveliest, daintiest, and gentlest of women. She had described her
to her schoolmates as her "patron saint" and her "guardian angel." She
had not doubted what would be the outcome of the plain talk she had
sought with her angel. Miss Emily would be shocked at first, perhaps
incredulous, but in the end she would fall weeping upon her neck, and
sob in her ear, "My benefactress! from what an abyss of misery you have
saved me!"

Her dream had crashed into dust and ashes about her head. Something was
gone forever out of her past, present, and future. There was no Miss
Emily in all time for her, and, worst of all, there never had been. The
shrill coarseness of the angry woman's speech, her inflamed face and
threatening eyes, haunted Flea like a nightmare.

Her father aroused himself at length. "I am a dull companion for you,
lassie," he said, threading her horse's mane with his fingers. "But
something has gone wrong--'agley,' as we Scotchmen say--at Greenfield
that's set me to thinking about other wrong-doings that took place
months ago. The dairy was robbed last night of a matter of fifty pounds
of butter. The dogs made no noise, so the thieves were not strangers.
The Major and Mr. Robert Duncombe searched the plantation this morning,
and found nothing. The thieves, most likely, had a boat on the shore,
and made off with the butter up to Richmond. You noticed, didn't you, as
we rode by to-day that the haunted house had been pulled down?"

"No, sir," answered Flea, in a dull tone. She had not seemed to listen
until he asked the question.

"You used to sing a song about it when you had the fever," resumed the
father, in a would-be sprightly manner.

"It began,

  "'It stands beside the weedy way,'

"and was really tolerable poetry as far as it went. It was queer it
should run in your head just then when the Major and I had just found
that the cabin was used as a hiding-place for stolen goods. It was a
sort of robbers' cave, and we suspected the Fogg family to be the
robbers. Mr Tayloe's watch and chain, that he had lost the day before in
the school-house, were there in a bag packed to be carried off. You
recollect that Mrs. Fogg was at the school-house that day!"

Flea gave no sign of interest or surprise. She only said, in sullen
bitterness, "I am sorry he ever found it."

"My child!"

"I am, father! I suppose I am wicked for feeling it, but I wish him all
the harm in the world. The Foggs may be thieves and liars and a hundred
other dreadful things. The worst of them is a saint compared with him."

"We will let that pass. I promised once never to speak of that day
again. I beg your pardon, my dear," said the father, gravely. There was
no use in arguing against the girl's prejudice, in which, to tell the
truth, he was beginning to share. "I was about to say that some strong
measures must be taken to find out if the Foggs are really the
ring-leaders of this gang, with the negroes to help them, or if this
wretched family do all the stealing themselves. They have been tolerably
quiet since the cabin was cleared out and pulled down, but this dairy
business looks as if they were beginning business again. If we meet the
Major on the road, I will speak to him about it. I wish now I had looked
him up in the swamp when we saw Nell."

They relapsed into silence. The country was stilling into the hush of a
summer noon. But for the indescribable consciousness of the growth of
green and flowering things that fills June days and nights--something
which is not motion and surely is not rest, and is, most of all, like
the full, slow, contented breathing of the world on which we live and
that lives with us--everything except themselves and their horses seemed
to be asleep as they passed into the grass-grown swamp road.

"The day is getting hot," observed Mr. Grigsby, presently, "if the
breeze should die away entirely we may expect a thunder-storm this
afternoon."

At that instant the neigh of a horse, clear and prolonged, pierced the
noon-tide; another moment brought them again in sight of the low-hung
gig and mare they had seen in the same spot an hour and a half ago. Nell
had not stirred from her tracks, except to paw up the earth about her
front right foot in anxiety or impatience. She looked around and neighed
piteously.

"Nell is getting hungry, poor thing!" said the overseer, stopping to pat
her glossy neck. "The flies are troubling her, too. That is the worst of
a blooded horse. The skin is as thin as a baby's. So, old lady!" and she
threw her head down and up, and again whinnied. He went on brushing off
the flies from her head and sides while he talked. "These swamp-flies
bite sharply. Any other horse would try to get away. She is the
best-broken beast in the State. If a cannon were fired off at her ear
she would jump, but she'd never run. The Major broke her himself. It's
odd where he is all this time."

A vague uneasiness took hold of him. He looked about him anxiously.

A large spruce-tree lay within ten feet of the gig. The branchy top had
bent saplings and bushes down in its fall; the ground for many yards
around was strewed with leaves and twigs. Flea glanced idly at the lower
end of the trunk. She did not wish to meet Major Duncombe with the
memory of the encounter with his daughter fresh in her mind. Still, if
her father meant to wait for him, she had no choice. She could never
tell how she chanced to notice that the trunk was hollow, and had been
partly cut through by the axe. Beyond the cut the wood and bark were
splintered roughly.

"Do you suppose he could have been here when that tree fell?" she said.
"Could that have been what we heard as we came through the woods this
morning? Oh, father!"

He looked in the direction of her pointing finger, threw himself from
his saddle, and hurried into the swamp.

[Illustration: HE WAS TEARING AWAY THE BOUGHS IN FRANTIC HASTE.]

A man's hat lying just beyond the branches of the fallen tree had
attracted Flea's eye. When she had slipped from her horse and followed
her father into the thicket, he was tearing away the boughs in frantic
haste from Major Duncombe's face. The upper part of the prostrate trunk
lay right across his chest.

It must have killed him instantly.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]




RICK DALE.

BY KIRK MUNROE.

CHAPTER XXIX.

MOUNT RAINIER PLACED UNDERFOOT.


The summit of Mount Rainier has only been gained by way of its southern
slope, the much steeper and more dangerous northern face having never
been scaled. Even over the comparatively easy slope of the south side
but one practicable trail has been discovered, and it leads by way of
the Cleaver. This gigantic ridge of rock, like the backbone of some
colossal monster, forms a divide between the upper Nisqually and Cowlitz
glaciers. Its sides are overlaid with confused masses of bowlders and
treacherous gravel, through which appear at intervals sheer cliffs and
bare ledges of solid rock. The Cleaver leads to a mighty mass of
granite, a mountain in itself, that is fittingly called the Gibraltar of
Mount Rainier. It bars a further passage to all save the strongest
climbers, and to these it affords the only means of access to the lofty
realms beyond. Here is the most perilous part of the ascent, and, with
Gibraltar once passed, the summit is almost certain of attainment.

It seemed to our weary lads that they had barely fallen asleep when they
were wakened by a rude shaking and the voice of their Siwash guide,
exclaiming:

"Come, come, lazy boy! Wake up! wake up! 'Mos' _sitkum sun_ [noon].
Breakfus! breakfus!"

"'Most noon!" growled Bonny, crawling reluctantly from his sleeping-bag,
rubbing his eyes, and shivering in the bitter cold. "'Most mid-night,
more likely."

"Alle same, _sitkum sun_ some place; don't he?" queried the Indian,
laughing at his own joke.

By the time they had swallowed a cup of tepid tea, and lightened their
packs by making a hearty meal of cold meat and hard bread, dawn was
breaking, and there was light enough to pick their way up the
treacherous slope of the Cleaver. As they cautiously advanced, many a
bowlder slipped from beneath their feet and bounded with mighty leapings
into the depths behind them. Dodging these, sliding in the loose
gravels, lifting and pulling each other up rocky faces from one narrow
ledge to another, and ever looking upward, they finally gained the
summit of the mighty ridge.

From here they could gaze down the opposite slope nearly a thousand feet
to the gleaming surface of the great Cowlitz glacier, with so much of
its ruggedness smoothed away by distance that it looked a river of milk
with a line of black drift in its centre, flowing swiftly through a
rock-walled cañon and pouring into a sea of cloud. On the far southward
horizon could be seen the glistening cone of Mount Hood, kissed by
earliest sunbeams, and in the middle distance the volcanic peaks of St.
Helens and Adams. Near at hand, pinnacles of the Tatoosh Range were
breaking through the clouds like rocky islets in a billowy sea. Before
them the rugged backbone of the Cleaver, stripped of every particle of
its earthy flesh, stretched away in quick ascent to the frowning mass of
Gibraltar.

The Cleaver carried them half-way up the sombre face of this mighty
rock, and from that point's narrow ledge creeping diagonally up the
precipice at a steep angle was the trail they must follow. Not only was
this rocky pathway steep and narrow, but it shelved away from the wall,
and in many places afforded only a treacherous foothold. At any point
along its length a slip, a misstep, or an attack of dizziness would mean
almost certain destruction.

Foot by foot and yard by yard M. Filbert's little party ascended this
perilous way, here walking and trusting to their alpenstocks for
support; there crawling on hands and knees. Sometimes one would go
cautiously ahead over a place of peculiar danger, with an end of the
rope firmly knotted beneath his arms, while his companions, with firm
bracings, retained the other part, ready to haul him up if by chance he
should plunge over the verge and dangle above the abyss at the end of
his slender tether.

[Illustration: THE ICE ABOVE GIBRALTAR.]

At the terminus of the ledge they were confronted by a sloping wall of
solid ice, in which they must cut steps and grip-holes for feet and
hands. As they slowly and painfully worked their way up this precarious
ladder they were continually pelted by pebbles and good-sized stones
loosened by the sun from an upper cliff of frozen gravel.

At length the toilsome ascent was safely accomplished, and with a
panting shout from Alaric and a hurrah from Bonny, the whole party stood
on the summit of that mountain Gibraltar. Here they rested and lunched;
then, full of eager impatience, pushed on over the narrow causeway
connecting the mighty rock with the vastly mightier snow-cap beyond.

This snow, that had looked so faultlessly smooth from below, was found
to be drifted and packed into high ridges, over which they slowly
toiled, frequently pausing for breath, and inhaling the rarefied air
with quick gaspings. At length a bottomless crevasse yawned before them,
spanned only by a narrow bridge of snow. With an end of the rope knotted
beneath his arms, Bonny, being the lightest, essayed to cross it. Before
he reached the farther side the treacherous support broke beneath him,
and, with a frightened cry, Alaric saw his comrade plunge out of sight
in the yawning chasm. He brought up with a heavy jerk at the end of the
rope, and they cautiously drew him back to where they stood.

As he reappeared above the edge of the opening his face was very pale,
but he called out, cheerfully. "It's all right, Rick! Don't fret!"

After a long search they discovered another bridge, and it bore them
across in safety, one at a time, but all securely roped together.
Finally, late in the afternoon, the longed-for summit was attained, and
though nearly toppled over by a furious wind, they stood triumphant on
the rocky rim of its ancient crater. This was half a mile in diameter,
and filled with snow, but its opposite or northern side was the highest.
So to it they made their weary way, following the rocky path afforded by
the rim, and barely able to hold their footing against the wind.

When they at last attained the point of their ambition, a reading of the
barometer showed them to be standing at a height of 14,444 feet above
sea-level, and with exulting hearts they realized that, as Bonny
expressed it, they had put the highest peak of the Cascade Range beneath
their feet.

The view that greeted them from that lofty outlook was so wonderful and
far-reaching that for a while they gazed in awed silence. Mount Baker,
two hundred miles away, close to the British line, was clearly visible,
as were the notable peaks to the southward, even beyond the distant
Columbia and over the Oregon border.

"C'est grand! c'est magnifique! c'est terrible!" exclaimed M. Filbert,
at length breaking the silence.

As for Alaric! To have achieved that summit was the greatest triumph of
his life; but his heart was too full for utterance, and he could only
gaze in speechless delight.

