Produced by Annie R. McGuire








[Illustration: HARPER'S ROUND TABLE]

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

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PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, JUNE 16, 1896. FIVE CENTS A COPY.

VOL. XVII.--NO. 868. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.

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[Illustration]

A VIRGINIA CAVALIER.

BY MOLLY ELLIOT SEAWELL.

CHAPTER I.


"_Nature made Washington great; but he made himself virtuous._"

The sun shines not upon a lovelier land than midland Virginia. Great
rivers roll seaward through rich woodlands and laughing corn-fields and
fair meadow-lands. Afar off the misty lines of blue hills shine faintly
against the deeper blue of the sky. The atmosphere is singularly clear,
and the air wholesome and refreshing.

Never was it more beautiful than on an afternoon in late October of
1746. The Indian-summer was at hand--that golden time when Nature utters
a solemn "Hush!" to the season, and calls back the summer-time for a
little while. The scene was full of peace--the broad and placid
Rappahannock shimmering in the sun, its bosom unvexed except by the
sails of an occasional grain-laden vessel making its way quietly and
slowly down the blue river. The quiet homesteads lay basking in the
fervid sun, while woods and streams and fields were full of those soft
harmonious country sounds which make a kind of musical silence.

A mile or two back from the river ran the King's highway--a good road
for those days, and showing signs of much travel. It passed at one point
through a natural clearing, on the top of which grew a few melancholy
pines. The road came out of the dense woods on one side of this open
space, and disappeared in the woods on the other side.

On this October afternoon, about three o'clock, a boy with a gun on his
shoulder and a dog at his heels came noiselessly out of the woods and
walked to the top of the knoll. The day was peculiarly still, but only
the quickest ear could have detected the faint sound the boy made, as
with a quick and graceful step he marched up the hill--for George
Washington was a natural woodsman from his young boyhood, and he had
early learned how to make his way through forest and field without so
much as alarming the partridge on her nest. No art or craft of the
woods, whether of white man or Indian, was unknown to him; and he
understood Nature, the mighty mother, in all her civilized and
uncivilized moods.

A full game-bag on his back showed what his employment had been, but now
he gave himself over to the rare but delicious idleness which
occasionally overtakes everybody who tramps long through the woods. He
sat down and took off his cap, revealing his handsome blond head. The
dog, a beautiful, long-eared setter, laid his nose confidentially upon
his master's knee, and blinked solemnly with his large tawny eyes into
his master's blue ones. The boy's eyes were remarkable--a light but
beautiful blue, and softening a face that even in boyhood was full of
resolution, and even of sternness. His figure was as near perfection as
the human form could be--tall, athletic, clean of limb and deep of
chest, singularly graceful, and developed, as the wise old Greeks
developed their bodies, by manly exercises and healthful brain-work and
the cleanest and most wholesome living. Neither the face nor the figure
could belong to a milksop. The indications of strong passions, of fierce
loves and hates and resentments, were plain enough. But stronger even
than these was that noble expression which a purity of soul and a
commanding will always write upon the human countenance. This boy was a
gentleman at heart and in soul--not because he had no temptation to be
otherwise, but because he chose to be a gentleman. He sat in silence for
half an hour, the dog resting against him, the two communing together as
only a boy and a dog can. The sun shone, the wind scarcely ruffled a
dying leaf. A crow circled around in the blue air, uttering a caw that
was lost in the immensity of the heavens. The silence seemed to grow
deeper every moment, when, with a quick movement, George laid his ear to
the ground. To an unpractised ear there was not the slightest break in
the quiet, but to the boy's trained hearing something was approaching
along the highway which induced him to sit still awhile longer. It was
some time in coming, for the heavy coaches in those days hung upon wide
leather straps, and with broad-tired wheels made much commotion as they
rolled along, to say nothing of the steady beat of the horses' hoofs
upon the hard road. George's eyes were as quick as his ears, but he
caught nothing of the approaching travellers until the cavalcade flashed
suddenly into the sun, and with its roar and rattle seemed to spring out
of the ground.

First came four sturdy negro outriders, in a gorgeous livery of green
and gold, and mounted upon stout bay horses, well adapted for hard
travel. Then came a magnificent travelling coach, crest-emblazoned,
which would not have discredited the King's levee. It was drawn by four
superb roans, exactly matched in form, color, and action. They took the
road as if they had just warmed up to their work; but from the dust on
the whole cavalcade it was plain they had travelled far that day. With
heads well in the air, the horses threw their legs together with a style
and at a gait that showed them to be of the best-blood in the horse
kingdom. A black postilion in green and gold rode the off horse of the
leaders, while a black coachman handled the reins. On the box, next the
coachman, sat a white man, evidently a servant out of livery. One glance
told that he was an old soldier. He had at his side one of the huge
holsters of the day, in which he carried a pair of long horse-pistols;
and a stout wooden box, upon which he rested his feet, showed that the
party had means of defence had it been attacked.

George was so stunned with admiration at the splendor of the equipage
that he scarcely glanced at the interior of the coach until the sunlight
flashed upon something that fairly dazzled him. It was a diamond-hilted
dress-sword, worn by a gentleman of about fifty, who sat alone upon the
back seat. The gorgeous sword-hilt was the only thing about him that
shone or glinted, for his brown travelling suit was as studiously simple
as his equipage was splendid. He wore plain silver buckles at his knees
and upon his handsome high-arched feet, and his hair, streaked with
gray, was without powder, and tied into a club with a black ribbon.

One glance at his face fixed George's attention. It was pale and
somewhat angular, unlike the type of florid, high-colored Virginia
squires with which George was familiar. He had been handsome in his
youth, and was still handsome, with a stately, grave beauty; but even a
boy could see that this man had had but little joy in life.

From the moment that George's eyes fell upon this gentleman he looked
upon nothing else. Neither the great coach nor the superb horses had any
power to attract his gaze, although never in all his short life had he
seen anything so splendid. His mother had a coach, and so had most of
the people roundabout, but all had a common air of having once been
handsome, and of having reached the comfortable, shabby-genteel stage.
And many persons drove four horses to these great lumbering vehicles,
but all four would not be worth one of the gallant roans that trotted
along the road so gayly.

It was out of sight in a few minutes, and in a few minutes more it was
out of hearing; but in that short time George, who was quick-witted, had
shrewdly guessed the name and rank of the gentleman with the plain
clothes and the diamond-hilted sword. It was the great Earl of
Fairfax--the soldier, the wit, the rich nobleman--who for some
mysterious reason had chosen to come to this new land and to build a
lodge in the wilderness. The boy had often heard his mother, Madam
Washington, speak of Earl Fairfax. Meeting with him was one of the
events of that great journey she had made in her girlhood to England,
where for a time she lived in the house of her brother, Joseph Ball, at
Cookham, in Berkshire, who had left his Virginia home and had taken up
his residence in England. Here Mary Ball had met Angustine Washington,
then in England upon affairs connected with his property. Augustine
Washington was one of the handsomest men of his day, and from him his
eldest son George inherited the noble air and figure that marked him.
Mary Ball was a Virginia beauty, and although admired by many Englishmen
of distinction, she chose rather to marry Augustine Washington, albeit
he had been married before, and had two motherless boys. In England,
therefore, were they married, sailing soon after for Virginia, and
within twelve years Mrs. Washington was a widow with five children. She
loved to talk to her children of those happy English days, when she had
first pledged herself to Augustine Washington. It had also been the only
time of excitement in her quiet life, and she had met many of the wits
and cavaliers and belles of the reign of George the Second. She
sometimes spoke of Lord Fairfax, but always guardedly; and George had
conceived the idea that his mother perhaps knew Lord Fairfax better, and
the reasons for his abandonment of his own country, than she cared to
tell.

He began to wonder, quite naturally, where the Earl was bound; and
suddenly it came to him in a flash--"He is going to pay his respects to
my mother." In another instant he was on his feet and speeding like a
deer through the woods towards home.

The house at Ferry Farm which was home to him was a good four miles by
the road; but by paths through the woods and fields, and a foot-bridge
across a creek, it was barely a mile. It took him only a short time to
make it, but before he could reach the house he saw the coach and
outriders dash into sight and draw up before the porch. The old soldier
jumped from the box, and opened the door and let down the steps, and the
Earl descended in state. On the porch stood Uncle Jasper, the venerable
black butler, in a suit of homespun, with a long white apron that
reached from his chin to his knees. George saw him bowing and ushering
the Earl in. The outriders loosened their horses' girths, and after
breathing them, led them to the watering-trough in the stable lot back
of the house. They then watered the coach horses, the coachman sitting
in solitary magnificence on his box, while the old soldier stretched his
legs by walking about the lot. George saw this as he came through the
stableway, his dog still at his heels. Uncle Jasper was waiting for him
on the back porch.

"De madam," he began, in a mysterious whisper, "will want you ter put on
yo' Sunday clo'es 'fo' you come in ter see de Earl o' Fairfax. He's in
de settin'-room now."

George understood very well, and immediately went to his room to change
his hunting-clothes, which were the worse for both dirt and wear. It was
a ceremonious age, and the formalities of dress and manners were very
strictly observed.

Meanwhile, in the sitting-room, on opposite sides of the fireplace, sat
Madam Washington and the Earl. Truly, the beauty that had distinguished
Mary Ball remained with Madam Washington. Her figure was slight and
delicate (not from her had her eldest son inherited his brawn and
muscle), and in her severely simple black gown she looked even slighter
than usual. Her complexion was dazzlingly fair, and little rings of
chestnut hair escaped from her widow's cap; but her fine blue eyes were
the counterpart of her eldest son's. The room was plainly furnished,
even for the times, but scrupulously neat. A rag-carpet covered the
middle of the floor, while around the edges the polished planks were
bare. In one corner a small harpsichord was open, with music on the
rack. Dimity curtains shaded the small-paned windows, and a great fire
sparkled in the large fireplace. Over the mantel hung the portrait of a
handsome young man in a satin coat with lace ruffles. This was a
portrait of Augustine Washington in his youth. Opposite it was a
portrait of Madam Washington as a girl--a lovely young face and figure.
There were one or two other portraits, and a few pieces of silver upon a
mahogany bullet opposite the harpsichord--relics of Wakefield, the
Westmoreland plantation where George was born, and of which the house
had burned to the ground in the absence of the master, and much of the
household belongings had been destroyed.

The Earl's eyes lingered upon the girlish portrait of Madam Washington
as the two sat gravely conversing.

"It was thus you looked, madam, when I first had the honor of knowing
you in England," he said.

"Time and sorrow and responsibilities have done their work upon me, my
lord," answered Madam Washington. "The care of five children, that they
may be brought up to be worthy of their dead father, the making of good
men out of four boys, the task of bringing up an only daughter to be a
Christian gentlewoman, is no mean task, I assure you, and taxes my
humble powers."

"True, madam," responded the Earl, with a low bow; "but I know of no
woman better fitted for so great an undertaking than Madam Washington."

Madam Washington leaned forward and bowed in response, and then resumed
her upright position, not once touching the back of her chair.

"And may I not have the pleasure of seeing your children, madam?" asked
the Earl, who cared little for children generally, but to whom the
children of her who had once been the beautiful Mary Ball were of the
greatest interest.

"Certainly, my lord," answered Madam Washington, rising, "if you will
excuse me for a moment while I fetch them."

The Earl, left alone, rose and walked thoughtfully to the portrait of
Mary Ball, and looked at it for several minutes. His face, full of
melancholy and weariness, grew more melancholy and weary. He shook his
head once or twice, and made a motion with his hand as if putting
something away from him, and then returned to his chair by the fire. He
looked into the blaze and tapped his foot softly with his dress-sword.
This beautiful, grave widow of forty, her heart wrapped up in her
children, was not the girl of eighteen years before. There was no
turning back of the leaves of the book of life for her. She had room now
for but one thought in her mind, one feeling in her heart--her children.

Presently the door opened, and Madam Washington re-entered with her
usual sedate grace. Following her was a young girl of fourteen, her
mother's image, the quaintest, daintiest little maiden imaginable, her
round white arms bare to the elbow, from which muslin ruffles fell back,
a little muslin cap covering her hair, much lighter than her mother's,
and her shy eyes fixed upon the door. Behind her were three sturdy,
handsome boys of twelve, ten, and eight, as alike as pease in a pod. In
those days the children of gentle people were neither pert and forward
nor awkward and ashamed at meeting strangers. Drilled in a precise
etiquette, they knew exactly what to do, which consisted chiefly in
making many low bows to their elders, and answering in respectful
monosyllables such questions as were asked them. They learned in this
way a grace and courtesy quite unknown to modern children.

"My daughter, Mistress Betty Washington, my Lord of Fairfax," was Madam
Washington's introduction.

The Earl rose from his chair and made the little girl a bow as if she
were the Princess Royal, while Mistress Betty, scorning to be outdone,
courtesied to the floor in response, her full skirt making a balloon as
she sunk and rose in the most approved fashion.

"I am most happy to meet you, Mistress Betty," said he; to which
Mistress Betty, in a quavering voice--for she had never before seen an
Earl, or a coach like the one he came in--made answer, "Thank you, my
lord."

The three boys were then introduced as Samuel, John, and Charles. To
each the Earl made a polite bow, but not so low as to Mistress Betty.
The boys returned the bow without the slightest shyness or awkwardness,
and then took their places in silence behind their mother's chair. They
exchanged keen glances, though, among themselves, and wondered when they
would be allowed to depart, so that they might further investigate the
coach and the four roan horses. Madam Washington spoke.

"I am every moment expecting my eldest son George; he is out hunting
to-day, and said that he would return at this hour, and he is always
punctual to the minute. It will be a severe disappointment to me if I
should not have the pleasure of showing your lordship my eldest son."

It did not take a very acute person to note the tone of pride in madam's
voice when she said "my eldest son."

"It will be a disappointment to me also, madam," replied the Earl. "I
hope he is all that the eldest son of such a mother should be."

Madam Washington smiled one of her rare smiles. "'Tis all I can do, my
lord, to keep down the spirit of pride, so unbecoming to all of us, when
I regard my son George. My other sons, I trust, will be as great a
comfort to me, but they are still of too tender years for me to depend
upon." Then, turning to the three boys, she gave them a look which meant
permission to leave the room. The boys bowed gravely to their mother,
gravely to the Earl, and walked more gravely out of the room. Once the
door was softly closed they made a quick but noiseless dash for the back
door, and were soon outside examining the roans and the great coach,
chattering like magpies to the negro outriders, until, having made the
acquaintance of the old soldier, Lance by name, they were soon hanging
about him, begging that he would tell them about a battle.

Meanwhile, within the sitting-room, Madam Washington heard a step upon
the uncarpeted stairs. A light came into her eyes as she spoke.

"There is my son now going to his room. He will join us shortly. I
cannot tell you, my lord, how great a help I have in my son. As you
know, my step-son, Captain Laurence Washington, late of the British
army, since leaving his Majesty's service and marrying Mistress Anne
Fairfax, has lived at the Hunting Creek place, which he has called Mount
Vernon, in honor of his old friend and comrade-in-arms, Admiral Vernon.
It is a good day's journey from here, and although Laurence is most kind
and attentive, I have had to depend, since his marriage, upon my son
George to take his father's place in the conduct of my affairs and in my
household. It is he who reads family prayers night and morning, and who
presides with dignity at the foot of my table. It may seem strange to
those who do not know his character how much I rely upon his judgment,
and he but fifteen. Even my younger sons obey and respect him, and my
daughter Betty does hang upon her brother. 'Tis most sweet to see them
together." At which Mistress Betty smiled and glanced at the Earl, and
saw so kind a look in his eyes that she looked at him quite boldly after
that.

"It is most gratifying to hear of this, madam," replied the Earl; "but
it is hardly merciful of you to a childless old man, who would give many
worldly advantages had he but a son to lean upon in his old age."

"You should have married twenty years ago, my lord."

Something like a gleam of saturnine humor appeared in the Earl's eyes at
this, but he only replied, dryly. "Perhaps it is not wholly my fault,
madam, that I find myself alone in my old age."

At that moment the door opened, and young Washington stood upon the
threshold.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]




A GIRL IN TRAINING.

BY MARY TAYLOR BISSELL.


There are three things which every girl would undoubtedly wish for if
she believed they were within her reach. First, to be healthy, so that
she might enjoy life with zest; second, to be graceful, for beauty's
sake; and third, to be skilful, physically accomplished; and it is
probable that if she knew that a certain training in life would give her
these qualities she would follow it gladly.

Unfortunately there is no royal road to health or to skill any more than
to learning. These are only gained by a little effort here and a little
more there. It is known to every one, however, that training will do
wonders in the way of improving and making over the human body.

Every girl who has a brother at college knows how ruddy and muscular and
alert the college teams become when they have been in training for a
season, and no one imagines that any miracle has been worked for their
benefit. It is only that every man in the team is so devoted to the idea
of being strong and skilful that he is faithful as the sun to the rules
which regulate his eating and sleeping and exercise and bathing, so that
he comes out of this so fortified that no ordinary exertion can fatigue
him, and he enjoys life and its occupations with a zest which no
weakling can imagine.

Of course this is the experience of men who are already healthy. Even
greater differences could be shown between the condition of persons in
originally poor health before and after they had adopted a suitable
course of training. Now if girls of fourteen or fifteen would only agree
among themselves to go into training for about four years, what fine
types of young women we might hope for!

[Illustration: BICYCLING.]

For our young American girl of fourteen or fifteen is a tall young
creature, who seems for the most part to need only a little widening,
and sometimes a little straightening, to give her a fine figure, and the
systematic exercise and wholesome food and sleep, that are part of real
training, to make her healthy.

Training does not mean exercise only, as many seem to think. It means
the best sort of treatment of the body to develop and beautify and
strengthen it. It means plenty of good food for bone and muscle and
blood, it means plenty of sleep to keep the nerves calm and strong,
plenty of pure air, and regular activity and exercise which shall be
felt all over the body.

Now if this girl of fifteen or thereabouts is in earnest in wishing to
develop herself into a fine specimen of womanhood, she must follow a few
rules, which may be the text of her training. She can have them printed
on the type-writer and hung up over her looking-glass, where she will be
likely to see them often. They should include the following, and others
may be added from time to time.

1. Sleep nine hours every night, beginning as early as 9.30 P.M. The
beauty sleep is in the first part of the night. When thoroughly awake in
the morning do not lounge in bed, but rise at once. Bathe first, or
exercise before bathing as you prefer. In any case,

2. Take a sponge-bath every morning in water as it runs from the
cold-water faucet. If you begin the practice in warm weather you will
not notice the gradually lowered temperature of winter. Rub the skin
well with a coarse towel until it is reddened. This will give you a fine
sense of freshness, and prevent your catching cold easily.

3. Exercise for ten minutes at least before breakfast, if strong and
hearty, in the way suggested later; if delicate, take five minutes'
exercise, and the remainder two hours after breakfast or at five o'clock
in the afternoon.

4. Wear no tight clothing of any kind. Tight bands about the limbs
interfere with the circulation, change the natural curves of the part
into ugly ones, and restrain the muscles unnaturally. About the waist,
as a corset, they interfere with the lungs, with the stomach, and with
other abdominal organs, and when all these are unnaturally cramped
health and grace are impossible. The most graceful of actresses wear no
stays, for they know that perfect ease and grace are impossible in tight
clothing.

Also, if you would walk gracefully, never wear tight shoes, French
heels, or pointed toes. The graceful Greek girl wore a broad sandal, and
had the use of her toes, which our modern girls cannot have in the
fashionable shoe, but which is essential for a dignified and graceful
step.

5. Spend at least one hour out-of-doors every day in some form of
exercise, and two or three whenever possible.

6. Use your mind actively in study for a few hours daily, for an idle
mind is not a healthy one, but finish your studies at a definite hour,
and then rest--_i.e._, play or exercise your body.

[Illustration: GOLF.]

Some of the girls who may read this doubtless have the good fortune to
be absolutely healthy, and perhaps their circumstances offer them all
the exercise they need, although in city life this is improbable, and
the healthiest will be benefited, kept in trim, physically, by following
the rule for daily morning exercises.

But the girl who wishes to be strong and symmetrical often finds that in
one way or another she needs a little help to straighten her shoulders,
or to bring out her chest, or to give her an erect carriage; yet it is
difficult for her to train herself, as she cannot see her own defects.

One device to aid self-instruction is the following: Take any old long
mirror, and mark it with horizontal lines, about ten inches apart, in
white chalk. The lines should be exactly straight. Then stand in front
of this in your natural position, and notice whether the line of your
shoulders agrees with the straight line across the mirror at their
level. Probably you will see the reflection of a girl with one shoulder
a little higher than the other, or perhaps standing unevenly, so that
one hip is higher than the other. More than likely you will see that her
chest is not full enough to make a fine figure. Perhaps the shoulders
stoop a little, or possibly, while none of these defects are noticeable,
the mirror shows a figure that needs only a little setting up, a more
erect carriage, and the expression of a little more muscular energy, to
make it satisfactory. A few special exercises that we shall add here
will be excellent for all of these slight deviations from the normal;
but it will be well to begin exercising every morning with two or three
simple movements that will warm and limber the muscles and joints.

Begin by rising slowly on the toes and sinking back to the heels ten
times. Then increase the speed, rising and falling quite rapidly twenty
times, or more, if not fatigued. Then give the arm and shoulder-joint a
chance. Swing the right arm out from the shoulder in a circle, and
repeat this ten times. Then the left arm. After a week's practice use
both arms fifteen times. Next use the trunk a little. Bend the body
forward at the waist slowly as far as possible without bending the
knees, and repeat this ten times. Next bend slowly to the right side
without raising the left foot, and then to the left, each ten times.

Repeat the foot-raising rapidly five times, the arm-swinging and the
body-bending five times each, and you will feel fresher already.

Now let us take a shoulder exercise. Take a one-pound dumbbell in each
hand; face the mirror, standing firmly on both feet, with head erect and
knees firm. Count one, strike the bells lightly against the thighs, with
the palms turned in; on two, raise the arms to the sides, horizontally,
shoulder high; and on three, stretch them backward as far as possible
without lowering them, while the palms are turned forward. Hold them in
this position a moment, then drop to the sides. Repeat this until slight
fatigue is felt.

Exercise No, 2. Also for shoulders and back. Place both hands behind the
neck, throwing the head and elbows back. Now bend stiffly forward from
the waist, holding the body in that position for a moment. Rest a
moment, and repeat this for a few times. If this is done properly it
will be felt in the shoulder-blade region.

If fatigue is felt now, rest the upper muscles by skipping about the
room. Use as many fancy steps as you can invent, or such as you may have
learned in dancing-school or at the gymnasium.

Now take two or three movements for the chest. Take dumbbells, holding
them down at the sides. On one, carry them forward in front,
horizontally; on two, swing them back to shoulders with some force; on
three, carry them straight up above the head, then back to the
shoulders, horizontally; and on four, down again to the sides.

These movements can be done without dumbbells, but give a little more
vigorous exercise with them.

Next take a breathing exercise. Hold arms at sides, palms forward.
Inhale deeply and slowly with closed mouth, at the same time raising the
arms slowly above the head, with the palms facing forward. Hold the
breath with arms in this position for a moment, then slowly exhale it,
lowering the arms slowly, as the breath goes out, until they reach the
original positions at the sides. The elbows should be kept stiff all
this time, and the palms facing forward. Repeat this slowly five times.

Another good breathing exercise may be taken with dumbbells. Hold the
bells at the sides, waist high, palms up and elbows crooked. Then take a
deep breath, and hold it while you swing the arms back vigorously past
the hips, holding them in that position as long as you can retain the
breath. The palms should face forward, and this position will throw out
the upper chest finely. This movement should be repeated three or four
times.

All of these movements should be taken in loose clothing, without
corsets. If taken in the morning, they may be practised before the
mirror in undress costume. At any time a loose waist is absolutely
necessary.

Movements that keep the body balanced on the toes are good for grace and
poise.

Such an exercise is walking on tiptoe on a narrow board about six inches
high and thirty feet or more long, with arms extended wide, and a light
weight on cushions balanced on the head. Such an exercise cultivates the
spinal muscles, and helps to give the control over them that is
necessary for a graceful and even carriage of the body.

Peasants in foreign countries, who carry baskets full of produce up and
down hill, where walking is more difficult than on a level, are often
noted for their graceful bearing, which is undoubtedly cultivated by
this exercise.