The Indian too gazed in silence as, leaning on his ice-axe, he
contemplated the outspread empire that but a few years before had
belonged solely to the people of his race.

Bonny was as deeply impressed as either of his companions, but found it
necessary to express his feelings in words. "This must be the top of the
world!" he cried; "and I do believe we can see it all. I tell you what
it is, Rick Dale, I've learned something about mountains this day, and
now I know that they are the grandest things in all creation."

At their feet the rock wall dropped so sheer and smooth that no man
might climb it, and then came the snow, sweeping steeply downward for
miles apparently without a break. Far beyond lay the vast sea of forest,
seeming to cover the whole earth with its green mantle. The gleaming
glaciers, looking like foaming cascades frozen into rigidity, were
swallowed by it and hidden. It rolled in billows over the mighty
mountain flanks that radiated from where they stood like the spokes of a
colossal wheel, and dipped into the intervening valleys. Nowhere was it
broken, save by the few bald peaks that struggled above it and by the
threadlike waters of Puget Sound. Even on the west there was no ocean,
for the volcanic, snow-crowned Olympics, one of which was smoking, as
though in eruption, hid it from view.

Our lads could have gazed entranced for hours on the crowding marvels
outspread before them had they been warmed and fed and rested and
sheltered from the fierce blasts of icy wind that threatened to hurl
them from the parapet on which they stood. As it was, night was at hand,
they were faint and trembling from weariness, and wellnigh perished with
the stinging cold. It was high time to turn from gazing and seek
shelter.

Inside the crater's rim numerous steam jets issued from fissures in the
rocky wall, and these had carved out caverns from the adjacent ice. Here
there were roomy chambers, steam-heated and storm-proof, awaiting
occupancy, and to one of these M. Filbert led the way.

In this place of welcome shelter numbed fingers were thawed to further
usefulness by the grateful steam, a small fire was lighted, packs were
opened, and in less than an hour a bountiful supper of hot tea, venison
frizzled over the coals, toasted hard-bread, and prunes was being
enjoyed by as hungry and jubilant a party as ever bivouacked at the
summit of Mount Rainier.

After supper the Frenchman lighted a cigarette, the Indian puffed with
an air of intense satisfaction at an ancient pipe, our lads toasted
their stockinged feet before the few remaining embers of the fire, and,
in various languages, all four discussed the adventures of the day.

Although they had much to say, their conversation hour was soon ended by
their weariness and by the ever-increasing cold which even a jet of
volcanic steam could not exclude from that chamber of ice. So they
speedily slipped into their sleeping-bags, and, lying close together for
greater warmth, prepared to spend a night under the very strangest
conditions that Alaric and Bonny, at least, had ever encountered.

Some hours later the occupants of the ice-cave became conscious of the
howlings of a storm that shrieked and roared above their heads with the
fury of ten thousand demons; but knowing that it could not penetrate
their retreat, they gave it but slight heed, and quickly dropped again
into the sleep of weariness.


CHAPTER XXX.

BLOWN FROM THE RIM OF A CRATER.

When our lads next awoke they were oppressed with a sense of suffocation
and uncomfortable warmth. It was still dark, and M. Filbert was striking
a match in order to look at his watch.

"Seven o'clock!" he cried, incredulously. "How can it be?"

"_Cole suass!_" (snow) exclaimed the Indian, to whom the flare of light
had instantly disclosed the cause of both darkness and suffocation. The
cave was much smaller than when they entered it, and was also full of
steam. Its walls were covered with moisture, and rivulets of water
trickled over the floor.

"_Cultus snow!_ Heap plenty! Too much! _Mamook ilahie_" (must dig),
continued the Indian, springing to his feet, and making an attack on the
drifted snow that had completely choked the cavern's mouth. When he had
excavated a burrow the length of his body, Bonny took his place, while
Alaric and M. Filbert removed the loosened snow to the back of the cave,
where they packed it as closely as possible.

Although a faint light soon appeared in the tunnel, it was a full hour
before it was dug to the surface of the tremendous drift and a rush of
cold air was admitted.

A glance outside showed that while no snow was falling at that moment,
the day was dark and gloomy, and the mountain was enveloped in clouds
that were driven in swirling eddies by fierce gusts of wind.

In spite of the threatening weather, M. Filbert declared that they must
begin their retreat at once, as they had but one day's supply of food
left, while the storm might burst upon them again at any minute and
continue indefinitely. So, after a hasty meal of biscuit and cold meat,
the little party sallied forth. The Indian, having no longer a burden of
fire-wood, relieved Alaric of his camera, and led the way. M. Filbert
followed, then came Alaric, while Bonny brought up the rear.

Oh, how cold it was! and how awful! To be sure, the dangers surrounding
them were hidden by impenetrable clouds, but they had already seen them,
and knew of their presence. As they started to traverse the rocky
crater rim that still rose slightly above the snow, the entire summit
was visible; but a few minutes later a furious gust of wind again
shrouded it in clouds so dense as to completely hide objects only a few
feet away.

Just then Alaric tripped on one of his boot-lacings that had become
unfastened, and very nearly fell. That was no place for tripping, and
such a thing must not happen again. So he paused to secure the loosened
lacing, and, as he stooped over it, Bonny cried impatiently from behind:

"Hurry up, Rick! the others are already out of sight, and it will never
do to lose them in this fog."

The necessity for haste only caused the lad's numbed fingers to fumble
the more awkwardly, and several precious minutes were thus wasted.

With his task completed, Alaric, full of nervous dread, started to run
after their vanished companions, slipped on a bit of glare ice at a
place where the narrow path slanted down and out, and pitched headlong.
Bonny saw his danger, sprang to his assistance, slipped on the same
treacherous ice, and in another moment both lads had plunged over the
outer verge of the sheer wall.

Neither Alaric nor Bonny could ever afterwards tell whether they fell
twenty feet or two hundred in that terrible, breathless plunge. Almost
with the first knowledge of their situation they found themselves
struggling in a drift of soft, fresh-fallen snow, and a moment afterward
rolling, bounding, and shooting with frightful velocity down an icy
rooflike slope of interminable length.

At length, after what seemed an eternity of this terrible experience,
though in reality it lasted but a few minutes, they were flung into a
narrow snow-filled valley that cut their course at a sharp angle, and
found themselves lying within a few feet of each other, dazed and sorely
bruised, but apparently with unbroken bones, and certainly still alive.

As they slowly gained a sitting posture and gazed curiously at each
other, Bonny said, impressively:

"Rick Dale, before we go any further I want to take back all I ever said
about the life of a sailor being exciting, for it isn't a circumstance
to that of an interpreter."

"Oh, Bonny, it is so good to hear your voice again! Wasn't it awful? and
how do you suppose we can ever get back?"

"Get back!" cried the other. "Well, if we had wings we might fly back;
but there's no other way that I know of. We must be a mile from our
starting-point, and even to reach the foot of the place where we dove
off we'd have to cut steps in the ice every inch of the way. That would
probably take a couple of days, and when we got there we'd have to turn
around and come down again, for nothing except a bird could ever scale
that wall."

"Then what shall we do?"

"Keep on as we have begun, I suppose, only a little slower, I hope,
until we reach the timber-line, and then try and follow it to camp."

"I wonder if we can?"

"Of course we can, for we've got to."

Painfully the lads gained their feet, and with cautious steps began to
explore their surroundings. They walked side by side for a few yards,
and then each clutched the other as though to draw him back. They were
on the brink of a precipice over which another step would have carried
them.

While they hesitated, not knowing which way to turn nor what to do, the
clouds below them rolled away, though above and back of them they
remained as dense as ever, and a view of what lay before them was
unfolded.

Rocks, ice, and snow; sheer walls on either side of them, and a
precipitous slope forming an almost vertical descent of a thousand feet
in front. There were but three things to do: Go back the way they had
come, which was so wellnigh impossible that they did not give it a
second thought; remain where they were, which meant a certain and speedy
death; or make their way down that rocky wall. They crept to its brink
and looked over, anxiously scanning its every feature and calculating
their chances. The first thirty feet were sheer and smooth. Then came a
narrow shelf, below which they could see others at irregular intervals.

"There is only one way to do it," said Bonny, "and that is by the rope.
I will go first, and you must follow."

"I'll try," replied Alaric, with a very pale face but a brave voice.

So Bonny, with the knowledge of knots that he had learned on shipboard,
made a noose that would not slip in one end of their rope, tied half a
dozen knots along its length for hand-holds, and fastened its other end
about his body. Then he looped the noose over a jutting point of rock,
and, slipping cautiously over the brink, allowed himself to slide slowly
down.

It made Alaric so giddy to watch him that he closed his eyes, nor did he
open them until a cheery "All right, Rick!" assured him of his comrade's
safety. Now came his turn, and as he hung by that slender cord he was
devoutly thankful for the strength that the past few weeks had put into
his arms. He too reached the ledge in safety, and then, with great
difficulty, on account of the narrowness of their foothold, they managed
to whip the noose off its resting-place. Now they _must_ go forward, for
there was no longer a chance of going back. In vain, though, did they
search that smooth ledge for a point that would hold their noose. There
was none, and the next shelf was twenty feet below.

"We must climb it, Rick, and this time you must go first. Put the loop
under your arms, and I will do my best to hold you if you slip; but
don't take any chances, or count too much on me being able to do it."

There were little cracks and slight projections. Bonny held the rope
reassuringly taut, and at length the feat was accomplished. Then Alaric
took in the slack of the rope as Bonny, tied to its other end, made the
same perilous descent.

So, with strained arms and aching legs, and fingers worn to the quick
from clutching the rough granite, they made their slow way from ledge to
ledge, gaining courage and coolness as they successfully overcame each
difficulty, until they estimated that they had descended fully five
hundred feet. Now came another smooth face absolutely without a crevice
that they could discover, and the next ledge below was further away than
the length of their dangling rope. There was, however, a projection
where they stood over which they could loop the noose.

"We've got it to do," said Bonny, stoutly, "and I only hope the drop at
the end isn't so long as it looks." Thus saying, he slipped cautiously
over the edge, let himself down to the end of the rope, dropped ten
feet, staggered, and seemed about to fall, but saved himself by a
violent effort. Alaric followed, and also made the drop, but whirled
half round in so doing, and but for Bonny's quick clutch would have gone
over the edge.

There was now no way of recovering their useful rope; and fortunately,
though they sorely needed it at times, they found no other place
absolutely impossible without it. Now came a rude granite stairway with
steps fit for a giant, and then a long slope of loose bowlders, that
rocked and rolled from beneath their feet as they sprang from one to
another. They crossed the rugged ice of a glacier, whose innumerable
crevasses intersected like the wrinkles on an old man's face, and had
many hair-breadth escapes from slipping into their deadly depths of
frozen blue. Then came a vast snow-field, over which they tramped for
miles with weary limbs but light hearts, for the terrors of the mountain
were behind them and the timber-line was in sight. Darkness had already
overtaken them when they came to a steep rock-strewn slope, down which
they ran with reckless speed. They were near its bottom when a bowlder
on which Bonny had just leaped rolled from under him, and he fell
heavily in a bed of jagged rocks.

As he did not regain his feet, Alaric sprang to his side. The poor lad
who had so stoutly braved the countless perils of the day was moaning
pitifully, and as his friend bent anxiously over him he said, in a
feeble voice,

"I'm afraid, old man, that I'm done for at last, for it feels as though
every bone in my body was broken."

[TO BE CONTINUED.]




RIGS AND MAKESHIFTS OF THE SMALL BOAT.

BY DUDLEY D. F. PARKER.