What is called the deep-knee bend is another excellent balancing
movement, and may be practised as follows: Stand erect, hands on hips.
Rise on toes; then, bending the knees, sink down on the toes as far as
possible, holding the upper part of the body erect. Rise and rest on the
whole foot; then repeat. This is still more difficult if taken with arms
held above the head, or sidewise, shoulder high.

When out-of-doors a girl should learn to climb nimbly and well, trying
first on a low fence or a stout low tree. It is excellent practice, and
gives her good control of herself. For the same reason practise climbing
a ladder up and down, inside and outside. This is considered worthy of
being taught in the gymnasium, and girls may well learn it at home in
the country.

The practice and the courage it gives may some time save a girl's life,
and to learn how to use one's body in every sort of position is a part
of good training.

[Illustration: BASKET-BALL.]

For the same reason girls should play ball or other games that cultivate
dexterity and quick judgment, and that train the eye; and in the summer
many such sports are open to them as well as to boys.

A girl should also practise running whenever possible, and learn to run
in good form. It is an excellent exercise for the chest, and helps to
cultivate physical endurance.

Very few girls run properly. In running the arms should be carried close
to the sides, the elbows bent, and a rather long step taken, running on
the ball of the foot. If new to the exercise, the first two or three
trials should be made slowly and only for a short distance, perhaps the
length of a city block. The speed, as well as the distance, may be
gradually increased, always beginning and ending slowly, the highest
speed being attained in the middle of the run.

In the country opportunities for this practice are numerous, but in town
a gymnasium hall is the only opportunity that is always open.

Walking is indispensable for a girl who hopes for health and vigor, and
training for this consists in beginning with moderation, but
systematically, to walk short distances, gradually increasing the length
of the excursion, until ordinary country jaunts and mountain climbs
become easy and delightful matters.

Another exercise which is excellent for girls, and which is now being
very widely indulged in by them, is bicycling. It is an excellent
exercise if not overdone. Girls should remember when they first begin to
ride that the muscles which are brought into play are not ready to stand
the work which they may be able to perform after having been trained for
some months. Therefore, only short rides of from four to five miles
should be taken at the beginning, making the excursions a little longer
week by week, but always stopping as soon as fatigue begins to be felt.
Most girls will find that they can ride much farther, and with less
fatigue, if they will rest for about fifteen minutes midway in their
journey.




THE CASTLE NEAR THE WINDOW-SEAT.

BY CARLYLE SMITH.


  There's a castle here near the window-seat, a castle made of wood,
  Where dwells full many a wondrous wight, some very bad, some good.
  On the tiptop floor lives Crusoe bold, and Mr. Gulliver, who
  Once sailed afar on the broad salt sea; and there's Columbus too;

  And next to them lives Robin Hood and all of his merry band,
  With his little namesake Riding-hood, upon his strong right hand;
  And funny old Don Quixote, too, lives 'way up there with these,
  With his battered helmet on his head and tin caps on his knees.

  On the lower floor is a fairy store--Titania and her fays,
  And Brownies by the dozens who are pranking all their days;
  And Cinderella lives near them, with her good old fairy friend,
  And close to her Aladdin dwells with stores of gold to spend.

  Hop-o'-my-Thumb lives up there too, and Jack with his bag of beans,
  And Alice of the Looking-Glass, with her queer old fussy Queens;
  And all the Barbers dwell therein, of the old Arabian Nights,
  And strewn about are heroes of at least a thousand fights.

  'Tis a wondrous band of persons grand that nursery castle holds;
  With fearful beasts, and fearful birds, and witches too, and scolds;
  And you'd almost think it would frighten me to know, when I go to bed,
  That all these creatures live so close, almost at my very head.

  But it doesn't, you see, for I am King, and I hold the castle keys;
  Not one can stir from his settled place within unless I please.
  And, after all, they are safe enough, in spite of their wicked looks,
  For the castle walls of which I speak make the case where I keep my
      books.




MARY KENT ON DECK.

BY W. J. HENDERSON.


The bark _Bunker Hill_, of Boston, homeward bound from Rio Janeiro, was
staggering across as wild a stretch of the north Atlantic as ever
frightened the heart of man. She had left Rio in early October, with a
wafting of gentle winds among the swelling curves of her snowy
studding-sails, and had floated northward to the equator in a sea of
lucent blue that looked as if it had never known how to frown. Once
across the line, the _Bunker Hill_ had run into the doldrums, and for
ten long days had slatted the lax folds of her canvas against her tall
yellow masts, until Captain Elisha Kent's heart turned sore and heavy
within him. Then the northeast trades reached down into those latitudes,
and the bark began to fight her way northward against a breeze that
would not let her lie within four points of her course.

But at length, early in November, she was somewhere to the northward and
eastward of Bermuda, when the barometer began to go down with a steady
rush, and the wind died completely out. A sickening roll of mountainous
swell set in from the southeast, and the sky hardened down to a callous
unbroken gray. Captain Kent walked the quarter-deck with his daughter
Mary, a brown-cheeked, healthy girl of sixteen. Every day Mary took a
trick at the wheel, for she could steer a compass course as well as any
fore-mast hand. Better still, she could work out a ship's
dead-reckoning, and "shoot" the sun for latitude or longitude, as well
as her father, who had taught her how.

"It's coming, lassie," he said to her, as they walked the reeling deck
together.

"Yea, father, there's a storm down there somewhere," she answered.

"Well, I think we're as snug as we can be," he said, gazing aloft.

The morning and forenoon watches had been spent in preparing for the
gale, and with extra lashings on everything movable about the deck, and
the bark down to a close-reefed main-topsail, a shred of spanker, and a
storm jib, Captain Kent and his pretty little mate felt that all that
was possible had been done.

"I'd feel easier in my mind, though," said the Captain, "if one of my
mates was able to be on deck."

"I know I'm only a girl, father," said Mary, "but I think I've been of
some use to you on this voyage."

"Bless you, my girl," said the Captain; "you've been the greatest help
in the world to me with your bright face and cheerful ways. But I don't
think you can stand watch in a heavy gale, dear, and I'm worried for
fear this one that's coming may outlast my strength."

"Then I'll tell you what I think you ought to do, father."

"And what's that, Mary?"

"The bark is snug, so you go and lie down now. See if you can't get two
or three hours of sleep before the gale begins. I'll keep the deck, and
call you at the first change in the weather."

The Captain looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, and remembered how
thorough her sea-training had been. But she was so young!

"Well," he said, "I fancy there's some sense in your idea. Now pay
attention."

"Yes, father."

"You see that particularly hard-looking spot down there in the
southeast?"

"Do you mean where the clouds look so much like slate-pencil?"

"That's the place exactly. Now you keep your eye on that spot, because
that's where I'm expecting the wind to come from. If that spot grows
lighter, you call me at once."

"All right, father," said the girl; "you make your mind easy. I sha'n't
lose sight of that spot."

"But at the same time, Mary," continued the Captain, "you mustn't
neglect to keep a sharp lookout all around, for the wind may come from
some unexpected quarter."

"Don't be afraid, father dear," said Mary, smiling up at him bravely;
"you know I've been at sea before."

"Yes, my girl, I know; but you've never had quite so much responsibility
on your shoulders. There, now, I'll go below and lie down just to please
you."

Captain Kent paused a moment at the door of his cabin and shook his
head.

"It's a strange thing to leave a young girl like that on watch at such a
time, but what else can I do? She knows more in a minute than those
muttonheads forward do in a month."

And with that thought in his mind the Captain went below and tried to
snatch a brief rest before the coming of the storm. Mary, who was well
accustomed to the wild movements of a vessel's deck, stood balanced with
her shapely feet well apart and her hands clasped behind her back. With
her knitted woollen cap pulled down over her ears, a big muffler around
her neck, a heavy pea-jacket, and a plain skirt, she looked not unlike a
picture of one of those old Dutch skippers that one sees in pictures of
the days when the Netherlands were a power on the high-seas. The sharp
frosty air made her cheeks as red as roses, and her brown eyes sparkled
like stars. The man at the wheel, who had little enough to do in such a
villanous calm beyond keeping the spokes from jumping, gazed at her in
admiration, and the men forward nodded their heads approvingly at one
another as they saw the Captain go below.

"Sorra's the weather we'll be afther havin' afoor noight," said Pat
Maginn, "an' it's good the Cap'n goes to resht lavin' the foinist mate
oi iver see on watch. But oi wish thim fellies that's sick beyant war on
the deck too."

At four o'clock in the afternoon, just at the beginning of the first
dog-watch, Mary saw a sudden glow of ghastly light in the hard spot in
the southeast. Springing to the head of the companionway, she called
down into the cabin:

"Father! Father! It's coming!"

The next moment Captain Kent hastened on deck, and after a quick glance
said:

"Good, Mary, you caught it at the start. We'll have a capful of wind
here presently, and a sea fit to swallow us before morning, for the
centre of this storm is southwest of us, and we're on its worst side. We
must get the bark hove to on the port tack."

A few moments later ragged patches of grayish-brown cloud began to fly
over the bark, and then the wind burst upon her with a wild and
terrifying shriek. It came fair over the starboard-quarter, and drove
the _Bunker Hill_'s lee rail level with the water; but under Captain
Kent's orders the canvas was trimmed, the bark's head fell off, she wore
round, and came up to the wind on the port tack. The ocean was blown out
into a flat plain of boiling foam for a few minutes, but that state of
things could not last long. Before five o'clock a tremendous sea was
running, and the _Bunker Hill_ was reeling through it like a crazy
vessel.

Mary was already tired. She would not have confessed it, but she felt
the strain of the long voyage, with its succession of nursing and
service as assistant to her father. So she was glad enough to see him
looking fresh, hearty, and reliant as he stood near the lee rail.

"Well, dear," he roared in her ear, "we are as snug as we can be, and
you and I'd better go below and get a bite to eat."

The girl willingly accompanied her father to the cabin, where they made
shift to get such a meal as the crazy swoops and lurches of the vessel
allowed. They had hardly finished when there was a report like a
cannon-shot, and one of the men bawled down,

"The main-tops'l's gone, sir."

"Stay you here, Mary," said the Captain, as he sprang up the steps to
the deck.

Mary heard his strong voice shouting orders that rang above the roaring
of the gale. Then there was a confusion of cries forward and the crash
of tons of water falling on the forecastle deck. Mary knew that the bark
had shipped a great wave, and she felt instinctively that something had
happened. She rushed on deck. The lee scuppers were running off water in
great spouts, and the deck forward was littered with disarranged
rigging. But that was not what terrified Mary. She saw her father half
lying and half leaning against the lee rail, apparently in an agony of
pain.

"Father! father!" she cried, as she ran to his side, "what is the
matter?"

"A thump--in the ribs," he gasped. "I guess--something's broken."

For an instant the girl's courage faltered, and she felt as if she would
faint; but her innate strength of character supported her.

"Something must be done for him at once," she said to herself, as she
called to some of the men to come and help her. They picked the Captain
up and carried him to his cabin, where they laid him gently on a
cushioned locker.

"What on earth'll--we do--now?" gasped the Captain. "I'm laid out--for
the rest--of the voyage."

"Oh no, father," said Mary, with a cheerfulness that she did not feel;
"you'll be all right again before this gale is over, and we'll pull the
_Bunker Hill_ through that all right. Won't we, men?"

"Ay, ay, miss; that we will."

"God bless you, my child," gasped the Captain; "and you too, men;
but--I've got two--broken ribs here."

They were all silent for a few minutes, while the cabin reeled from side
to side, and the hollows of the vessel were full of groans from the
straining of her timbers.

"Father," said Mary at length, "don't worry about the bark, anyhow.
You've got a good crew, and they'll take care of the bark."

"Yes, sir, Cap'n Kent," said one of the men; "we're mortal sorry for to
see you done up, sir, for you've treated us good, an' we knows it."

"Thank you--men," said the Captain, and then he fainted. Mary sent the
men on deck, and with the assistance of the cook put her father in his
bunk, where he presently recovered his consciousness, but was still in
great pain. Mary sat beside him in deep thought.

"Dare I do it?" she said to herself. "I am so young; yet I am not
inexperienced, and something must be done. Half the crew and the mates
down with berri-berri, and the Captain disabled; the bark must be-- I'll
do it."

"What are you--thinking about, Mary?" asked her father.

"This. We must make for the nearest port that you may have proper
medical attention, father, and we must do it the minute the gale
moderates enough to let us clap more cloth on the bark. The barometer is
rising, and the wind has shifted four points. The gale will break by
morning. We are on the outside edge of it, and we'll soon be out of it.
Now, father, put me in command of the bark, and I'll take her into New
York."