While a boy may not have occasion or the good fortune to handle or own a
large boat, he is almost certain, if he lives near water, to have
something to do with a bateau, skiff, or small boat of some character.
Or perchance he may own a row-boat of the St. Lawrence skiff variety,
and may wish to put a sail on it. Now there is nothing more clumsy and
dangerous than a badly rigged small boat. By badly rigged is not meant
only the boat whose spars are imperfect, or other things connected with
her rig radically wrong, but also the boat that carries a rig that may
be perfectly suitable for another class, but is entirely out of place in
one of this size. A thing to be avoided in all small boats is
unnecessary rigging; too many halyards and sheet ropes are in the way,
and, where the rigging is on a very small scale, are very apt to get
tangled or out of order when most wanted. So it may readily be seen
that, for instance, the jib-and-mainsail rig of a twenty-five-foot boat,
with its accompanying number of sheets, stays, and halyards would be
totally out of place in a fourteen-foot bateau. The whole attention of
the natives or "shell-backs" in or near our fishing villages has been
devoted to the originating of makeshifts for the avoidance of everything
that makes the construction and handling of a boat more difficult. Their
idea seems to have been that anything that could be accomplished without
the aid of mechanical means, simply by the use of a little extra muscle,
had better be done that way.

[Illustration: PLATE 1.]

[Illustration: PLATE 2.]

[Illustration: PLATE 3.]

It might be said that in the small boat are seen the various rigs, in
their simplicity, whose principles have been elaborated and altered to
meet the different conditions required. Taking them in order of
simplicity, we first come to the "leg-o'-mutton" rig. Here only two
spars are used, and no halyards. In No. 1 (Plate I) the boom has no
jaws, and is held in place at the mast by catching the projecting end in
a sling, and by poking the other end through a cringle in the leech. The
only lacing required is to fasten the sail to the mast, the sail only
being fastened to the boom (more properly sprit) at the points
mentioned. If it is found to bag, the remedy is to shorten the sling
until the sail sets flatly. This can never be entirely accomplished, as
the sail, being supported by the boom only at the extreme outer end and
the mast at the other, is very apt to stretch in a stiff breeze.

Advancing a step, we come to the remedy of this trouble (Fig. 2, Plate
I). It is the introduction of jaws at the mast, instead of the rope
sling. The tendency to bag is removed, as the sail is fastened at
frequent intervals by lacing to the boom, along which it may be kept
stretched tightly. Also the tendency of the boom to slide forward is
effaced as it butts up against the mast. In this method a much lighter
spar can be used, as the strain is made to come more or less throughout
its whole length, whilst in the first-mentioned it comes wholly at the
ends. The principal objection against the "leg-o'-mutton" rig in general
is the great length of mast required. This is one of its most serious
drawbacks, and the other is the inability to reef the sail. Of course
modifications of this rig have been made, introducing halyards and
supplying reef points, but a discussion of that is beyond the scope of
this paper, such modifications being rarely seen on a small boat.

As mention has been made of lacing a sail to spars, perhaps it would be
just as well to digress a little here, and speak of three well-known
methods of lacing. The first, A, (Plate III), is the simplest and about
as effective as any. The sail is fastened to the boom by an
"over-and-over" lacing. In B, the sail is held by a series of
"half-hitches," and in the third, or C, the lacing runs through eyes
screwed into the boom.

The next step in rendering the rig more compact is to shorten the mast.
This can only be done at the cost of an increase in the complexity of
the rigging. A new spar is introduced, and the sail is cut down from a
triangle to an area having four sides. Some means had to be found to
support the upper edge, and a study of the last three sail plans will
show some of the methods in use. Figs. 3 and 4 are nearly equal, as far
as simplicity goes, though Fig. 3 is simpler on account of the absence
of lacings on the upper edge. This is commonly known as the
"sprit-sail," and, taking all things into consideration, it seems to be
the most efficient and handiest of all the rigs. Of course it is not as
efficient in some respects as the sail in Fig. 5, the same trouble being
experienced on the top edge as in the "leg-o'-mutton"--bagging--but it
possesses the advantage of greater simplicity. If we examine this rig we
will readily see that it is any large fore-and-aft sail reduced to its
simplest form. We find, instead of the gaff and the two halyards to hold
the sail up, all this is replaced by the simple device of the pole
(sprit), one end of which is stuck in a cringle in the upper corner of
the sail, and the other caught in a sling. The sail does not move on the
mast, and is laced to it. The boom has jaws at the mast, and the sail is
laced on, or sometimes the device shown in No. 1 is resorted to, though
the former method will be found to make this sail set better. There are
no reef points, and the only way to reef is to drop the peak by removing
the sprit. Of course it must be understood that this rig is not at all
practicable in a boat of any size, but in any of about the size of a
row-boat it will be found to be most convenient.

In the next device (No. 4) we approach nearer to the regular
"fore-and-aft" sail. There can be seen the introduction of a yard to
which the upper edge of the sail is laced, as to the ordinary gaff. No
halyards are used, and the yard is lashed to the mast, and held at the
proper angle to keep the sail flat by a rope fastening its lower
extremity to the mast. The only objection to this rig is that the yard
has a tendency to give and to permit the sail to bag. This rig is
frequently seen on duck-boats. There is no method of reefing except
dropping the yard, unless reef points are introduced.

[Illustration: A DUCK-BOAT TYPE.]

Taking a step further we come to the "fore-and-aft" sail proper. Here we
find the introduction of a gaff, which might be looked upon as the
shortening of the yard in the preceding rig. There are jaws on both boom
and gaff, and the sail is movable on the mast, being usually held on by
loops, the gaff moving up and down. To take the place of the lashings in
the preceding rigs, ropes (halyards) fastened to this spar and passing
through blocks at the mast-head and so down have been introduced.
Because of the ability to hoist and lower the sail, reefing is
accomplished by a row, or rows, of little ropes (reef points), by which
it is tied down, thus reducing it to almost any size desired according
to the number of reefs tied in. Most small sails of this character have
at least one row, and some two; though the small cat-boat usually has
three. In a previous article (HARPER'S ROUND TABLE, No. 827) a
description of how to tie a reef in the sail of a larger boat was given.
The principle is the same in all sized sails, and perhaps it will only
be necessary to add here that the reef points are not tied around the
boom but around the part of the sail taken in by the reef (D, Plate
III). The stop at the outer cringle, however, is tied around the boom. A
simple means of reefing, which may be used in all the rigs except the
first, is by rows of holes of the same character as the leech cringle;
and after pulling the sail down to the proper distance (most sails laced
to the mast can, with a little care, be moved), hold the reef in by a
single lacing through them, in the same manner as the sail is laced on
in A. A stop at the leech is required, as in the preceding method.

[Illustration: ST. LAWRENCE SKIFF WITH FORE-AND-AFT SAIL.]

Many combinations are made with the jib. There seems to be about only
one common way of rigging a jib for a small boat. A pretty clear idea
may be gained from the sketch (Plate I). As may be seen, no stay is
used, the sail usually being bound with a rope, which gives it
sufficient strength; no halyard is used, either the jib being lashed to
the mast, and lowered and hoisted when it is stepped or unstepped. The
lower edge is laced to a boom, which is secured to the bow with a
lashing about four inches long, a third of its length projecting. The
sheet rope is fastened to the inner extremity. The most common
combination is the jib and sprit-sail, generally known as the "skiff
rig" (see sketch). It is quite often used with one of the
"leg-o'-mutton" sails. The most general use of the "leg-o'-mutton"
types, however, is either two together, as in the sharpie rig, or
separately as the only sail in the boat.

[Illustration: A SHARPIE-RIGGED OYSTER-BOAT.]

Perhaps a few words on the spars would be in place here. First, taking
the stick itself; it should always be a straight-grained piece of wood,
as free from knots as possible, and well seasoned. The several spars
require different degrees of tapering. The aim of the taper is to reduce
weight, by concentrating the greatest amount of material at the point
most strained, and removing the surplus. The mast should leave little
taper, except in the "leg-o'-mutton"--where it is tapered very much
towards the head--and ought to be nearly the same size throughout its
whole length, the thickest part, if any, from a short distance above the
deck or brace to a few inches below. It should have a slight taper at
the head and a pretty good sized one at the heel where it enters the
step. The boom should have a slight gradual taper, the thickest part
being between a quarter and a third of the distance from the mast to the
end of the spar, and the mast end much heavier than the other. The
making of the jaws has been described in a previous article (HARPER'S
ROUND TABLE, No. 818). The thickest part of the gaff should be about a
third of the distance from the mast. The sprit should be about the same
thickness throughout its entire length. In the yard rig the thickest
part of the yard should be in about the same relative position to the
mast as it is in the gaff.

[Illustration: A DOUBLE-END CLAM-BOAT.]

Turning now to the rigging of the boat; the only one of the rigs
requiring halyards is the fore-and-aft sail (No. 5). The method of
threading can readily be understood from a study of the sketch. No. 5
(Plate II) is only practicable for a small boat, but No. 6 is more
suitable for a larger one. About the only other thing requiring mention
in the rigging are the different methods of reeving the sheet rope. No.
1 and No. 2 are the simplest, the only difference between them being the
positions of the fastened ends. In the first the end is secured to the
boat, and in the second it is fastened to the boom. The device shown in
the third sketch is a trifle more complicated. The fourth one is the
most intricate of all, but has the least drag on the sheet, as every
time the rope passes over a wheel in a block by so much is the pull
diminished. This rig requires the introduction of a double block on the
traveller, and perhaps a snatch block to ease the pull when close
hauled.

As blocks have been mentioned, perhaps it would be as well to say that
small galvanized iron blocks can be procured at very little cost, and
will accomplish all that is required of them. Of course, if the boat's
owner is inclined to spend more money, wooden blocks will make the
rigging neater and run easier. Travellers are used to fasten sheet ropes
to the boat, and may be made in two ways, either out of iron or rope.
The iron traveller in this case is an iron rod carrying a ring to which
the block is attached, bent down at the ends, which are threaded and
fastened with nuts through the stern. The rope traveller is a strong
cotton rope, the ends fastened on each side of the boat, and the rope
passing through a ring on the lower side of the block. In the rigging
may be also included the cleats for belaying the halyards and sheets.
For the halyards, and for purposes where it is desirable to fasten the
rope securely and for some time, a cleat shaped like E is best; but if
it is desired to fasten the rope temporarily, or to use it as a means of
breaking the pull on the rope, the jam-cleat F is the most efficient, a
turn or two causing the rope to jam. Leaving the rigging, we will turn
to the boat proper.

[Illustration: SKIFF-RIGGED BATEAU.]