"But will the crew--obey you?"

"Ask them."

Mary went on deck and asked the men, except the helmsman, to come to the
cabin.

"Men," she said, "the Captain is hurt, the mates and half the crew are
sick. The bark ought to go to the nearest port. I can take her there.
Will you help me? What do you say?"

"That you're right, miss," said one of the men. "And we'll take our
orders from you same as from the Cap'n. Won't we, lads?"

"Yes, yes!"

"Now, father," said Mary.

"I turn over--the command--to you, dear," said the Captain.

The next day at noon the gale had moderated to a fresh breeze, and
though a heavy sea was running, the clouds had broken and the sun was
peeping through. Mary went on deck with the sextant to get the ship's
latitude. She poised herself on her graceful limbs, and handled the
instrument like a veteran. Presently she got the sun's highest altitude.

"Make eight bells!" she cried.

"Ay, ay, sir--I mean, ma'am!" cried one of the men forward as he sprang
to obey the order.

Mary went below and worked out her reckoning, while her father eyed her
lovingly as she thumbed the navigation tables and the nautical almanac.

"It's three hundred and thirty miles west nor'west to Sandy Hook,
father. The wind is sou' sou'west, and we can lay our course."

The Captain smiled faintly, for he was in much pain, and murmured,
"Bless you!"

[Illustration: "ALL HANDS MAKE SAIL!"]

Mary went on deck and shouted, "All hands make sail!"

Every able man in the crew, including the cook, sprang on deck with the
activity of cats, eager to show their willingness to serve her. The bark
was still under the flying-jib, maintopmast stay-sail and reefed spanker
which she had carried through the end of the gale. The men were anxious
to know how their young skipperess would go to work. The girl's face was
calm and confident. Her cheeks glowed and her eyes burned. In a clear
musical voice she cried:

"Shake out the reefs in the spanker! Hoist the jib and haul out the
spanker!"

As soon as these orders were executed she cried again, "Loose the
foretop-sail and maintop-gallant sail!"

The men danced aloft to attend to these orders.

"Stand by! Let fall! Sheet home and hoist away!"

The men flew about like bees.

"That's sail enough till the sea goes down," she said. "Brace sharp up
and haul out the tacks! West nor'west," she added to the man at the
wheel.

"Three cheers for Miss Captain Kent!" cried one of the men, and they
were given with a will. Two days later the bark _Bunker Hill_ went up
the Swash Channel behind a tug, and dropped anchor off Quarantine, where
the ship-news reporters learned of her remarkable story and filled the
papers with Mary's fame. In the following summer Mary was granted a
master's license, and when Captain Kent went to rest in the old
churchyard, his daughter took command of his ship, and was one of the
few women sea-captains in the world.




RICK DALE.

BY KIRK MUNROE,

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

CHAPTER XXXIII.

LAID UP FOR REPAIRS.


About the time when Alaric was pleasantly travelling with his mother
through Germany, Hans Altman, with Gretchen, his wife, and Eittel, his
little daughter, dwelt in a valley of the Harz Mountains. Although Hans
was a poor man, he found plenty of work with which to support his family
in comfort, but he could never forget that his father had been a
burgomeister, and much better off in this world's goods than he.
Thinking of this made him discontented and unhappy, until finally he
determined to sell what little they had and come to America, or, as he
called it, "the land of gold," with the hope of bettering his fortunes.
In vain did Gretchen protest that nowhere in the world could they be so
happy or so well off as in their own land and among their own people.
Even her tears failed to turn him from his purpose. So they came to this
country, and at length drifted to the far-away shores of Puget Sound,
where they stranded, wellnigh penniless, ignorant of the language and
customs of those about them, helpless and forlorn. With the distress of
mind caused by this state of affairs Hans grew melancholy and irritable,
and when Eittel died he declared that he himself had killed her. The
faithful Gretchen soon followed her little daughter, and with this
terrible blow the poor man's mind gave way entirely. He not only fancied
himself a murderer, but believed officers of the law to be in pursuit of
him, and that if captured he would be hanged.

Filled with this idea, he fled on the very night of his wife's death,
and having been born among mountains, now instinctively sought in them a
place of refuge. He carried an axe with him, and somewhere procured a
ride with a plentiful supply of ammunition. Through the vast forest he
made his way far from the haunts of men, ever climbing higher and
penetrating more deeply among the friendly mountains, until finally he
reached a tiny valley, in which he believed himself safe from pursuit.
Here he built a rude hut, and became a hunter of mountain-goats. Their
flesh furnished him with food, their skins with bedding and clothing,
while from their horns he carved many a rude utensil.

In this way he had lived for nearly two months, when our lost and sorely
perplexed lads stumbled upon his camp, and found in it a haven of
safety. In the peaceful quiet of those mountain solitudes the poor man
had become calmly content with his primitive mode of life, and was even
happy as he recalled how skilfully he had eluded a fancied pursuit, and
how impossible it had now become for those who sought his life to
discover his retreat.

It was in this frame of mind that, on returning from a long day's hunt
with the body of a goat slung across his back, he saw, to his dismay,
that his hiding-place had been found, and that his camp was occupied by
strangers. Of course they were enemies who were now waiting to kill him.
He would fly so fast and so far that they could never follow. No; better
than that, he would kill them before they were even aware of his
presence. This was a grand idea, and the madman chuckled softly to
himself as it came to him. Laying his dead goat on the ground, and
whispering to it not to be afraid, for he would soon return, the man
crept stealthily forward toward the fire-light. At length he spied the
form of what he believed to be one of his pursuers, sitting half hid in
the shadows, and doubtless waiting for him. Ha! ha! How disappointed
that enemy would be when he found himself dead! and with a silent
chuckle the madman slowly lifted his rifle.

At that terrible moment the notes of Alaric's song were borne to him on
the still night air, and then came the words, "Muss i denn, muss i
denn ... und du, mein Schatz, bleibst hier." It was his Gretchen's song,
and those were the very words she had sung to him so often in their
happy Harz Valley home. The uplifted arm dropped as though palsied, and
like one who hears a voice from the dead the man uttered a mighty cry of
mingled fear and longing; at the same moment he stepped into the full
glare of fire-light, and confronted Alaric, at whom he poured a torrent
of questions in German.

"Who are you? How came you here? What do you want? Have you seen my
Gretchen? Where did you learn to sing '_Muss i denn_'?"

"In Germany, of course, where everybody sings it," replied Alaric,
answering the last question first, and speaking in the man's own
language. "And I didn't think you would mind if we took possession of
your camp until your return; for you see we are in great trouble."

"Ach no! All who are in trouble should come with me; for I too have
many, many troubles," replied the man, his blue eyes losing their fierce
look and filling with tears. "But I never meant to do it. Gott in Himmel
knows I never meant to do it."

"Of course not," said Alaric, soothingly, anxious to quiet the man's
agitation, and suspecting that his mind was not quite right. "Nobody
thinks you did."

"Yes, they do, the cruel men who would kill me; but you will stay and
drive them away if they come, will you not? You will be my friend--you,
to whom I can talk with the tongue of the father-land?"

"Certainly I will stay and be your friend, if you will help me care for
another friend who lies yonder very ill."

"Ja! ja! I will help you if you will stay and talk to me of Gretchen,
and sing to me '_Muss i denn_.'"

"Very good," agreed Alaric. "It is, then, a contract between us." At the
same time he said to himself: "He is a mighty queer-looking chap to have
for a friend; but I suppose there are worse, and I guess I can manage
him. It's a lucky thing I know a little German, though, for he looked
fierce enough to kill me until I began to talk with him."

The appearance of the man was certainly calculated to inspire
uneasiness, especially when taken in connection with his incoherent
words. He was an immense fellow with shaggy hair and untrimmed heard. On
his head was perched a ridiculous little cloth cap, while over his
shoulders was flung a cloak of goat-skins that added greatly to his
appearance of size and general shagginess. His lower limbs were covered
with leggings of the same hairy material. His ordinary expression was
the fierce look of a hunted animal, but now it was softened by the rare
pleasure of meeting one who could talk with him in his own language.

From that first moment of strange introduction his eagerness to be with
Alaric and induce him to talk was pathetic. To him he poured out all his
sorrows, together with daily protests that he never meant to kill his
Gretchen and little Eittel. For the sake of this companionship he was
willing to do anything that might add to the comfort of his guests. He
scoured forest and mountain-side in search of game, and rarely returned
empty-handed. He fetched amazing loads of wood on his back, went on long
expeditions after berries, set cunningly devised snares for ptarmigan,
and found ample recompense for all his labor in lying at full length
before the camp-fire at night and talking with Alaric. Bonny he
mistrusted as being one who could speak no German, and only bore with
him for the sake of his friend.

Nor was he greatly liked by the lad, whose injuries compelled a long
acceptance of his hospitality. "I know he's good to us, and won't let
you do any work that he can help, and all that," Bonny would say; "but
somehow I can't trust him nor like him. He'll play us some mean trick
yet; see if he don't."

"But he saved our lives; for if we hadn't found his camp we should
certainly have starved to death."

"That's just it! We found his camp. He didn't find us, and never would
have. Anyhow, he's as crazy as a loon, and will bear a heap of
watching."

For all this, Bonny did not allow his anxiety to interfere with a speedy
recovery from his injuries, and by the aid of youthful vigor, a splendid
constitution, complete rest, plenty of food, and the glorious mountain
air, his broken bones knit so rapidly that in one month's time he
declared himself to be mended and as good as new.

The boys often talked of M. Filbert, and wondered what had become of
him. At first Alaric made an earnest effort to induce Hans Altman to go
in search of the Frenchman's camp and notify him of their safety; but
the German became so excitedly angry at the mere mention of such a thing
that he was forced to relinquish the idea.

Their strange host became equally angry at any mention of their leaving
him, and refused to give any information concerning their present
locality or the nearest point at which other human beings might be
found. Nor did he ever evince the least curiosity as to where they had
come from. It was enough for him that they were there.

When the time for them to depart drew near, Alaric made another effort
to gain some information from the German that would guide their
movements, but in vain. He only succeeded in arousing the man's
suspicions to such an extent that he grew morose, would not leave camp
unless Alaric went with him, and watched furtively every movement that
the boys made.


CHAPTER XXXIV.

CHASED BY A MADMAN.

Bonny's bed was nearest the side of the hut, while Alaric lay beyond him
towards its centre. Morning was breaking when the former awoke from a
troubled dream, so filled with a presentiment of impending evil that his
forehead was bathed in a cold perspiration. For the space of a minute he
lay motionless, striving to reassure himself that his terror was without
foundation. All at once he became conscious that some one was talking in
a low tone, and, glancing in that direction, saw the form of their host,
magnified by the dim light into gigantic proportions, bending over
Alaric. The man held an uplifted knife, and was muttering to himself in
German; but at Bonny's cry of horror he leaped to his feet, and
disappeared through the doorway.

"What is the matter?" asked Alaric, sleepily, only half awakened by
Bonny's cry. "Been having bad dreams?"

"Yes, and a worse reality," answered the other, huskily. "Oh, Rick! he
was going to kill you, and if I hadn't waked when I did we should both
have been dead by this time. He has made up his mind to murder us, I
know he has."

A minute later Alaric had heard the whole story, and, as excited as
Bonny himself, was hurriedly slipping on his coat and boots. They knew
not which way to go, nor what to do, but both were eager to escape from
the hut into the open, where they might at least have a chance to run in
case of an attack.

As they emerged from the doorway, casting apprehensive glances in every
direction, Alaric's baseball, that had been left in one of his coat
pockets the evening before, slipped through a hole in the lining and
fell to the ground. Hardly conscious of what he was doing, the lad
stooped to pick it up. At that same instant came the sharp crack of a
rifle, and the "ping" of a bullet that whistled just above his head.

"He is shooting at us!" gasped Bonny. "Come, quick, before he can
reload."

Without another word the lads dashed into the clump of trees sheltering
the camp, and down the slope on which it stood. They would have
preferred going the other way but the rifle-shot had come from that
direction, and so they had no choice. Their movements being at first
concealed by the timber, there was no sign of pursuit until they gained
the open valley and started to cross it. Then came a wild yell from
behind, and they knew that their flight was discovered.

Breathlessly they sped through the dewy meadow, sadly impeded by its
rank growth of grass and flowers, toward a narrow exit through the wall
bounding its lower end that Alaric had long ago discovered. Through this
a brawling stream made its way, and by means of its foaming channel the
boys hoped to effect an escape.

As they gained the rocky portal Bonny glanced back and uttered a cry of
dismay, for their late host was in plain view, leaping down the slope
toward the meadow they had just crossed. He was then bent on overtaking
them, and the pursuit had begun in earnest.

As there was no pathway besides that offered by the bed of the stream,
they were forced to plunge into its icy torrent and follow its
tumultuous course over slippery rocks, through occasional still pools
whose waters often reached to the waist, and down foaming cascades, with
a reckless disregard for life or limb. In this manner they descended
several hundred feet, and when from the bottom they looked up over the
way they had come they felt that they must surely have been upborne by
wings. But there was no time for contemplation, for at that moment a
plunging bowlder from above warned them that their pursuer was already
in the channel.

Now they were in a forest, not of the giant trees they would find at a
lower altitude, but one of tall hemlocks and Alpine firs, growing with
such density that the panting fugitives could with difficulty force a
way between them. They stumbled over prostrate trunks, slipped on beds
of damp mosses, were clutched by woody fingers, from whose hold their
clothing was torn with many a grievous rent; and, with all their
efforts, made such slow progress that they momentarily expected to be
overtaken. Nor were their fears groundless, for they had not gone half a
mile ere a crashing behind them told that their pursuer was close at
hand. As they exchanged a despairing glance, Bonny said, "The only thing
we can do is to hide; for I can't run any further."

"Where?" asked Alaric.

"Here," replied Bonny, diving as he spoke into a bed of ferns. Alaric
followed, and as they flattened themselves to the ground, barely
concealed by the green tips nodding above their backs, the madman leaped
into the space they had just vacated, and stood so close to them that
they could have reached out and touched him. His cap had disappeared,
his hair streamed over his shoulders like a tawny mane; his clothing was
torn, a scratch had streaked his face with blood, and his deep-set eyes
shone with the wild light of insanity. He had flung away his rifle; but
his right hand clutched a knife, keen, and long-bladed. The crouching
lads held their breaths as he paused for an instant beside them. Then,
uttering a snarling cry, he dashed on, and with cautiously lifted heads
they watched him out of sight.

"Whew!" ejaculated Bonny, "that was a close call. But I say, Rick, this
business of running away and being chased seems quite like old times,
don't it?"

"Yes," answered Alaric, with a shuddering sigh of mingled relief and
apprehension, "it certainly does, and this is the worst of all. But what
shall we do now?"

"I don't know of anything else but to keep right on down hill after
going far enough to one side to give his course a wide berth. I'd like
awfully to have some breakfast, but I wouldn't go back to that camp for
it if it were the only place in the world. I'd about as soon starve as
eat another mouthful of goat, anyway. We are sure to come out somewhere,
though, if we only stick to a downward course long enough."

So the boys bore to the right, and within a few minutes had the
satisfaction of noting certain gleamings through the trees that
betokened some kind of an opening. Guided by these, they soon came to a
ridge of bowlders and gravel, forming one of the lateral moraines of a
glacier that lay in glistening whiteness beyond.

"We might as well follow along its edge," suggested Bonny; "for all
these glaciers seem to run down hill, and, bad as the walking is over
mud and rocks, we can make better time here than through the woods."

[Illustration: THEY WERE PARALYZED WITH TERROR TO SEE THE MADMAN
GRINNING HORRIBLY.]

They had not gone more than a mile in this fashion, and believing that
they had successfully eluded their pursuer, were rapidly recovering from
their recent fright, when they were startled by a cry like that of a
wild beast close at hand. Glancing up, they were nearly paralyzed with
terror to see the madman grinning horribly with delight at having
discovered them, and about to rush down the steep slope to where they
stood.

There was but an instant of hesitation, and then both lads sprang out on
the rugged surface of the glacier, and made a dash for its far-away
opposite side.

They ran, slipped, stumbled, took flying leaps over the parted white
lips of narrow crevasses, and made detours to avoid such as were too
wide to be thus spanned. They had no time to look behind, nor any need.
The fierce cries of the madman warned them that he was in hot pursuit
and ever drawing nearer. At one place the ice rang hollow beneath their
feet, and they even fancied that it gave an ominous crack; but they
could not pause to speculate as to its condition. That it was behind
them was enough.

Ere half the distance was passed they were drawing their breath with
panting sobs, and Bonny, not yet wholly recovered from his illness,
began to lag behind. Noting this, Alaric also slackened his speed; but
his comrade gasped: "No, Rick. Don't stop. Save yourself. I'm done for.
You can't help me. Good-by."

Thus saying, and too exhausted to run further, the lad faced about to
meet their terrible pursuer, and struggle with him for a delay that
might aid the escape of his friend. To his amazement, there was no
pursuer, nor in all that white expanse was there a human being to be
seen save themselves.

At his comrade's despairing words Alaric too had turned, with the
determination of sharing his fate; so they now stood side by side
breathing heavily, and gazing about them in wondering silence.

"What has become of him?" asked Bonny at length, in an awed tone, but
little above a whisper.

"I don't know," replied Alaric. "He can't have gone back, for there
hasn't been time. He can't be in hiding, for there is no place in which
he could conceal himself, nor have we passed any crevasse that he could
not leap. But, if he has slipped into one! Oh, Bonny! it is too awful to
think of!"

"I heard him only a few seconds ago," said Bonny, in the same awed tone,
"and his voice sounded so close that with each instant I expected to be
in his clutches."

"Bonny," exclaimed Alaric, "do you remember a place that sounded
hollow?"

"Yes."

"We must go back to it; for I believe he has broken through. If it is in
our power to help him we must do it; if not, we must know what has
happened."

They had to retrace their steps but a few yards before coming to a
fathomless opening with jagged sides and splintered edges, where the
thin ice that had afforded them a safe passage had given way beneath the
heavier weight of their pursuer. No sound save that of rushing waters
came from the cruel depths, nor was there any sign.

The boys lingered irresolutely about the place for a few minutes, and
then fled from it as from an impending terror.

For the remainder of that day, though no longer in dread of pursuit,
they made what speed they might down the mountain-side, following rough
river-beds, threading belts of mighty forest, climbing steep slopes, and
descending others into narrow valleys.

The sun was near his setting, and our lads were so nigh exhausted that
they had seated themselves on a moss-covered log to rest, when they were
startled by a heavy rending crash that echoed through the listening
forest with a roar like distant thunder.

The boys looked at each other, and then at what bits of sky they could
see through the far-away tree-tops. It was of unclouded blue, and the
sun was still shining.

"Rick!" cried Bonny, starting to his feet. "I believe it was a falling
tree."

"Well?"

"I mean one that was made to fall by axe and saw."

"Oh, Bonny!" was all that Alaric could reply; but in another instant he
was leading the way through tall ferns and along the stately forest
aisles in the direction from which had come the mighty crash.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]




A NEW WATER ROUTE TO CENTRAL AFRICA.

BY CYRUS C. ADAMS.


Any man who reveals to the world a great river on which steamboats can
ply for hundreds of miles is a benefactor, and his name will be recorded
among important explorers. Dr. Ludwig Wolf, in 1886, found a new water
route to central Africa, and in all the good work he did until his death
he never won a greater prize. Dr. Wolf loved the big continent, and he
said that in all his life in Africa he never experienced such almost
insupportable heat as he endured in Philadelphia during the Centennial
Exposition. But he was convinced that women from the temperate zones
should not try to live in tropical Africa, and believed that white men
who spend their lives there should humanely renounce the idea of taking
wives from their own race, and should marry women who were born in
tropical countries.

Dr. Wolf's little steamer puffed up the big Sankuru River, threading its
way among many islands, and revealing a great new highway and many
unaccustomed sights. One day Dr. Wolf was astounded to see, some ways up
the river, what appeared to be a raging snow-storm. Of course snow never
falls there, but the illusion was perfect. It was caused by myriads of
white butterflies zigzagging through the air. Two or three years later a
black boy named Pitti, who had been taken from his home on this river to
Germany, came rushing to his friends, exclaiming; "Oh, look out of the
window! The air is full of butterflies." It was snowing hard. You see,
the first impressions both of the learned doctor and of the ignorant
little black boy were erroneous, because neither of them was in a
country that he knew very well. You will see on your map that the great
northern bend of the Congo is like a bent bow, and far below it is the
string of the bow--the Sankuru--pieced out at one end by the Kassai
River, which unites it with the Congo, while the other end stretches far
across, almost to the other end of the bow. Dr. Wolf's discovery added
almost 800 miles of navigable waters to the Congo basin, stretching
almost due east to central Africa. Many a boy who loves adventure would
think it a proud honor to add so important a fact to geographic
knowledge, but I wonder how many boys would be willing to pay the great
price that Dr. Wolf and all the pioneer explorers have had to pay for
the discoveries that made them famous.

How would you like to be among hostile natives, many hundreds of miles
from the nearest white settlement, with no means of transportation
except a wheezy little steamboat that was likely to blow up or break
down beyond repair at any moment? The worn-out _En Avant_, which carried
Dr. Wolf's little party, was tired all the time, and incessantly on the
verge of giving up entirely. There was no machinist on board to coax the
complaining engine into good humor. The boiler-plates were sprung, and
every morning the cracks were plastered over with a fresh layer of clay.
Some of the tubing and the furnace grates gave out, and the doctor
mournfully sacrificed gun-barrels from his slender stock of fire-arms to
replace the worn-out parts. Of course, he would have repaired his
rickety little steamer before he started if he had had anything with
which to patch it up. With everything right at our hand at home, we have
little idea of the countless perplexities that beset the explorer. Some
years ago the French carried a steamboat in sections, at great cost, to
the bank of a river in the French Congo, where they wished to launch it,
and there the vessel lay uselessly on the shore for more than a year,
because they had lost one little package that had to be replaced from
Europe before a fire could be kindled under the boiler. Dr. Wolf was not
able to move up stream as fast as a land party would have travelled; and
around sharp bends in the river, under full pressure of steam, he was
often two hours in making 700 feet against the rapid current.

Until he had ascended far towards the sources of the river, he found the
Sankuru a noble stream, one to two miles in width; and, curiously
enough, the natives on the north bank were very hostile, while those
living south of the river were perfectly friendly and hospitable. The
wide river was a boundary between peoples who differed from each other
in many respects. This has often been observed in savage lands. On the
middle Congo, where the river for long stretches is from fifteen to
twenty miles wide and crowded with islands, there are thousands of
natives who, until recently, had never seen the opposite shore nor the
people who live there.

Soon after the explorer entered the Sankuru he had an adventure with the
hostile natives of the north shore that a little resembled the fabled
story of Pocahontas and Captain John Smith. The doctor was steaming
along about twenty feet from the bank, when he saw a girl, wearing
ornaments that showed she was the daughter of a chief, leaping through
the grass towards the water and shouting:

[Illustration: "STOP! DON'T SHOOT!"]

"Stop, you fools! Don't shoot! Let them go! They will not harm you!"

Dr. Wolf took in the situation in an instant. He saw a party of
Bassongo-Mino crouching in the herbage at the water's edge, their
bowstrings drawn, all ready to launch the arrows. The girl sprang in
among them and knocked the bow and arrow from the hands of the man
nearest to her. She cowed the men with her loud upbraidings, and they
lowered their weapons as the steamer swept past. There is little doubt
that her word of command, spoken in behalf of white strangers, the like
of whom she had never seen before, saved the lives of some of Dr. Wolf's
party. Perhaps she knew how grateful they were for her humane and
friendly act, though they had no opportunity to express their gratitude.

Sometimes the more important women among these barbarous tribes exert
great influence. At another place on the Sankuru Dr. Wolf thanked his
lucky stars that a woman took his part. He had stopped in front of a
large settlement and tried to make friends with the people. They made no
answer, but sprang to their weapons and advanced to attack him. Among
the foremost suddenly appeared a girl named Pemba, the daughter of the
most powerful chief in all that region. With a few words and a wave of
her hand she stilled the angry tumult. She had never seen white men
before, but she called to them to wait. She ordered some ivory and
native grass cloth to be put into a boat, and, perfectly fearless, she
went out to the strangers, had a good talk with them through the
interpreter, received beads, brass wire, and cotton cloth for her
commodities, and when the paddle-wheels began to revolve the boat was
loaded with food bought of the natives, who at first had only arrows for
the visitors. Through the influence of this girl, the explorer escaped
an attack from the most powerful tribe along the river.