There are three methods of keeping a boat from making leeway (going
side-ways)--by a centre-board, leeboard, or keel. The last is
impracticable for a small boat, and will not be considered. There are
two varieties of centreboards in use--the ordinary drop pattern, as used
in the larger boats, and the dagger. The drop is generally triangular in
shape, held in place by a pin at the lower corner of the trunk passing
through the apex. The dagger is only a board or board shaving a
projecting cap on the top, so that it will not fall through the trunk,
and is lifted entirely clear when not wanted. The drop pattern is a
little more convenient, but somewhat difficult to make. The drop is just
as efficient, and can never get out of order, whilst easily replaced if
broken. It is the one most used by the "natives." The only danger of
this board, and one that must be always borne in mind when sailing in
waters where bars abound, is that it cannot raise up when it strikes an
obstruction as the drop will, and, if you are not watchful, may upset
your boat. The leeboard seems only a miserable apology at the best, and
is only pardonable when you do not desire to cut a hole in your boat's
bottom to build a trunk. The only practicable method is to make a
movable board with clamps that fit over the gunwale, and move it to the
lee side as the boat's course changes. In a previous article (HARPER'S
ROUND TABLE No. 818) there has been described how to make a rudder with
tiller and yoke-line attachments, and it will be unnecessary to go into
details here. The yoke lines are sometimes the only way of steering in
some types of boats, as, for example, the St. Lawrence skiffs. In the
sea skiffs and river bateaux there is an extremely simple means of
steering by an oar. It is held in two places, either in a lock or groove
cut in the stern-board or under the lee counter. The stern oar is used
in much the same manner as a rudder, but the lee oar is kept out of the
water most of the time, only being immersed when the boat begins to
fetch up, and taken out as soon as this tendency is corrected. The
reason of this is that the oar, being rested against the gunwale,
projects over the side at quite an angle from the fore and aft, and
hence, if kept in all the time, it would throw the boat's head off.

There is quite an extensive use of the jib in this class of boats. The
jib can be made to exert quite an influence on the boat's speed, and if
the sails are nearly balanced the boat can be held on a straight course
by proper trimming. It is only by experience that the trim of the jib
can be learned, as it depends on the balancing of the sails, on how
close you are sailing, and on the strength of the wind. When going about
let slack the jib-sheet just before the boat begins to round up,
trimming it again when on the other tack. If the jib is out too far it
has a tendency to flap, and if too flat, there is a tendency of the
boat's head to fall off the wind.




A SKATING ADVENTURE.


Tim lived in Minnesota. His mother had forbidden his attending a skating
carnival that was to be held at some lumber mills ten miles down the
river. Against her orders, however, Tim had clapped on his skates, and
was whirring along the frozen stream.

He kept in the middle of the stream to avoid the dark shadows cast by
the trees and any soft ice along the banks. It was a beautiful moonlight
night, sharp and cold. The pine and fir trees along the banks
crystallized with ice crackled as the wind sighed through them. He had
gone about five miles, and was speeding along past some small brush that
lined the bank, when he heard the noise of something heavy crashing
through it. The thought of wolves came to his mind, and he grew
frightened.

He looked in the direction of the sounds, and there, skulking along, was
a dark shadow, surely a wolf. Thoroughly frightened, he paused, and then
thinking he would not be noticed, slowly turned, and began skating back.
But the dark shadow hesitated, and then also turned and followed him.
Tim skated faster and faster, but on came the shadow. Fear now fell upon
him and lent him additional speed, and his skates fairly hummed along
over the ice.

The dark shadow had left the bank, and had taken to the centre of the
frozen stream, bounding along after Tim with rapid leaps. As Tim glanced
back he was sure he could see the red distended nostrils and gleaming
eyes of the wolf, his tongue hanging from his mouth.

Every now and then came the sharp yelp of the animal, and on the still
air he could plainly hear its panting breath. "Oh, why did I come?" he
thought, and the tears froze on his cheeks. At last a light appeared. It
was his house. He knew that wolves seldom enter a clearing or village,
and with renewed efforts he made for the foot of his garden, that
bordered on the river. But on came the panting shadow, and as he reached
the garden and attempted to run up the bank his skates tripped him. With
a loud cry for help he fell.

When he came to, the blue starry sky stared down at him, and the fearful
dark shadow was softly licking his face. Then Tim saw what a coward he
had been, for it was neighbor Ransom's big Newfoundland dog that had
been lost a couple of days before.

The dog, seeing and recognizing Tim, had joyfully chased after him,
doubtless thinking he was skating away from him in fun. Tim got up
slowly, thoroughly frightened by his evening's adventure, and unclamping
his skates, determined that he would never disobey his mother again.




GYPSY'S FURY.

BY WILLIAM HEMMINGWAY.


Of all the wild animals tamed by man, the elephant is in many respects
the most dangerous and treacherous. All old animal-trainers know that.
In spite of the many tales that are told about the good nature and
honesty of these gigantic brutes, no experienced man will trust them.
You will notice, for example, at the circus, that the man who puts the
herd of elephants through a lot of tricks always faces them, or, if he
turns his back, he does so only for an instant. And while the crowd is
applauding the evolutions and capers of the big fellows, you will notice
half a dozen helpers armed with elephant hooks ready to jump into the
ring and help the trainer at a moment's notice. No one can tell at what
moment an elephant may become sulky and obstinate. When that happens the
brute must be led away as soon as possible. It is useless to try to
force him to go on with his tricks.

Living for years in confinement, having little exercise or none, the
poor elephants become sickly, worried, and irritable. They suffer
physical changes. If you look closely at an elephant that has been kept
long in captivity, you will see that the knees of his hind legs are bent
inward, and that the legs look weak and wobbly. That is the result of
swaying from side to side, which the elephant does partly from
nervousness and partly from want of exercise. The beasts deteriorate
mentally in as great a degree, and you will find it the rule that old
elephants are bad-tempered.

In Chicago, not long ago, Gypsy, a gigantic elephant, killed a man, and
kept a whole neighborhood in terror for three hours. The man had been
warned to keep away from her, and his overconfidence in his ability to
subdue the savage beast cost him his life.

Gypsy is forty-five years old, and weighs five tons. She spent the
winter in Chicago with a circus, and was kept in a stable at No. 232
South Robny Street. Her name used to be Empress years ago, but she
killed a man, and her owners gave her a new name and hoped she would
never become vicious again. But an elephant that goes wild is like a
horse that runs away. She may not misbehave for a long time, but she is
almost certain to do great harm sooner or later. Gypsy had been
irritated for several days before her outbreak. Her regular trainer and
handler, Bernard Shea, was called away to Omaha, and Gypsy did not like
to be left in the care of a stranger. She was not fond of Frank Scott,
who took charge of her. She allowed him to bring her food and water, but
she grew angry whenever he took her out for exercise. On Tuesday night
she saw a mouse running along a ledge in the barn, and this frightened
her into a panic. She trumpeted and tugged at her chain, and could
hardly be quieted. Scott did all he could to soothe her, but she was
restless all night long.

Frank Scott took Gypsy out for exercise early on Wednesday afternoon.
W. H. Harris, who owns the elephant, says he often warned Scott not to
do this, but the man persisted. There is an alley between Jackson and
Van Buren streets, and here the keeper made the big beast trot up and
down for ten minutes, while he sat astride of her neck close behind the
back of her huge head. Twice she balked and shook her great ears, but
Scott jabbed her with a sharp prod and forced her to go on. This prod or
hook is a bit of steel shaped like a rooster's spur, fastened to the end
of a short thick wooden handle. It has been the instrument used for ages
in controlling elephants. When Gypsy came to the door of the barn again
she stopped, and tried to turn in. There was a malicious gleam in her
little eyes, and she had swung her ears forward--a sure sign of anger in
an elephant.

"Go on, Gyp!" Scott commanded, sharply. But the elephant shook her head
and advanced toward the barn door. The man drove the steel hook deep
into her ear. She screamed with pain, and with a wild toss of her head
threw Scott to the ground. She wrapped her trunk around him, and picked
him up as easily as you would lift a little doll. She held him high
above her head and roared. Mr. Harris, her owner, and three other men
who had been attracted by the noise came running up the alley. Mr.
Harris shouted to the elephant to be still, but she seemed not to hear
him. She walked across the alley, and threw Scott against a building. An
ambulance and a squad of twelve policemen had been called now, but they
could do nothing for a time. Gypsy was infuriated, and she charged
wildly up and down the alley. As she ran away again, two men quickly
jumped out of the barn and carried Scott in. The ambulance took him to
the hospital, but he never recovered consciousness.

More than five hundred persons had gathered by this time to see the
furious elephant. The police had all they could do to keep many of them
out of the alley. Two policemen, leaving the box from which they had
sent a call for the patrol wagon, had to run to avoid Gypsy. A blow from
her trunk swept past them with a rush that doubled their speed.
Thirty-six more policemen came up and helped to drive back the crowd.
The streets for blocks around were cleared of people, because if the mad
beast should choose to leave the alley she could not be stopped, and she
would certainly kill everybody she could reach. It would be too late to
try to escape after she came out, for a mad elephant runs like the wind.
The speed of a horse is child's play compared with the mighty rush of
this clumsy giant when enraged. All the fire-arms in the neighborhood
were brought out, but the circus men prevailed on the police not to let
them be used, as ordinary rifle-bullets would only have made Gypsy more
angry without hurting her at all.

After running up and down the alley until she was tired, Gypsy at last
sauntered into the barn. The circus men quickly closed the doors behind
her. These doors were made of great oak planks four inches thick, firmly
riveted together, yet they were no more of a barrier to the elephant
than a paper hoop is to a circus rider. The moment Gypsy heard the doors
swing into place she wheeled around and ran out of the barn. She left
the doors in splinters. She did not slacken her pace, nor did she seem
to know that she had met an obstruction as she was passing through the
massive oaken structure. Once more she galloped blindly up and down the
alley. An old elephant man said that bread would quiet the animal, so
some one hurried to a bakery and soon returned with ten newly baked
loaves. These were thrown over a fence into the alley, and Gypsy ate
them greedily. Ten more were brought up and fed to her, and more after
that, until she had consumed fifty loaves. As she ate, her rage seemed
to pass away. When the fiftieth loaf had disappeared she wandered into
the barn once more. Claude Orton, a trainer, tried to fasten a chain
around Gypsy's leg, but she pushed him away; yet she showed no signs of
rage against him. A big piece of canvas was hung over the broken door.
Gypsy walked over and felt it carefully with her trunk, but she made no
attempt to break through. At the end of an hour she allowed Orton to
chain her leg, and she quietly remained after that in her accustomed
place.




DANDELION DOWN.


  Happy spirit of the air,
    Floating all the sunny day
  Here and there and everywhere
    Down the shadowy woodland way,

  I would like to be like you,
    Tossing, drifting down the May,
  'Neath the skies of cloudless blue
    With the breezes e'er at play.

  R. K. MUNKITTRICK.




[Illustration: From Chum to Chum]

BY GASTON V. DRAKE.

XVIII.--FROM BOB TO JACK.


  GENEVA.

     [Illustration]

     DEAR JACK,--I did dream about that Guillotine as I was afraid I
     would and it wasn't any fun. I'm sorry I went to bed that night. I
     thought I went to the barber's to get my hair cut and all he had to
     cut it with was the guillotine. He said his scissors were off being
     ground but if I wouldn't wiggle the guillotine was just as safe,
     and it was, though I didn't enjoy it very much until I waked up and
     found it was all a dream, and then like a donkey I went and told Ma
     all about it and she said I'd have to stop eating _Table d'hôte_.
     Do you know what _table-d'hôte_ is? It's French for a kind of a
     dinner where you eat everything there is on the bill of fare, and
     it's great because they ring in three or four different kinds of
     desert in such a way that nobody thinks of telling you it isn't
     good for you. First you have soup and then you have fish and next
     comes a patty which is generally a sort of chicken-hash short cake,
     and it goes right to the spot. Then you have roast lamb with mint
     sauce and green pease about as big as bird shot cooked with sugar
     and soft as peaches. Then comes another desert called sherbet,
     which is only lemon water ice and you think your dinner is over
     when pop! in walks the waiter with some kind of a bird, with some
     salad. Then you have cheese and then a pudding and on top of the
     pudding ice-cream and cake. They call the cakes petty fours but I
     could eat 'em by the petty sixes and I do. If you ever come abroad
     don't forget to eat all of these dinners you can. They're cheap and
     good only don't try to get one by asking for a Tay-bill-de-hote as
     you'd think it was called. No Frenchman would know what you meant,
     but if you call for a _Tar-bull-doat_ they'll bring it in a minute.
     Ma said it was too many of these that was making me have dreams
     like the guillotine one but Pop said he didn't think it was; the
     boy is naturally excited by what he sees and hears about. We'll
     have to tell Jules to stop telling him stories. I'd rather go
     without the table d'hôte said I. And there it dropped and you can
     bet I'm not going to bring the subject up again no matter if I
     dream my head's being chopped off.