[Illustration: HE LOOKED AT A GUN WITH GREAT CURIOSITY.]

For a long distance the hostile tribes were found to speak practically
the same language, and Dr. Wolf's interpreter was the most important
person on the boat. The natives thought the strangers could not
understand them, and so they freely talked of their plans for attacking
them. One day, when Dr. Wolf stopped to repair the _En Avant_, natives
armed with bows and arrows speedily surrounded the steamer. They were
not a bit afraid, and drew right up alongside. Their chief, Tongolata,
told his warriors that these strangers were entirely at his mercy. Why,
he couldn't see a single weapon among them! He looked at a gun with
great curiosity. "Whatever the thing is," he finally declared, "it is
not a weapon." He told his people it would be easy enough to kill these
folks and seize all the strange and beautiful things they were showing.
Things were beginning to look squally. More canoes were coming every
minute. Dr. Wolf was a man of peace, and would not take a human life
unless it was necessary to save his own men. But he must do something to
over-awe these savages. He showed the chief a revolver, and told him it
carried lightning that killed men. Then he held the weapon so that its
discharge would hurt no one, but the barrel was close to the King's ear.
He pulled the trigger, and the chief fell to the bottom of his boat,
stunned by the terrible noise. All the natives were stupefied with
astonishment and fear. The chief held on to both his ears until he
decided that he was not hurt, and then he declared that he was the white
man's good brother, and honored his new friend with a present of two
chickens. Some explorers--very few, it is hoped--would have fired into
the crowd under such circumstances. But men who are fit to be trusted
among barbarous peoples have very often been able to insure safety when
danger threatened by some such expedient as that which Dr. Wolf adopted.

The actions of some of these tribes when they first caught sight of the
wonderful "fire-canoe" were very curious. The Bena-Jehka, for instance,
threw themselves on the ground--not in fear, however, for they greeted
the coming vessel with a hearty clapping of hands. The friendly natives
were greatly tickled to find that this puffing boat was no match in a
race with their canoes. They could travel all around her; and no wonder,
for some of their dugouts were nearly ninety feet long--twice the length
of the _En Avant_--and eighty paddlers standing erect in the larger
boats made them fairly skim through the water. Sometimes fifty of these
canoes were darting here and there, playing tag with the slow steamer,
and dodging her every time. It was great sport for the friendly natives
of the south bank, and the hostiles across the river did not know how
much fun they were missing. None of these people had ever heard of a
gun.

The African telephone was busy, as the steamer advanced, carrying the
news up the river. The deep notes of the big drum, or tomtom, are the
signal of great events in those parts, and crowds flocked to the banks
long before the vessel puffed into view, straining their eyes for the
first glimpse of anything wonderful or menacing. These signals, however,
do not compare with the ingenious system perfected by a few small tribes
in the Cameroons, West Africa, where the sounds on the drum represent
syllables and words, and so grow into sentences, like the ticks of a
telegraph instrument. Only about two hundred natives have been
instructed in the art, and the secret is so carefully guarded that no
white man is yet able to interpret these drum-beats, which carry verbal
messages from one drummer to another as fast as sound travels.

Far up the river Dr. Wolf discovered some remarkable houses built in the
branches of trees. Many African tribes, like the people of New Guinea
and the Solomon Islands, in the Pacific, build platforms high up in the
trees, so that their lookouts may quickly discover the approach of an
enemy, or their women and children take refuge among the branches in
time of danger. An invention of the white men is destroying this custom
of building tree refuges, and you can easily guess what it is. Traders
have introduced many guns among the natives, and the women find that
their rude perches in the air are no protection against bullets. But the
tree houses Dr. Wolf saw serve a different purpose. The natives live in
them to keep out of the wet when the land is flooded. A platform is
firmly lodged in the widest fork of a tree, and a roof is built on the
top of uprights that rest on the platform. The boys and girls are a
happy lot when the floods subside and they can press the ground again
with their bare feet.

It was a joyous lot of black men whom Dr. Wolf restored to their homes
in Angola, after they had served him well for many months while he was
adding this river to the maps. But on the way home they had one serious
disappointment. One day they saw a group of baobab-trees, the largest
plant that grows in Africa. It was many a day since they had seen the
familiar sight. "Hurrah!" they cried; "we are near the sea. We are in
Angola again." But they were still far from Angola.

These humble negroes helped to prepare the way for the busy white
stations that are now planted on the Sankuru's banks. They should have
their share of credit for the good work that was done.




GAMES IN THE REAL COUNTRY.

BY JNO. GILMER SPEED.


The boys in the cities, and especially in the suburban towns, have a
very much gayer time than their fathers did twenty years ago. When a man
of middle age now visits his old college, or, indeed, any athletic
field, the fact is impressed upon him with great and ever-increasing
force that he was born two score years too soon. In my boyhood, which
was not so very long ago, town ball on the commons and baseball on a
rough and unprepared field were about the only games of a general nature
that we had. Of course there was a brief season for shinney, a little
while for marbles, and in the hottest weather of midsummer we languidly
indulged in mumble-the-peg. But we had no athletic fields in the sense
that they exist to-day for general sports, while the fascinating tennis
had not been introduced, and football as it is played to-day was
unknown. We were therefore, judging by present-day standards, pretty
badly off.

By the real country I mean those sections where the boys live on farms
or in villages not influenced by close contact with the people from
large cities. In such places, and I am writing in such a place, the boys
do not seem to have a very gay time; but as they do not know that their
sports so impress an on-looker, they are not unhappy about the matter.
Just across the village street from the house in which I write is the
village school (Academy it is called in high-sounding phrase), and the
play-ground about it is bare in some spots, high grown with weeds in
others, while great stones and small lie around in an abundance that
menaces the security of every step a fast-running urchin takes. The boys
on one side of the yard are playing baseball at this moment, and on the
other side the girls, with shrill cries that express all at once
delight, apprehension, and downright fear, are playing prisoner's-base.
The boys do not have a "diamond" for their game, but the field is laid
out in an irregular way that must have been determined partly by chance
and somewhat by necessity. The pitcher stands a few feet in front of a
maple-tree, and the catcher is so close to a rail fence that every
passed ball goes into the ploughed field beyond. The ball is so
frequently lost in this field and in the weeds in the school-yard that
quite half the time of the game is spent in searching for it. The bats
are clumsy things, that seem too heavy for the youngsters to wield with
ease and accuracy; but as the pitching is not fast the batters succeed
in hitting the ball as often as they miss it. And every time there is a
hit there is a mighty scrambling in every part of the field, as the
right-fielder appears to think it his duty to cover third base, and the
first-base man displays an ambition to capture flies in the left field.
The smaller the score, I believe, in both the professional and amateur
worlds, the better the game. But in the baseball games in the real
country the opposite is held to be true, and if less than twenty runs on
a side are made the game is counted to have been a failure.

These games at the Academy are not played continuously, but begin before
school in the morning, then at morning recess, then during the dinner
hour, and are finished in the afternoon recess. After school, with
whoops and cries of divers sorts the youngsters disperse to their homes,
some of which are miles away. Several years ago they all walked home,
but now the majority of them go to and fro on bicycles. In watching my
neighbors of the school and their goings and comings I have discovered
where the discarded bicycles that have gone out of fashion in town
disappear to. They are taken to the country, and there the lads in the
cowhide boots in winter and bare feet in summer pedal them up hill and
down, alike ignorant of and indifferent to the fact that their
much-cherished wheels are out of style.

The games the real country boys play are few, and would not be exciting
to the lads who exercise on the Berkeley Oval; but they are entirely
wholesome and harmless, and serve just as good a purpose as they would
if they were in what more sophisticated people call good form. Fun is,
to a great extent, a matter of education, and the same standard will not
serve to measure the amusements of all classes alike. This is a most
fortunate fact; and when I consider it I doubt whether in my own youth I
may not, after all, have had in my limited range as much genuine sport
as the lads I see in my neighbors' lawns, throwing off their gayly
striped blazers preparatory to trying their skill in the tennis-court
that has just been marked out.




THE DAISIES.

BY JOHN VANCE CHENEY.


  Daisies, once, in noonday dream,
  Heard I gossip by a stream,
  Secrecies too sweet to name;
  'Mong them, daisies, how you came
  By your shining skyey faces,
  Where you learned these magic paces.
  On a night, far, far away,
  Certain stars that loved to play
  In the pond across the way,
  At a signal--so they say--
  Put their beams out; what is more,
  One by one they slipped ashore.
  When their mates look from the sky.
  Now we know why every eye,
  Up and down this fairy ground,
  Plays go-sleepin' oh, so sound!
  Eyes and hearts of summer day,
  Daisies, you have run away.




THE SLAMBANGAREE.

(_In Two Parts._)

BY R. K. MUNKITTRICK.

Part I.


The other night Reginald was tossing about in his little bed, unable to
go to sleep. The dull monotonous ticking of the clock fell upon his ear
in a way that drove him almost mad, and the rain pattering upon the
window-pane added to his misery, and made him wish for the light of
morning as he had never wished for it before. And when the trees moaned
in the wind, it filled poor Reginald's mind with dire forebodings, and
caused him to bury his curly head deeper in the pillow to deaden the
weird refrain that rippled in the blinds with a sort of fiendish
playfulness.

And then he heard a soft footfall on the carpet, and, looking up, saw
the strangest creature he had ever set eye upon standing grinning by the
bedpost. At first Reginald was so frightened that he could say nothing;
but when he noticed that the creature didn't move, and that his grin
could not hurt him, he found his voice, and said, "Please, Mr. Robber--"

"Did you say robber?" asked the Presence, with angry emphasis.

"I did," replied Reginald, trembling violently; "but it was all your
fault, I meant to say Mr. Robertson, but you cut me short before I could
pronounce the last syllable."

"I will then pardon you," replied the Presence, which continued quickly,
as if to catch Reginald in a lie: "What did you intend to say after
robber?"

"I intended to say," replied Reginald, still trembling, "Mr. Robertson,
can you tell me what time it is. That clock doesn't strike, and I cannot
sleep. If I thought you to be a thief, I would ask you not to take my
new locomotive or boxwood tops."

"Very good," replied the Presence, as it took the grin off its face, and
holding an end in each hand, proceeded to stretch it this way and that,
until it was a yard long.

"Why, what a singularly large smile you have!" said Reginald, who by
this time had partially recovered his composure. "I never saw anything
like it before."

The Presence evidently felt complimented, and proceeded to entertain
Reginald further. It fastened one end of the grin to the bureau, and
walked to the opposite side of the room, with the other end in its hand.

"Oh, don't," cried Reginald; "it might break!"

But just then the Presence let go of the end it held in its hand, and
the grin flew across the room, and settled down to its size when in
repose, on the bureau.

"Oh, please put it on again," pleaded Reginald; "because it is so
becoming, and when it is off, you look so sad and homely."

So the Presence readjusted its grin, and looked just as it did when
Reginald had first beheld it.

"Will you kindly tell me what you are?" asked Reginald, who was really
at a loss for a question.

"With pleasure," replied the Presence; "because I am always ready to
show myself in my true colors, which are warranted never to fade or wash
out, and I am always ready to submit myself to the strictest critical
scrutiny." Then the Presence drew itself up proudly, and sang, to a
lively measure:

  "In reply to your question, so natural, I
  Shall be happy to make you a truthful reply,
  And inform you that I am a-roaming, care free,
  The sprite of the pudding, the Slambangaree.

  "Of the pudding of plum, when you've eaten too much,
  And you drop into sleep as the pillow you touch.
  Oh, you tumble about, and you snore, and you see
  Awful things, all produced by the Slambangaree.

  "But as now you can't sleep, this occasion I take
  All my antics to play on you while you're awake;
  And until your plum-pudding's digested, ah, me!
  You can bill no farewell to the Slambangaree.

"But now, if it is just the same to you, I will drop into plain every-day
prose. You see, it is just this way, to put it in a condensed form:
Myself and my fellow-Slambangarees are the sprites--or the fiends, if
you will--of the canned plum-pudding. From being slammed and banged
around so much in our cans we gain our name of Slambangaree. Now, you
see, to put it more clearly than I could do in song, after you have
eaten too much plum-pudding, against which I exhort you to refrain (for
it is better to be temperate in all things), you fall asleep, and have
awful nightmares--dream you are falling off houses, and all that sort of
thing. It is the mission of the Slambangaree to bring about this
condition of things. But as you cannot sleep to-night, I, the
Slambangaree representing the plum-pudding you have eaten, have come to
give you your nightmare while awake. My brother Slambangarees are taking
care of the others who devoured the rest of the plum-pudding, and not
until all that pudding is digested shall we be free disembodied
spirits."

Here the Slambangaree took off its grin and wiped its mouth, after which
the grin was readjusted with great care. Then it said, "I will now see
what you have in your pockets, for I am a little curious."

Then, while Reginald felt very anxious about the precious things in his
pockets, the Slambangaree's eyes became larger, and shot out of his head
and across the room, seeming to be attached to long wands.

"Those are the roots of my eyes," it remarked, playfully, as it shot its
eyeballs into the pockets of Reginald's trousers, and sang:

  "Two boxwood tops herein I see,
    A sling-shot and a knife,
  And a tin horn that unto me,
  With its uncanny witchery,
    A burden makes of life.

  "Here are two soldiers made of lead,
    And here a little boat,
  And seven agates, blue and red,
  Likewise the hind leg and the head
    Of a green candy goat."

Then the Slambangaree withdrew its eyes, as if satisfied with the result
of its investigations, and, as it did so, noticed Reginald's drum lying
on the floor. No sooner had it seen it than the roots of its eyes
suddenly lengthened, and it began to play a solo on it with its
eyeballs. As the rumpy-tum-tum filled the room, Reginald thought the
noise would alarm the house and bring some one to his rescue. But in
this he was mistaken. The Slambangaree played on until weary of the
sport.

"How long is this going to last?" asked Reginald.

"Until the pudding within you is digested; you must have patience--"

"I would rather have some pepsin tablets," said Reginald.

"I suppose so," replied the Slambangaree; "but you must never be upset
by yearning for the thing you haven't got, or you never will be happy. I
can only leave you, as I said before, when the pudding is digested. I
will therefore leave you by degrees. The better your digestion, the
sooner you will be rid of me. Now for the fun!"

Here the Slambangaree turned itself upside down and danced gracefully
all over the ceiling. While Reginald was looking on in open-mouthed
wonder, the Slambangaree reached down from the ceiling and lifted him
out of bed in its arms and capered all over the room with him, but never
bumped his head, although it floated under the bed with him, and jumped
from the mantel-piece to the clock and from the clock to the bureau with
great rapidity. When it dropped Reginald back into bed, it said,

"That was only to hurry your digestion."

"I would greatly prefer to let it take its time," replied Reginald.

Here the Slambangaree, not noticing what Reginald had said, took the
top-cord from the surprised boy's pocket, and seating itself on the
clock, threw one end of it into the water-pitcher. In another instant it
pulled out a great fish, which, when released, flew about the room like
a bird, for its fins were like wings.

[TO BE CONCLUDED.]




[Illustration: From Chum to Chum]

BY GASTON V. DRAKE.

XX.--FROM BOB TO JACK.


  HOME AGAIN.

     [Illustration]

     [Illustration]

     DEAR JACK,--Well its all over. We got to Hoboken, yesterday and
     thinking we'd seen all the foreign lands we cared to for a little
     while we decided not to stay there and came right through to
     Yonkers. Yonkers isn't such a bad place after all, but its queer:
     you can stay there a year and see it all in a day while those
     foreign cities you can stay in only a day when you couldn't see 'em
     in a year. Things seem to be arranged very queerly in this world.
     The kitten has turned into a cat four times too large for any use
     and my corn in the garden has grown so high it reminds me of the
     trees at Versailles.

     [Illustration]

     [Illustration]

     The trip home was pretty fine. We didn't find much to do at Genoa
     and with all due respect to Columbus's birthplace the only thing I
     particularly remember seeing there was a dead horse. The hotel was
     interesting. We had five rooms and one of 'em smelt like macaroni,
     another smelt like pie, the third smelt like cake, the fourth
     reminded me of the circus and we didn't keep the fifth. As for the
     house where Columbus lived we drove out to see it and that was the
     time I saw the dead horse. Columbus's house was a very poor sight,
     and between you and me I don't believe he ever lived there, because
     if he had he'd have gone into the business of selling cabbages the
     way everybody else in the neighborhood does instead of becoming a
     great discoverer, though I'll tell you one thing. If I'd had to
     live a week in that neighborhood I'd have wanted to be on the ocean
     for the rest of my natural life to get fresh air enough to carry me
     through. That's a queer thing about Italy. There's less fresh air
     to the square inch in Italy than there is anywhere else in the
     world. Pop says Italians most always sleep with their windows open
     and maybe that's the trouble. It is the closest country I ever was
     in.

     We got on board the _Werra_ Thursday morning and she's a great
     ship. Aunt Sarah says the only thing against her is the band that
     plays all through dinner, but Pop doesn't think so. He says the
     band is a good investment because it keeps people from eating and
     hasn't been known to blow a ship to pieces, which is a great thing
     considering the band. I liked the music. Why one night I was
     feeling pretty mean when the sausages were served, and I wanted to
     go up on deck and the band began to play the Washington Post March,
     and it settled my stomick right away. Besides the officers aren't
     so great but what they can notice kids. I got to know every officer
     on the boat from the deck steward down to the Captain, and when
     they weren't on duty they were fine; but on duty--my--you'd have
     thought the world depended on 'em. I tell you, Jack, I liked
     Chesterfield, and I liked the officers on the _New York_, but if a
     _Werra_ man chose to throw me overboard I wouldn't care because I'd
     _know_ he'd get me home safe and was looking after me whatever he
     did, whether the band played or not. You are ten and I'm nine but
     we can size up fellows just the same, and when it comes to sizing
     up, give me Captain Pohle and Captain Polack. They can have me for
     a cabin-boy or anything else. I'll get home safe as long as I'm
     with them and I won't have to wear rubbers either.

     After leaving Genoa we sailed through a sea so blue that you could
     imagine the red and white and the stars and the stripes. It's
     called the Mediterranean and it reminds me more of America than any
     sea I've seen. It's pleasant. It sort of winks at you when the sun
     shines, but its as independent as if it was an ocean.

     After we sailed about two days through this beautiful blue water we
     came to Gibraltar, and how it does stick up out of the water! A big
     insurance building is very noble in a city but Gibraltar beats
     everything I ever saw. It just sticks itself up and says look at me
     and whether you want to look at it or not you've got to. It's like
     Pop when he's nervous. You've got to do what he says and not say a
     word. Every time I've seen anything over here I've had something to
     say, but when I took in that bit of rock, I wanted to go off and
     sit in a chair and not move for five minutes. Aunt Sarah was the
     same way, and that's saying lots.

     And if we hadn't gone ashore it would have been all right, but we
     did go ashore and then it seemed different. Pop took me to see a
     comic opera once, and Gibraltar reminded me of it. Everybody wore a
     costume and when we'd meet a man dressed up like an Arab we'd stop
     to see if maybe he wasn't going to sing a song. Nobody did though
     and everybody walked along as if they were going to market in
     Yonkers and didn't know they were at Gibraltar, which I think is
     awfully queer, but it has made me think that maybe when I think
     there's nothing to see in Yonkers its because I'm so used to it
     that I forget it all.

     There were lots of boys selling matches and grapes and flowers at
     Gibraltar and Pop threw away a beautiful coin collection buying
     everything he could find. They take any kind of money there. But
     after it was all over and we were back on the _Werra_ again and
     sailing towards home, I forgot all about everything except the rock
     and how it just made you hold your breath and wonder how on earth
     Spain ever let England have it.

     And that's all about the trip. We're home and nothings happened.
     After seeing Gibraltar I'm not going to waste my ink describing
     Hoboken--but I will tell you one thing; when you've travelled all
     around the way we have and seen lots of beautiful places and
     beautiful things, and then come back home you're just as glad after
     all that you live home instead of abroad. The people on the streets
     at home look better and happier, and somehow or other the world
     doesn't seem quite so much in need of an airing as it does abroad.

     Good-by for the present. Next time either of us goes anywhere I
     move we start up a correspondence again, for whether you've enjoyed
     this one or not I have.

  Always yours       BOB.

[Illustration]




[Illustration: L. D. Waddell, r.f. F. H. Croker, 3.b.

R. A. Kinne, c.f. A. R. T. Hillebrand, p. A. Barnwell, Jun., sub.

I. J. French, s.s. J. Wentworth, l.f. R. M. Barton, Capt. and 1.b. A. S.
Goodwin, c. F. L. Quinby, 2.b.

THE PHILLIPS ACADEMY, ANDOVER, BASEBALL TEAM.]

[Illustration: BASCOM JOHNSON,

Worcester Academy.]

[Illustration: A. N. RICE,

Noble's School, Boston.]

[Illustration: INTERSCHOLASTIC SPORT]


An unusually small crowd turned out to witness the New England
Interscholastics on Holmes Field a week ago Friday. The meeting,
however, proved an exceptionally good one, and although but few records
were broken, the general standard of performance was uniformly
excellent. The figures were changed in the mile bicycle, half-mile run,
and pole vault, and those equalled were the 120-yard hurdle and the
320-yard flat.

Worcester Academy won the meet, with English High second, and Andover
third. Worcester High, last year's champions, landed in eighth place.
The day was warm and still, without being sultry; just an ideal day for
record-breaking. The track was in excellent condition. The standards set
by the Executive Committee of the N.E.I.S.A.A., which must be attained
by the athletes who are to be sent to the National Games, Saturday, were
equalled or excelled in all but two events--the mile walk and the
shot--and as it is well known that the winners of both these events are
capable of at least equalling those standards, it was determined by
special vote to send them to New York. It will be seen, too, that in
every event in which the conditions are similar to those obtaining at
the recent New York Interscholastics, with the exceptions of the hammer
and the quarter, the New England records are superior. Verily these New
England boys will be a hard crowd to beat!

The first event on the programme was the 100-yard dash. Jones of Andover
won, in 10-2/5 sec., with Robinson of W. A. second, and Kane of E. H.-S.
third. Jones tied the record, 22-2/5 sec., in the 220. Robinson and Kane
drew second and third places. The half-mile was the best performance of
the day. About fifteen started, and ran in a bunch for a lap. Then
Hanson, E.H.-S., let himself out, followed closely by Albertson, W. H.,
and Gaskill, P. A. A. Hanson's pace proved too much for the others, and
when he turned into the homestretch he was leading by twenty yards, and
seemed to be adding a little with every stride. He finished in excellent
form, having lowered the record from 2 m. 5-1/5 sec. to 2 m. 1-1/5 sec.
There was a pretty race for second place. Albertson, last year's
champion, finally got it by a narrow margin over Gaskill.

A big field started in the mile run. Mills of Berkeley took the pole and
held it throughout. He gave a fine exhibition of running, and won in the
fast time of 4 m. 33-4/5 sec.; but he was so far superior to the others
that as a race the event was a failure. Sullivan of W. H. was second,
and Palmer of Andover a good third. When the time was announced, it was
thought that the record had been broken, as Laing's time was down on the
score-card as 4 m. 34-2/5 sec., but on investigation it was found that
Laing's record was 4 m. 32-2/5 sec.

The best race of the meet was in the final heat of the 440. Bascom
Johnson, W. A., took the lead, followed by Warren, C. H. and L., and
Whitcomb, P. E. A. They held this order until the turn into the
homestretch. Then Johnson let out a little, and won by a scant five
yards. Warren was plugging along, trying to save second place from the
smaller Whitcomb, but Whitcomb gained surely, step by step, and plunged
across the line second.

Hallowell of Hopkinson's won his heat in the high hurdles in 17-2/5
sec., equalling Hoyt's old record, which has stood since 1893. Edmands
of W. A., who was booked to win the event, had a streak of his usual
hard luck, and got mixed up with a hurdle in his heat. The final was an
exciting race. Shirk of W. A. proved equal to the emergency of winning
in default of Edmands, although it was only in the short dash for the
tape that he managed to slip by Hallowell, who had made an unfortunate
stumble. Cady of Andover drew third place. Converse of E. H.-S, won the
low hurdles, as was expected. His time was 27 secs. Peters of Andover
was a good second, and MacDonald of Chelsea ran third.