     [Illustration]

     We left Paris yesterday. We didn't any of us want to come away but
     our time was up and so we left leaving about ninety-nine per cent.
     of the city unvisited. We didn't see the cemetery or go to the
     opera or any of those places--at least I didn't. Pop went to see
     the cemetery and he said it was not very cheerful and reminded him
     of a city of bathing houses, which I think must have been a mighty
     queer looking cemetery. Jules took me and the babies to the circus,
     but it isn't like our circus. There wasn't any pink lemonade or
     monkies or things like that, but all sorts of goings on in the ring
     and only one ring which I don't think is much and all the clowns
     cracked their jokes in French so I was just as glad when it was
     over.

     [Illustration]

     It was a long ride from Paris to Geneva. Fourteen hours and near
     the end a Frenchman insisted on getting into our compartment which
     Pop had paid a man to let us have all to ourselves--and wasn't Pop
     mad! He tried to tell the Frenchman he had no business there, but
     his French got mixed up with several other languages and Pop never
     was strong on pantomime so the man didn't catch the idea until we
     got to Geneva and then he got out, but it was too late. All this
     time Jules was in the next car but we couldn't get at him to tell
     him, and that made Pop more nervous than ever. However we all got
     here alive and Pop has calmed down. He couldn't help calming down
     here. It's a beautiful city and clean as a whistle--I don't mean a
     railroad whistle, but the clean kind. It's right on the lake and
     such green water you never saw and way off in the distance Mount
     Blanc plays peek-a-booh with you through the clouds. Mount Blanc is
     the finest Alp I ever saw and it looks good enough to eat--like a
     great big plate of ice-cream. I wanted Jules to get up early the
     next morning and go out and climb it with me and have a snow-ball
     fight, but he says it takes nine hours to get to it riding all the
     way in a wagon, and two days more to climb it. It hardly seems
     possible, but I guess he knows because he's done it--leastways he
     says he has though Pop doubts it. Pop says Jules is a French
     Sandboys who has done a heap of things which no man ever did, but I
     don't care he's a good fellow to go with and I like him. He told me
     that when he climbed up Mount Blanc it was so cold it contracted
     his head so that he couldn't keep his hat from sliding down over
     his eyes, and as he had lost his golf cap and wore a beaver this
     was trying because it prevented him from seeing many of the things
     that other people who have climbed the mountain have seen and made
     books of. Jules wants to write a book and I wish he would because
     I'd like to read it. He's had so many things happen in his life.
     Why the time he went up this Mount Blanc he encountered a polar
     bear that wanted to eat him and Jules was willing he should because
     he said he was so cold he was willing to go anywhere where it was
     warm and he says the inside of a bear is a great deal warmer than
     the outside of a bear, but in his frozen state he didn't know what
     he was doing and so fought like a tiger and killed the bear, which
     warmed him up a good deal and really in the end saved his life, for
     if it hadn't been for the bear's skin he'd have frozen while he was
     up on top of the mountain which rises to a height of 16,000 feet
     above the level of the sea.

     [Illustration]

     Pop and I went into a place this morning where there was a race
     going on between two music-boxes and one of 'em did a tune in at
     least a minute less time than the other one did the same tune. I
     enjoyed it very much but Pop called it a din and said let's go, so
     we went. Aunt Sarah may be musical but I've heard her play the
     piano and she can't get through that Cavalere Rusticannio half so
     quick as one of these music-boxes.

     Pop bought me a gold watch here yesterday, but I don't see what
     good it's going to do me because he says he thinks he'll carry it a
     year himself until it gets regulated.

     When we get to Genoa where Columbus used to go I'll write again.

  Yours always,   BOB.




[Illustration: INTERSCHOLASTIC SPORT]


The New England Interscholastics will be held next Friday instead of
Saturday, because of the Harvard-Pennsylvania ball game which is to be
played on Holmes Field on the latter date. The events will number
fourteen, being the regular inter-collegiate programme, except that the
bicycle event will be limited to a one-mile race.

[Illustration: ANDOVER'S SPRINTERS.]

The English High-School athletes are determined to win this meet. They
have won every championship so far this year, and will make a strong bid
to complete the season victors in every department. Their chances at the
present writing seem much brighter than those of any other school.
Worcester Academy, however, will have plenty of fire in its eye. Its
backers claim to be sure of three firsts, which is a big bonus to begin
with. Worcester is smarting under the poor showing made in the winter
meet, and is sure to retrieve itself this spring. Andover, too, will
send down a hot set of runners.

For the sprints the Worcester men count on Robinson, who can run in
.10-1/5. But Kane of E. H.-S., who had his first experience in racing in
the winter meet, is backed by his schoolmates to win the event. Owens of
Newton, Mason of W.H.-S., Duffy of E.H.-S., Jones of Andover, Kennington
of Dedham High, Seaver of Cambridge High, and Hersey of W. A., make a
list that, with Kane and Robinson, probably includes the six starters in
the final heat. This list will have to be enlarged to fit the 220. Boyce
of Brookline High, who won the 150 at the Harvard open games early in
May, runs with a beautiful stride and finishes strong, and is making a
specialty of this game. Carleton of Hopkinson's is training for this
event. His legitimate distance is the quarter; but a recent serious
illness will prevent his getting into condition for that exhausting
race, and he will probably confine himself to the 220 in hope of beating
his old rival, Robinson. With Carleton in good form, this 220 ought to
furnish an exciting race.

There are a dozen lads around Boston who can run the quarter in better
than .55. In the interscholastic relay race at the Harvard games English
High's winning team of Kane, Purtell, Hanson, and Emery averaged
.54-1/2. Emery has been selected to win this event for them Friday. To
do it he will have to beat men like Badger of W.H.-S., Shirk of W.A.,
Clapp and Huntress of Hopkinson's, Garrett of Cambridge High, and
Thompson of C.M.T.S. Thompson and Badger are the best of the lot, and
with Emery ought to get the three places. The race will probably be run
in one heat, as heretofore, although the field in the event, which is
the prime favorite in New England, will be unusually large. Burke's
record is not in danger, but the race is sure to be a pretty one.

Albertson of Worcester High will be out to win the half this year, and
with Dadnum and Boyle of the same school will make a trio of exceedingly
high-class performers. Hartwell of W. A., Burdon of Newton, Gaskell of
Andover, if he is in condition, and Applegate of Cambridge High, ought
to be well bunched at the finish. Purtell will not run this distance
this year, but has assigned the task of beating Albertson to Hanson, who
won the 600 so pluckily at the winter meet. If Porter of Chauncy Hall
enters the half-mile, Hanson may find it hard to get better than third.

Mills of Berkeley School is almost sure of the mile, with Sullivan,
W. H., second, now that Dow of E.H.-S. has stopped training. Dow's
withdrawal will be a severe loss to E.H.-S., and will lower their
chances materially. Lincoln of Boston Latin, Richardson and Palmer of
Andover, and Porter of Chauncy Hall will keep the race from dragging.
Laing's old record of 4.34 will probably stand; but the winner should
make at least 4.37.

Purtell in the high and Ashley and Converse in the low hurdles are a
good team from E.H.-S. Purtell takes the flights in excellent form, and
is particularly strong in the short dash to the tape. His special rival
will be Cady, from Andover, who bears a name of international reputation
in hurdling. English High is backing Ashley and Converse to win two
places in the low hurdles, shrewdly reckoning that Seaver of Brookline
is devoting too much time to baseball and tennis. But Mason of W.H.-S.
is still in the game, and so is Hallowell of Hopkinson's; and Boyce of
Brookline has developed into a dangerous man this spring.

English High has three good walkers, Rudickhauser, Mohan, and O'Toole.
The best of them is O'Toole, who walks in perfect form, and is an
experienced athlete. He ought to get first out of the race. His nearest
rival, now that Delaney of W.H.-S. is barred, is Mallette of B.L.S.
Mallette has improved wonderfully since he has been out-of-doors. He is
a big strong fellow, very different from the wiry O'Toole, and could
give him a hard race, except that he is very liable to break when hard
pressed. He won the mile walk at the Harvard games, having the limit
handicap, but got two warnings. Crouse of Andover and Lockwood are both
working hard, and if they can manage to stay on the track, ought to make
it a hard race.

It would be hard to make a prediction in regard to the bicycle-race,
since so much depends on accidents. Stone of Andover is riding better
than any one else just at present, and, barring smash-ups and pockets,
ought to draw first. The pole vault will probably go as it did in the
in-door meet--Johnson of W.A. first, Sharey of Cushing Academy second,
and a big lob of other lads tied for third. Johnson already holds the
out-door record of 10 feet 7 inches, and is going after it again this
spring. Duffy of E.H.-S. has been doing some good work lately, and is
likely to get a place.

The high jump will probably go to Arthur Rice, of Noble's; Perry of
Andover, Howe of W.A., Rotch of Hopkinson's, and Converse of E.H.-S. are
any of them likely to get a place. The shot is a sure thing for O'Brien,
E.H.-S.; next to him is Edmands of W.A.; Heath of Hopkinson's or Coe of
Noble's ought to get third place.

Andover and Worcester held their second dual games a week ago Saturday,
at Andover, and Worcester for the second time defeated her old rival. It
is true that the Andover team was slightly crippled by the loss of Senn
and Peck, who were "ineligible" for faculty reasons, and of Gaskell, who
was laid up. Nevertheless, it is doubtful if the presence of these men
would have been of great assistance, for Andover was strong as it was in
their events.

ANDOVER-WORCESTER DUAL GAMES, ANDOVER, MAY 23, 1896.

  Event.                     Winner.             Performance.
  100-yard dash              Jones, A.                 10-3/5 sec.
  220-yard dash              Jones, A.                 23-1/5  "
  Quarter-mile run           Robinson, W.              52-2/5  "
  Half-mile run              Richardson, A.      2 m.  10-1/5  "
  Mile run                   Palmer, A.          5 "    1      "
  Mile walk                  Lockwood, W.        8 "    7      "
  Two-mile bicycle           Stone, A.           5 "   33-2/5  "
  120-yard hurdles           Edmands, W.               17-3/5  "
  220-yard hurdles           Hersey, W.                28-3/5  "
  Throwing 12-lb. hammer     Edmands, W.       115 ft.
  Putting 16-lb. shot        Edmands, W.        86  "   8     in.
  Running high jump          Johnson, W.         5  "   7-1/4  "
  Running broad jump         Hersey, W.         21  "   1-1/2  "
  Pole vault                 Johnson, W.        10  "

  Event.                     Second.             Third.
  100-yard dash              Robinson, W.        Clark, W.
  220-yard dash              Gould, W.           Clark, W.
  Quarter-mile run           Johnson, W.         Newcombe, A.
  Half-mile run              Bennett, W.         Hartwell, W.
  Mile run                   McPherson, W.       Poynter, A.
  Mile walk                  Crouse, A.          Wright, A.
  Two-mile bicycle           Manning, A.         Whitney, W.
  120-yard hurdles           Cady, A.            Shirk, W.
  220-yard hurdles           Lindenburg, A.      Cady, A.
  Throwing 12-lb. hammer     Dunston, A.         Campbell, W.
  Putting 16-lb. shot        Campbell, W.        Hersey, W.
  Running high jump          Perry, A.           Long, A.
  Running broad jump         Therrein, W.        Williams, A.
  Pole vault                 Perry, A.           Kendall, W.

                              Points.
  Event.                     A.      W.
  100-yard dash              5       3
  220-yard dash              5       3
  Quarter-mile run           1       7
  Half-mile run              5       3
  Mile run                   6       2
  Mile walk                  3       5
  Two-mile bicycle           7       1
  120-yard hurdles           2       6
  220-yard hurdles           3       5
  Throwing 12-lb. hammer     2       6
  Putting 16-lb. shot        0       8
  Running high jump          3       5
  Running broad jump         1       7
  Pole vault                 2       6
                            --      --
  Total                     45      67

[Illustration: F. A. EDMANDS.]

The star athletes of the day were the Worcester men Edmands and Bascom
Johnson. Edmands took first place in three events, the shot, the hammer,
and the high hurdles--which, by-the-way, is exactly what Holt of Andover
did in these same games last year. Johnson was not far behind Edmands in
the number of points he scored. He took first in the high jump and the
pole vault, and second in the quarter-mile run. Robinson, of whom
Worcester expected so much, disappointed his schoolmates in not winning
the 100. A little later, however, he redeemed himself by taking the
quarter in the easiest kind of way in very good time.

In the low hurdles and broad jump Worcester produced a dark horse in
Hersey. He is a promising young athlete, and ought to take some points
at the New England Interscholastics on Friday. The mile walk was easy
for Lockwood, who secured a big lead early in the race, and beat out his
Andover opponents by fully a quarter of a lap. Jones, the new Andover
sprinter, won both dashes with ease. He is a large powerful runner, and
moves along the path in fine form. He has three years more in school,
and will undoubtedly make a fine record for himself before he graduates.

On account of Gaskell's being unable to run in the half, Richardson, who
took second in the mile last year, was put in there to represent
Andover. He ran a good race and won. McPherson of Worcester was picked
for first man in the mile, but Palmer of Andover outran him. He showed
good head-work all the way around, and beat his pace-maker with a strong
dash at the finish.

It is interesting to note that, excepting in the distance runs and the
walk, the conditions this year in respect to winners of events were
exactly reversed from that of last season, the case of Holt and Edmands
being the most striking. Andover is strong in the sprints this year, but
weak in field events, whereas Worcester, whose representatives made such
a poor showing on the field last year, captured every turf event on this
occasion.

The Connecticut interscholastics will be held next Saturday at New Haven
on the Yale field instead of at Hartford as last year. There are three
new members of the League--Black Hall, University School of Bridgeport,
and Hopkins Grammar of New Haven--and their entries will materially
affect the result.

With so much new material it is impossible to guess who will win the
dashes, none of last year's point winners being in school. With the high
hurdles it is the same, now that Cady has gone to Andover, but the low
hurdles ought to go to Hotchkiss with Cheney. Foster of Bridgeport
H.-S. and Luce of Hartford H.-S. will have a close race in the quarter.
In the half Bassett of New Britain ought to win in time pretty close to
2.05.

The mile will bring out a great many new men, and at the present writing
there is no one of great enough promise to claim it in advance.
Tichbourne of Hillhouse ought to take the walk. Lyman of Hotchkiss and
Strong of Hartford will have a hard fight for first place in the bicycle
event. Sturtevant of Hartford should take the high jump, with Goodwin of
Hotchkiss second. The broad jump is claimed by a dark horse from the
University School, of Bridgeport. In the pole vault Paulding of Black
Hall will have to do his best to defeat Sturtevant. The latter defeated
Paulding at the Yale games of May 2 with a leap of 10 ft. 4-3/4 in., but
Paulding can go higher than that.

Ingalls of Hartford High seems to have a pretty sure thing of it in the
hammer and shot. At the Hartford H.-S. games a week ago Saturday he
threw the 16-pound hammer 113 ft. 6-1/2 in., and put the same weight
shot 36 ft. 1 in. At these games Luce took the 100-yard in .10-2/5. If
he can repeat this performance Saturday he ought to take that event.

[Illustration: C. W. BEGGS, JUN.,

Winner of the Princeton Interscholastic Tennis Tournament.]

The Princeton Interscholastic Tennis Tournament was won again this year
by Lawrenceville. The victor was C. W. Beggs, Jun., who won the Chicago
Interscholastic Tennis Tournament last year. He has been doing a good
deal of track-athletic work this spring, and it had hardly been hoped by
Lawrenceville that he could pull out first honors in tennis;
nevertheless, he went in strongly at Princeton a week ago Saturday, and
earned the privilege of representing that association at Newport in
August. The runner-up, H. Little, as well as the winners of third and
fourth places, H. Richards, Jun., and J. P. Kellogg, are Lawrenceville
men.

Although forty or fifty schools had been invited to the Princeton
tournament, not more than six were represented on the courts. Next year,
however, it is probable that there will be a much larger representation.
In the preliminary round McMillan of the Princeton Preparatory School
defaulted to Richards, Lawrenceville, who defeated King, New York
Military Academy, 6-1, 6-1, in the first round. Kellogg, Lawrenceville,
beat Musselman, N.Y.M.A., 6-4, 4-6, 6-4; Beggs beat Cook, Hackettstown
Institute, 6-4, 5-7, 6-4; and Little, Lawrenceville, beat Trump,
Kiskiminetas School, 4-6, 6-4, 6-1, making a clean sweep for
Lawrenceville in the first round.

In the semi-finals Beggs beat Richards, 6-4, 6-0; and Little beat
Kellogg, 8-6, 6-3. In the finals Beggs won from Little, 7-5, 6-1, the
third set being defaulted. Outside of the Lawrenceville players, Cook of
Hackettstown Institute was decidedly the best man, and shows
considerable promise. Beggs won handily over the other Lawrenceville
men, and is probably the best tennis-player Lawrenceville has ever had.
The fact that there are thirty tennis-courts on the school grounds, and
that there exists a regulation for compulsory play, brings out every
year some very fair material, and serves also to develop good men like
this year's champion, who may come to Lawrenceville from other schools.

[Illustration: PRINCETON INTERSCHOLASTIC TENNIS CUP.

Won by Lawrenceville.]

The silver cup, of which a picture is given herewith, is now the
property of Lawrenceville School, having been won for three successive
years--in 1893, by J. H. Smith; in 1894, by S. G. Thomson, now one of
Princeton's best tennis men; and in 1895, by M. G. Beaman, now at
Harvard. This cup was offered by the Princeton Lawn-Tennis Association.
The cup now being competed for has been offered by Mr. T. E. McVitty, of
Bryn-Mawr, a graduate of Lawrenceville. The conditions under which it is
offered for competition are the same as those of the previous cup, but
this trophy is far handsomer than the first.

The Inter-Academic League's Tennis Tournament was held in Philadelphia,
on the Belmont Cricket Club grounds. J. K. Willing, of De Lancey, was
the winner, defeating S. H. McVitty, also of De Lancey, 6-2, 6-4, 6-3,
in the finals. Willing will probably go to Newport in August to
represent the Inter-Academic League. This will be the first time that
the Philadelphia schools have sent a representative to the national
tournament.

     F. L. R. S. JR.--1. There is a chapter on the care of a bicycle in
     _Track Athletics in Detail_ (Harper & Brothers, $1.25). 2. We
     cannot recommend any individual make of wheel. 3. The different
     manufacturers have various ways of designating the "year" of their
     machines. Inquire at the agency for the make you wish to learn
     about.

  THE GRADUATE.




ADVERTISEMENTS.




Up Hills

[Illustration]

with ease on Hartford Tires. Their firm, elastic construction prevents
loss of power and makes rough places smooth.

[Illustration: Hartford Single Tube Tires]

The Standard Single-Tubes

On most high grade bicycles. Can be had on any if you insist. The
pleasure and safety of bicycling depend on proper tires.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Hartford Rubber Works Co.

NEW YORK. CHICAGO. HARTFORD, CONN.




[Illustration: ROYAL BAKING POWDER]




Arnold

Constable & Co

       *       *       *       *       *

HIGH-GRADE

COSTUMES.

_Outing Suits, Wraps,_

_Top Coats, and Capes,_

At a reduction of from

33 to 50%

_to close balance of this season's stock._

       *       *       *       *       *

Broadway & 19th st.

NEW YORK.




HARPER'S

ROUND TABLE

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

5 CENTS A COPY $2.00 A YEAR




[Illustration: Thompson's Eye Water]




[Illustration: BICYCLING]

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


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

Continuing our trips in Connecticut, it seems wise to give the run up
through the middle of Connecticut from New Haven, through Hartford, to
Springfield. Leaving the City Hall at New Haven, run out by Elm Street
four blocks, and then turn right to Dixwell Avenue, which should be kept
to until Cheshire is reached. The road is in excellent condition, is
very easily kept to, and there are few hills until just after leaving
Cheshire. On leaving Cheshire keep to the right, and follow the main
road to South Meriden, turning there sharp to the right, and when within
about a mile and a half of Meriden--that is, on the outskirts of the
city--turn sharp to the left, and run through the centre of Meriden
itself. Passing out on the northeast of Meriden, take North Colony
Street until the Cedar Hill Cemetery is reached, having passed through
Berlin, Newington, and to the eastward of Newington Junction.

The road from Meriden up to Cedar Hill Cemetery is almost unmistakable,
except that on passing through Berlin the rider should keep to the right
instead of running into the centre of the town, and thus take the direct
route to Cedar Hill Cemetery. This road is in admirable condition, and
is not very hilly, except at Cedar Hill itself. On passing the cemetery
keep to the left, rather than running straight in, and follow the
macadam, then turn right and run direct into the City of Hartford. It is
possible, however, to keep to the left just before entering Berlin, and
run into the centre of the town at the railroad station, continuing from
there direct to New Britain, then following the road given two weeks ago
from New Britain to Hartford, that is, from New Britain to Elmwood and
thence to Hartford itself.

This route from New Haven to Hartford is one stage on another tour from
New York to Boston. We have already given, some months ago, the route
from New York, through New Haven, New London, and Providence, to Boston.
This route extends from New York to New Haven, then to Springfield
through Hartford, from Springfield to Worcester, and from Worcester to
Boston. The route, however, is not nearly so good as far as road-bed is
concerned, is more hilly, and the average wheelman is advised to take a
train from Springfield to Worcester. Our object in giving this journey
across Connecticut is not so much to lay out that particular route to
Boston as to give directions for the best methods of crossing the State
and leading up into the Berkshire Hills, where some of the most
picturesque riding in the northeastern part of the United States is to
be found.

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




[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.


A girl who writes from a remote part of North Carolina inquires whether
I approve of the bicycle for girls. It appears that where she resides
there are still people who look rather doubtfully on the wheel as not
adapted to feminine use, and who think girls should avoid it. These good
people belong to a class with whom I was very familiar in my own youth.
Then great stress was laid on being "ladylike," and the worst thing
which could be said of a girl was that she was a hoyden or a tomboy. Our
point of view has changed so much that we in the great cities, where
public opinion is formed, and where all opinions are heard and sifted
one by one, are surprised when we hear a condemnation of the bicycle.
Doctors unite in praising it, and girls in ordinary health cannot do
better than ride as their brothers do. Of course a beginner must be
prudent, not take too many risks, and avoid going for long distances
alone. A party of girls accompanied by an expert rider or a teacher may
start out and enjoy a lovely day's journey, or, if all is arranged
beforehand, set forth for a trip of some days or weeks, under proper
escort and chaperonage. But a novice must not go far from home, or risk
rough roads.

As for myself, I do approve of the bicycle for girls. My questioner's
inquiry is whether a girl loses caste by riding a wheel. Emphatically
no. It is as proper to ride a wheel as to ride a pony or to walk. But a
girl must ride with grace and fearless courage. She must have the right
kind of saddle, must have her handle-bars at the right height, and be
dressed so that her skirts will not entangle or entrap her. There is no
pleasure which surpasses that of swift motion, when one is young and
strong and the blood courses buoyantly through the veins, whether the
motion come from skating, running, riding, or going forward in any sort
of progress which requires exercise. The old Greeks understood this, and
one of their favorite goddesses was always flying along. Look her up in
your mythology, and you will find which one I mean. Her name is very
short, and a popular American author wrote a beautiful story about her,
which I am sure you all have read.

This query of Annabel W. L. about corsets for growing girls needs a very
definite answer. No girl should wear a corset while her figure is
developing. A girl confined in an inelastic cage composed of steel and
bone and buckram can never move as freely and carry herself as
gracefully as one whose loose and comfortable style of dress affords
free play to every part of her body. Skirts should be light, and dress
throughout arranged with a view to deep breathing and the pleasure of
unrestricted movement. Fancy a girl's learning to row or working in the
gymnasium in tightly fitting corsets! A small waist is not beautiful or
desirable. Health is beauty, and a look of strength and vigor the thing
our girls should crave.

  MARGARET E. SANGSTER.




1896 Hartford Bicycles

Reduction in Price.

Patterns Nos. 1 and 2, from $80 to $65

Patterns Nos. 3 and 4, from $60 to $50

Patterns Nos. 5 and 6, from $50 to $45

This is the best value for the money offered in medium-grade machines.

COLUMBIAS

=The Standard of the World=--acknowledge no competitors, and the price is
fixed absolutely for the season of =1896= at

$100

If you can't buy a Columbia, then buy a Hartford.

All Columbia and Hartford Bicycles are ready for immediate delivery.

POPE MFG. CO.

General Office and Factories, HARTFORD, CONN.

Branch Stores and Agencies in almost every city and town. If Columbias
are not properly represented in your vicinity, let us know.




Postage Stamps, &c.




$117.50 WORTH OF STAMPS FREE

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

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




[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




=STAMPS!= 100 all dif. Bermuda, etc. Only 10c. Ag'ts w'td at 50% com. List
free. L. DOVER & CO., 1469 Hodiamont, St. Louis, Mo.




JOSEPH GILLOT'S

STEEL PENS

Nos. 303, 404, 170, 604 E. F., 601 E. F.

And other styles to suit all hands.

THE MOST PERFECT OF PENS.




THE NEW YORK SUN _on April 11, 1896, said of_

HARPER'S

PERIODICALS

They are handsome and delightful all, and are as friends that one is
glad to see. They please the eye; the artistic sense is gratified by
them; they overflow with varied material for the reader. They educate
and entertain. They are the well-known and well-liked literary and
artistic chronicles of the time. They are a credit to their publishers
and to the discernment of the public that approves them. May they
continue to be as admirable as they have been and as they are. Better
could hardly be wished for them.

       *       *       *       *       *

FOR SALE EVERYWHERE.




[Illustration]

[Illustration: Commit to Memory]

the best things in Prose and Poetry, always including good Songs and
Hymns. It is surprising how little good work of this kind seems to be
done in the Schools, if one must judge from the small number of people
who can repeat, without mistake or omission, as many as Three good songs
or hymns.

[Illustration: Clear, Sharp, Definite,]

and accurate Memory work is a most excellent thing, whether in School or
out of it, among all ages and all classes. But let that which is so
learned be worth learning and worth retaining. The Franklin Square Song
Collection presents a large number of

[Illustration: Old and New Songs]

and Hymns, in great variety and very carefully selected, comprising
Sixteen Hundred in the Eight Numbers thus far issued, together with much
choice and profitable Reading Matter relating to Music and Musicians. In
the complete and varied

[Illustration: Table of Contents,]

which is sent free on application to the Publishers, there are found
dozens of the best things in the World, which are well worth committing
to memory; and they who know most of such good things, and appreciate
and enjoy them most, are really among the best educated people in any
country. They have the best result of Education. For above Contents,
with sample pages of Music, address

Harper & Brothers, New York.

[Illustration]




[Illustration: Thompson's Eye Water]




Swiss Funerals.


     This is a solemn subject to write about, but the funerals in
     Switzerland, at least in the part of Switzerland I know, are so
     strange that I think it may interest the Table to hear about them.
     In the first place, when a person dies a notice is put in the
     paper, always with a deep black margin around it. Here is one I
     translated from a German paper.

     DEATH NOTICE.

     To sympathetic relations, friends, and acquaintances, we here
     announce the sad news that our much-beloved husband, grandfather,
     father, brother, brother-in-law, and uncle,

     MR. FRIEDRICH KARL MULLER,

     Surgeon,

     departed this life in his sixtieth year, after much suffering, and
     blessed with the comfort of our holy religion.

     For quiet sympathy beg,

     St. Gall, the 25th of December, 1895,

     The deeply mourning wife,

     MARIA MULLER, née FUCHS,

     Fanny, her daughter,

     in the name of all the relations.

     The mourning urn will be exhibited from

     1.30 till 4 o'clock P.M.

     You will perhaps wonder what a mourning urn is. In front of the
     house where the person died there is placed a little black table,
     covered with a black cloth, on which stands a large black jar. Into
     this the friends and acquaintances of the family drop little
     black-margined visiting-cards, sometimes with a few words of
     sympathy on them. The urn is put out on the table on the day of the
     funeral.

     No one except gentlemen ever go to the church-yard, and they
     generally follow the hearse on foot, though sometimes carriages are
     used. The horses that draw the hearse have long black cloaks on,
     with places cut out for them to see through. One custom I like is
     that whenever a gentleman sees a funeral passing him, he takes off
     his hat until it has gone by, whether he knew the dead person or
     not.

     The graveyards over here are very different from the American ones.
     None have separate lots belonging to their family, but persons are
     buried according to the year in which they died. For instance, I
     once had a French governess who walked with me to the cemetery one
     day. She happened to remember that her grandfather died in 1879,
     and found his grave immediately, but we had the greatest hunt for
     the place where her grandmother was buried, as the date of her
     death had escaped mademoiselle's memory. I have forgotten the exact
     date myself, but I remember that we at last discovered her grave in
     quite another part of the cemetery, as she died while young, and
     was buried in the rows for 1867 or 1868. I must confess I think
     this custom very disagreeable, and like our American way much
     better.

  MARIAN GREENE, R.T.F.

       *       *       *       *       *

For the Natural History Club.

     There have been living in an old willow-tree in our yard this
     winter six very dark colored birds, the size of a robin, with long
     slender bills. They have a whistle call very much like the
     mockingbird, and have only shown themselves on very warm days early
     in the morning. They evidently get their food from a neighboring
     chicken-pen. We have been here fifteen years and have never seen
     these little guests before. I should like some one interested in
     ornithology to see them and tell me how they happened here.

  L. E. B.
  YONKERS, N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

Going Back to Old Greece.

     We wish to tell you of our Chapter of Minerva's Owlets, organized
     this winter for the purpose of gaining an idea of Greek and Latin
     mythology, "and," as our constitution says, "for having a good time
     withal." We each bear the name of an Olympic deity, and during our
     meetings call each other by those names.

     After the regular business meeting at which, of course, Jupiter
     presides, a god and goddess each gives an autobiographical sketch
     of their wanderings among mankind, and then necter and ambrosia are
     served, usually by mortal hands. The meetings are not always held
     upon Mt. Olympus, but often at the different haunts of ye deities.
     Already have we met in the palace of Jupiter, in Venus's arbor,
     with Neptune in his submarine grotto, in Diana's temple, and in the
     grove of Athena.

     Ye gods and goddesses have interested themselves so much in the
     affairs of mortals that they are now expending their godly
     abilities in behalf of the Good Will Farm. They hope to be able to
     soon send to it the greetings of

  YE CHAPTER OF MINERVA'S OWLETS.
  MINNEAPOLIS.




[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.

HINTS FOR THE DARK ROOM.


All bottles containing chemicals should be plainly labelled, not only to
prevent mistakes in mixing solutions, but also to avoid accidents from
careless handling. Chemicals which are poisonous should have some
distinctive mark on the bottle. One of the best, and one which is easily
distinguished in the dark-room, is a strip of white paper, two inches or
more in width, pasted entirely round the bottle.

A good strong paste which keeps well, and sticks so fast that the label
is not easily detached from the bottle, is made as follows:

  Gum-arabic                     2 oz.
  Gum-tragacanth (powdered)      2  "
  Acetic acid                    1-1/2 drs.
  Glycerine                      2 oz.
  Water                          4  "

Heat the water and dissolve the gum-arabic and the gum-tragacanth, then
add the glycerine and acid. Stir till thoroughly mixed, and put in a
wide-mouthed bottle. This is a very good paste for sticking labels,
etc., but is not good for mounting photographs. A good black ink for
marking labels is made from--

  Lamp-black              12 grs.
  Indigo                   4  "
  Copal (powdered)         2 drs.
  Oil of lavender          2 oz.

Heat the oil and dissolve the gum-copal in it, then stir in the
lamp-black and indigo. This ink will not corrode, and it will not fade.

To prevent chemicals running down the side of the bottle when pouring,
coat the rim of the bottle with paraffin wax by dipping the mouth of the
bottle in the melted wax.

All trays must be washed after using. The decomposition of chemicals in
an unwashed tray will often spoil fresh solutions if put into the tray.
Never leave solutions standing in trays; when through using turn the
solution into a glass bottle. When not in use trays should be turned
upside down on a shelf or table.

Developing solutions should be filtered between each using. Bits of film
often come off the plate, and if left in the developer will settle on
the plate and cause a spot on the negative. The better way is to filter
a solution after using and before returning it to the bottle.

To ensure perfectly clear negatives always use clean hypo. Hypo which
has been used several times becomes a dark muddy color, and is apt to
stain the negative. Hypo is so cheap that one can afford to use fresh,
and run no risk of spoiling negatives.

In placing plates in the holders, instead of using a brush for dusting,
take a piece of surgeon's cotton, roll it into a soft ball, and rub
lightly over the plate. This will remove the specks of dust, and will
not scratch the plate.

It often happens when travelling that a dark room is not always to be
found in which to change plates in the holders. The provident amateur
carries a candle with him, and when no dark room is convenient he lights
the candle, sets it _under_ a table, and changes the plates _on_ the
table. This can be done with perfect safety if care is taken that no
reflected light strikes the plates. The plates being in the shadow, and
the light from the candle being rather dim, the plates are not injured
any more than by a red light.

     Letters are often received asking what one must do in order to
     become a member of the Camera Club. All that is necessary in order
     to become a member is to send name and address to the editor and
     state your desire.

     GEORGE H. BAYNES, JUN., St. Paul's School, Concord, N. H., and
     HOWARD PRESTON BARTRAM, No. 67 Washington Street, Newark, N. J.,
     both wish to be enrolled as members of the Camera Club. Sir Howard
     asks what is the object of the club. Its object is to raise the
     standard of amateur photography among young people, and by helpful
     suggestions aid its members in perfecting themselves in the art of
     making pictures with the camera. It also keeps its members informed
     in regard to the best methods and new discoveries in the mechanical
     part of photography, and each year offers valuable prizes for the
     best pictures submitted by members of the club, in order to
     stimulate them to excel in photography.

     SIR KNIGHT E. D. BALL, Spartansburg, S. C., wishes to correspond
     with some amateur photographer living in the tropics, as he would
     like to make exchanges of photographic views.

     SIR KNIGHT CHARLES E. BOTSFORD, Newark, N. J., asks for a
     blue-print solution which will keep, how to make sensitive plates,
     and how to make paper like solio, aristo, etc. He also encloses two
     blue prints made from a formula given in the ROUND TABLE, and asks
     why one is not good. Blue-print sensitizing solution will keep for
     a long time if not mixed. Keep the two solutions separate till
     wanted for use, and wrap the bottles in non-actinic paper, or keep
     them in a dark-room. Directions for making sensitive plates would
     occupy too much space to allow giving them in "Answers to Queries."
     Both sensitive plates and solio and aristo papers are so cheap, and
     are so much better made than an amateur can make them, that it is
     better to buy them ready prepared. The trouble with the print from
     the negative is that it was not printed long enough, and faded in
     the washing. Print till the shadows are deeply bronzed. The paper
     sent seems to be very evenly sensitized and of a good color. Also
     asks for the address of George McCarthy.

     SIR KNIGHT SPRAGUE CARLETON asks what is the reason of the
     transparencies which he makes having no detail. He says he prints
     one second, and develops according to directions, using Eastman's
     plates and formula. The proper way to print transparencies is to
     print by the dark-room lantern. Place the plate in the holder, then
     open the door of the lantern, and holding the printing-frame twelve
     or fifteen inches from the light, print for at least five seconds,
     moving the frame a little all the time, so that the picture may
     print evenly. Some negatives will require a longer time than
     others, just the same as if printing on paper. If the dark-room
     lantern is not suitable, use a No. 2 kerosene burner turned about
     half-way down, and expose the plate from three to ten seconds,
     according to the density of the plate.




[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.


All U. S. stamps are first engraved on a soft steel die, which is
afterwards hardened; several impressions of the die are then made on a
roller of soft steel, which is subsequently hardened. Impressions from
the roller are then made upon the soft steel plates used in printing.
The following are some of the ways in which minor varieties of the
design are caused: By the shifting of the roller during the making of
the plate, causing the top and bottom parts of the stamp to be doubled;
by missing the guide-lines, causing them to appear in the stamp; by
retouching the die roller or plate--each plate is retouched, but some of
the dies and rollers are not; by a brittle roller--small pieces break
off and become embedded in the plate, causing white blotches to appear
in the design; by re-entering--that is, impressing the roller twice on
the same stamp in the plate; also by the wearing of the plate.

A unique medal is said to be preserved in the Paris mint. It is a very
large gold piece bearing on the obverse the Emperor Napoleon's portrait,
and the reverse Hercules strangling the giant Antæus. The inscription is
_Descente en Angleterre_ (Invasion of England), and _Frappé à Londres_
(Struck in London). The die was broken after the collapse of Napoleon's
plan, and only the proof copy preserved.

The movement among the younger philatelists to collect late issues only
is growing everywhere. The low prices at which the bulk of the stamps
issued during the last ten years can be had is a great argument in its
favor. In 1890 the first postage-stamp ever issued was fifty years old.
One collector in England began with the stamps current January 1, 1890,
and now has a collection in ten albums of seventy pages each. The
"Seebecks" appear, but they cost so little, are so handsome in
themselves, and as the issues have undoubtedly done postal duty, many
collectors will not be frightened off even by the S. S. S. S. I wonder
whether the Seebecks, fifty years after their issue, will not be as
scarce and as much sought after as early English, French, etc.?

     W. H. BANGS.--The quarter-dollar is worth face only; the 3c.
     Playing Card green is worth $4 perforated, $15 unperforated.

     J. HUNG.--The collection of entire U. S. envelopes means the
     spending of a large amount of money and the exercise of patience,
     as the rare envelopes only turn up occasionally. Many collectors of
     entire envelopes do not try to collect all sizes, but take one of
     each die on each paper. Other collectors prefer to take their U.S.
     envelopes "cut square"--that is, the die only, leaving a large
     square margin. This is the usual method, and U. S. envelopes are
     likely to increase in value every year.

     J. RIVO.--See answer to T. L. Watkins, No. 864. Ribbed paper is
     ordinary paper (wove or laid), run between rollers having fine
     lines cut in them longitudinally. Many ordinary stamps present the
     appearance of ribbing in consequence of their having been pasted on
     ribbed paper envelopes or wrappers. Personally I do not believe in
     the so-called ribbed paper U. S. stamps.

  PHILATUS.




[Illustration: Ivory Soap]

The best is not always low in price, but the housekeeper can have the
best soap without extravagance.

Ivory Soap costs little, but experienced persons know that no other can
do the same work and do it as well.

THE PROCTER & GAMBLE CO., CIN'TI.




_There is lots of pleasure, satisfaction and health corked up in a
bottle of HIRES Rootbeer. Make it at home._

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

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




[Illustration: Thompson's Eye Water]




EARN A BICYCLE!

[Illustration]

We wish to introduce our Teas, Spices, and Baking Powder. Sell 75 lbs.
to earn a BICYCLE; 50 lbs. for a WALTHAM GOLD WATCH AND CHAIN; 25 lbs.
for a SOLID SILVER WATCH AND CHAIN; 10 lbs. for a beautiful GOLD RING;
50 lbs. for a DECORATED DINNER SET. Express prepaid if cash is sent with
order. Send your full address on postal for Catalogue and Order Blank.

W. G. BAKER, Springfield, Mass.




PLAYS

Dialogues, Speakers, for School, Club and Parlor. Catalogue free.

=T. S. Denison=, Publisher, Chicago Ill.




SOME NEW BOOKS.

       *       *       *       *       *

TRACK ATHLETICS IN DETAIL.

     Compiled by the Editor of "Interscholastic Sport" in HARPER'S ROUND
     TABLE. Illustrated by Instantaneous Photographs. 8vo, Cloth,
     Ornamental, $1.25. In "HARPER'S ROUND TABLE Library of Sports."

Each chapter of this book treats of a different event of track and field
athletics, and is illustrated by instantaneous photographs of the
leading athletes of America. These pictures show the detail of the work
for each event, and the text gives instruction and advice which will
prove most valuable not only to athletes who cannot avail themselves of
the services of a trainer, but to more experienced performers as well.
In an appendix are given the A. A. U. rules and tables of amateur,
inter-collegiate, and interscholastic records.

FOR KING OR COUNTRY.

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

A boy's story, full of movement, and full of surprises.... The picture
of the old "Sugar House" prison in New York and of the secret societies
of patriots are drawn with entertaining pen, and the book will instruct
as well as interest the average boy who reads it.--_Boston Journal._

TOMMY TODDLES.

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

There is plenty of droll fun in this book.... We pity the person who can
refuse to grin at some of the jocund surprises, sprung like steel traps
by the story's comical turns, preposterous as it is.--_Independent_,
N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

HARPER & BROTHERS, Publishers, New York.




[Illustration: WAITING FOR THE BOAT.]

       *       *       *       *       *

ON A RAINY DAY.

"Mamma," said little Herbert, the other day, "what good are my rubber
boots, anyhow?"

"Why, to keep your feet dry when you go out in the rain."

"If that is so, mamma," said little Herbert, triumphantly, "may I go out
now and play in the rain?"

"No; I am afraid you will catch croup."

"What, mamma dear, with my rubber boots on?"

"Yes, Herbert, with your boots on."

"Then I can't see what good the rubber-boots are," protested Herbert.

"They're to wear that you may keep on the safe side. On the safe side of
your health."

"Mamma," asked Herbert, "I don't want to appear rude or impertinent, but
has my health really a safe side?"

"It has."

"Which side is it, mamma, the inside or the outside?"

Here Herbert's mother, entirely out of patience, looked into the fire.

"Mamma," said Herbert, presently, "you keep me in the house when I'm
naughty, don't you?"

"Yes."

"And when I'm good you don't let me go out. Now what's the use in being
good?"

"Sometimes you get a piece of cake for it."

"I forgot all about that, mamma. Now I'm going to be good all the time;
then, I suppose, I can live on cake."

"That would make you sick."

"Then it would be as bad as playing in the rain. No, it wouldn't,
either; it would be a great deal better. Can I have a piece of cake now,
mamma?"

"Yes, if you'll keep still."

He agreed, and when he got the piece of cake he became so absorbed in it
while absorbing it that he could not only not ask questions, but
actually couldn't answer any.

       *       *       *       *       *

JUST THE SAME.

TOMMY. "Baby Indians must be just like baby geese, mamma."

MAMMA. "Why so?"

TOMMY. "Why, because the down on their heads all turns into feathers
when they grow up."

       *       *       *       *       *

IMPORTANT ANATOMICAL INFORMATION.

The _Junior League_ is a paper "published semi-occasionally, or whenever
it is convenient, by children, for children, in aid of children." In the
May issue are printed a number of articles that took prizes in a recent
story competition, and from among these we copy the following essay on
"Bones," which took the prize in Class V.:

"Bones is the framework of the body. If I had no bones in me I should
not have so much shape as I have now. If I had no bones in me I should
not have so much motion, and teacher would be pleased, but I like to
have motion. Bones give me motion, because they are sometimes hard for
motion to cling to. If I had no bones, my brains, lungs, heart, and
larger blood-vessels would be lying around in me and might get hurt, but
now my bones get hurt, but not much unless it is a hard hit.

"If my bones were burned, I should be brittle, because it would take the
animal out of me. If I was soaked in acid, I should be limber. Teacher
showed me a bone that had been soaked; I could bend it easily. I should
rather be soaked than burned. Some of my bones don't grow close to my
others snug, like the branches to the trunk of a tree, and I am glad
they don't, for if they did, I could not play leap-frog and other good
games that I know. The reason why they don't grow that way is because
they have joints. Joints is good things to have in bones. They are two
kinds. The ball and socket joint like my shoulders is the best. Teacher
showed it to me only it was the thigh of a cow. One end was round and
smooth and whitish. That is the ball end. The other end was hollowed in
deep. That is the socket and it oils itself. It is the only machine that
oils itself. It never creaks like the school door. There is another
joint that doesn't seem much like a joint. That is the skull. It don't
have no motion. All my bones put together make a skeleton. If I leave
out any or put any in the wrong place it ain't no skeleton. Some animals
have their skeletons on the outside. I am glad I ain't them animals for
my skeleton like it is on the chart wouldn't look well on my outside."

       *       *       *       *       *

INCONSISTENT.

  "I saw a funny thing to-day,"
    Said little Arabella;
  "A man was walking in the rain
    Beneath a sun-umbrella."

       *       *       *       *       *

A DOG-DAY QUERY.

"Mamma," said little Jimmy the other day, "if a dog's bark is worse than
his bite, why don't they choke him off with a collar instead of putting
a muzzle on him?"

       *       *       *       *       *

THE ROUND YEAR.

MAMMA. "Can you tell me how many seasons there are, Herbert?"

HERBERT. "Yes, mamma, there are four--kite, skating, baseball, and
football."





End of Project Gutenberg's Harper's Round Table, June 2, 1896, by Various



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