New England. I.S.A.A. Games, Holmes Field, Cambridge, June 5, 1896.

  Event.                       Winner.              Performance.
  100-yard dash              Jones, P.A.                 10-2/5 sec.
  220-yard dash              Jones, P.A.                 22-3/5  "
  Quarter-mile run           Johnson, W.A.               52-3/5  "
  Half-mile run              Hanson, E.H.-S.       2 m.   1-1/5  "
  One-mile run               Mills, Berk.          4 "   33-4/5  "
  120-yard hurdles           Shirk, P.A.                 17-2/5  "
  220-yard hurdles           Converse, E.H.-S.           27      "
  One-mile walk              O'Toole, E.H.-S.      7 "   43      "
  One-mile bicycle           Boardman, Noble's.    2 "   35-4/5  "
  Two-mile bicycle           -------------
  Running high jump          Rice, Noble's.        5 ft.  7-1/4 in.
  Running broad jump         Hersey, W.A.         21  "   5      "
  Pole vault                 Johnson, W.A.        10  "   9      "
  Throwing 16-lb. hammer     -------------
  Throwing 12-lb. hammer     Boyce. B.H.-S       122  "   1      "
  Putting 16-lb. shot        Heath, Hop.          36  "   7      "
  Putting 12-lb. shot        -------------

Connecticut H.-S.A.A. Games, Yale Field, New Haven, June 8, 1896.

  Event.                        Winner.                Performance.
  100-yard dash             Luce, H.P.H.-S.                10-2/5 sec.
  220-yard dash             Morris, H.P.H.-S.              23-3/5  "
  Quarter-mile run          Morris, H.P.H.-S.              52-4/5  "
  Half-mile run             Bradin, H.P.H.-S.        2 m.  10
  One-mile run              Twitchell, H.S.          5 "   13-4/5  "
  120-yard hurdles          Ellsworth, H.S.                17-2/5  "
  220-yard hurdles          Ellsworth, H.S.                27-2/5  "
  One-mile walk             Eelk, H.S.               7 "   11-3/5  "
  One-mile bicycle          -------------
  Two-mile bicycle          Rutz, H.H.-S.            5 "   26-2/5  "
  Running high jump         Sturtevant, H.P.H.-S.    5 ft.  6     in.
  Running broad jump        Brown, H.S.             19  "   8-1/2  "
  Pole vault                Sturtevant, H.P.H.-S.   10  "     1/2  "
  Throwing 16-lb. hammer    Ingalls, H.P.H.-S.     118  "   2-3/4  "
  Throwing 12-lb. hammer    -------------
  Putting 16-lb. shot       Ingalls, H.P.H.-S.      34  "   2-1/2  "
  Putting 12-lb. shot       -------------

New Jersey I.S.A.A. Games, Bergen Point, New Jersey, June 6, 1896.

  Event.                       Winner.        Performance.
  100-yard dash             Sulzer, P.S.             10-4/5 sec.
  220-yard dash             Sulzer, P.S.             24-2/5  "
  Quarter-mile run          Manvel, P.S.             54-1/5  "
  Half-mile run             -------------
  One-mile run              Adams, N.A. }      5 m.  27-2/5  "
                            Myers, P.S. }
  120-yard hurdles          -------------
  220-yard hurdles          Plum, N.A.               29-4/5  "
  One-mile walk             Adams, N.A.        8 "   20-3/5  "
  One-mile bicycle          Pager, M.H.-S.     2 "   58-2/5  "
  Two-mile bicycle          -------------
  Running high jump         Jones, N.A.        5 ft.  3-3/4 in.
  Running broad jump        Jones, N.A.       19  "   2-1/2  "
  Pole vault                Smith, P.H.-S.     9  "   3      "
  Throwing 16-lb. hammer    -------------
  Throwing 12-lb. hammer    Smith, P.H.-S.    96  "   4-1/2  "
  Putting 16-lb. shot       -------------
  Putting 12-lb. shot       Smith, P.H.-S.    37  "   2      "

     ABBREVIATIONS:--P.A., Phillips Andover Academy; W.A., Worcester
     Academy; E.H.-S., Boston English High-School; Berk., Berkeley
     School, Boston; Noble's, of Boston; B.H.-S., Brookline High-School;
     H.P.H.-S., Hartford Public High-School; H.S., Hotchkiss School,
     Lakeville; H.H.-S., Hillhouse High-School, New Haven; P.S.,
     Pingry's School, Elizabeth; N.A., Newark Academy; P.H.-S.,
     Plainfield High-School; M.H.-S., Montclair High-School.

O'Toole of E. H.-S. won the mile walk, with 70 yards to spare, and, as
usual, got through without a caution. Mallette, B. L. S., was ruled off,
after a hard brush with O'Toole on the third lap. Lockwood of W. A. got
second, and Mohan of E. H.-S. third.

The mile bicycle was a genuine race, and, strange to say, proved
exciting. Stone of Andover was thrown in his trial heat. Lincoln of
B. L. S., who was looked upon as the next best entry, met with an
accident in the final. Then a pretty race began among Boardman of
Noble's, Warnock of C. H. and L., and Hardy of Hopkinson's. They
finished in that order, Warnock breaking away from a bad pocket just in
time to spurt for second place.

The field events developed uniformly high performances. Rice of Noble's
won the high jump, after a close contest; his height was 5 ft. 7-1/4
in.; Perry of Andover was second, with 5 ft. 6 in.; Lorrimer (Mechanics
Arts), Howe (W.A.), and Phillips (Noble's), tied for third. Hersey of
W.A. won the broad jump with a performance of 21 ft. 5-1/2 in.; within
half an inch of Brewer's record made in 1890; Theman, W.A., was second
with 21 ft. 4 in.; and Prouty, P. E. A., third, 21 ft. 1 in., making
this event much more even and creditable than usual. Bascom Johnson,
W.A., added two inches to his own record of 10 ft. 7 in. in the pole
vault, beating out Clapp of Williston, who vaulted 10 ft. 6 in.; Kendall
of W.A. and Prouty were tied for third. Boyce of B. H.-S. won the
hammer, throwing it 122 ft. 1 in.; Edmands was second, 117 ft.; and
Shaw, Hopkinson's, third, with 105 ft. O'Brien, E. H.-S., failed in the
shot, putting it only 36 ft. 2 in.; Heath, Hopkinson's, surprised the
crowd by doing 36 ft. 7 in.; Edmands was able to do only 34 ft. 2-1/2
in.

The Hartford High-School track team won first place at the Connecticut
High-School games a week ago Saturday for the sixth time in the history
of the association. There were only five schools entered, and Hartford
took the pennant with 51 points, Hotchkiss School coming second, with
37. Five records were broken--the 100-yard dash, the walk, the high
jump, the hammer, and the pole vault.

[Illustration: F. C. INGALLS.

Hartford High-School.]

[Illustration: F. R. STURTEVANT.

Hartford High-School.]

The star performers of the day were Morris, Sturtevant, Ingalls, and
Luce of Hartford, and Ellsworth of Hotchkiss. The 100 was taken by Luce
in .10-2/5, with Morris and Pendleton behind him. The 220 was a race
among these same men, but on this occasion Morris won after a sharp
tussle with Luce, who came second, with Pendleton again third, the time
being .23-3/5. Morris took another first by winning the quarter. This
race had been conceded to Luce beforehand, but his work before he came
to the scratch had taken a good deal out of him, and consequently he was
not so fresh as Morris. The latter ran a very clever race, and finished
strong, with Luce only about four feet behind him, in .52-4/5, Cheney
being a good third.

Bradin's winning of the half-mile was somewhat of a surprise, the
knowing ones thinking the event would go to Kearney. Bradin took the
lead about half-way around the track on the first lap, and kept it to
the tape. Kearney hung back with Luce, fearing him, and when the spurt
came he was unable to overcome Bradin's long lead. Bradin's time was 2
min. 10 sec., and I am told that in practice he has frequently done 2
min. 5 sec.

The time in the mile was exceedingly slow. Breed of Hartford burst out
ahead of the bunch at the beginning of the third lap, and was ahead
until within 75 yards of the finish, when the two Hotchkiss men,
Twitchell and Fox, dashed ahead, and won in that order. The walk went to
Eelk of Hotchkiss, who finished some fifty yards ahead of Blakeslee. The
time was 7 min. 11-3/5 sec., which is better than any other
interscholastic performance that I know of.

Both the hurdles went to Ellsworth of Hotchkiss, who cleared the
obstacles in excellent form, and is undoubtedly one of the cleverest
hurdlers in the schools to-day. In his trial heat for the shorter
distance his time was 17-1/5 sec.

Both the hammer and the shot went to Ingalls of Hartford, as had been
anticipated. He surpassed himself in the first event, throwing 118 ft.
2-3/4 in., but in the shot his performance was less noteworthy, his best
put being 34 ft. 2-1/2 in. He will be a factor in the National Games
next Saturday. Sturtevant took the high jump, clearing 5 ft. 6 in., with
Goodwin second. He can do much better than this, his record being 5 ft.
9-1/2 in., but he was not pushed on this occasion. Sturtevant also took
the pole vault, clearing 10 ft. 1/2 in., with Hixon second.

The most exciting race of the day was the two-mile bicycle. In the first
heat Strong's chain broke and threw him, and three other men ran into
him and spilled. Lycett of Hartford was the only man in the heat who was
not thrown, and was about half a lap ahead when the first man of the
tumblers had mounted again. By the time Strong had secured another wheel
Lycett was coming on him a lap to the good, but Strong pushed off, and
before the heat was finished he had passed every one but the leader, and
finished a close second to Lycett. In the finals, although badly bruised
from his fall, he finished second to Ruiz, Hillhouse High, who won in 5
min. 26-2/5 sec.

The New Jersey Interscholastic A.A. is one of the new leagues brought
into existence by the formation of the National I.S.A.A., and it is
probably one of the strongest, and certainly one of the most promising,
of all of them. Its first field meeting was held on the grounds of the
New Jersey Athletic Club, at Bergen Point, a week ago Saturday, and some
very creditable performances resulted. Hitherto our knowledge as to the
capabilities of New Jersey school-boy athletes has been drawn from the
performances of individuals in open games given by New York schools.
The result of this field meeting shows that there is a high general
average of proficiency among the teams of the New Jersey League.

The meet was won by Newark Academy, whose team scored 40-1/2 points;
Pingry's School of Elizabeth was a very close second, with 35-1/2
points. Then came Plainfield High, with 27, and Montclair High, with 14;
Stevens' Prep, of Hoboken did not score.

The star performers of the day were G. P. Smith, of Plainfield High, who
scored a triple win, taking both the weight events and the pole vault,
and finished second in the low hurdles; J. P. Adams, of Newark, and
C. T. Meyers, of Pingry's, who finished a dead heat in the mile walk;
and S. H. Plum, Jun., of Newark, who ran a beautiful race in the
hurdles. The firsts and seconds in each event will represent the
Association at the National games next Saturday, and there is every
reason to expect that New Jersey's name will figure in the point
schedule.

Lawrenceville defeated Andover in their annual baseball game, which was
played at Lawrenceville on Friday, June 5. The score was 10-2, and
Lawrenceville played an almost errorless game. The Andover men did not
appear to be in very good condition when they walked on the field,
seeming slightly tired from their journey, and their play showed, in
addition, that a number of the players had not been as thoroughly
coached in their duties as they might have been.

The Lawrenceville batters found the ball in the early part of the game,
Hillebrand being ineffective during the first inning, whereas Arrott,
who was in the box for the home team, never pitched a better game. He
struck out only seven men, however, to Hillebrand's nine, but only four
hits were obtained off him to ten off Hillebrand.

The weakest playing for Andover was done by the short-stop and the whole
out-field, they being responsible for eight errors, which let in five
runs. Fumbles and muffs covered most of the errors, and of course the
Lawrenceville players took advantage of every occasion. Goodwin,
Andover's catcher, is an excellent player, and allowed only two bases to
be stolen off him. The Andover men did not try to steal bases on Kafer,
the Lawrenceville catcher, after having failed on the first attempt. The
latter played a star game, and captained the team in perfect style. He
will be a valuable acquisition to the Princeton nine next year.

Only seven Andover men reached first base. Their two runs were made in
the seventh inning, when Barton knocked a home run, which brought in
Croker. Lawrenceville's scoring was done in the first, third, fifth,
sixth, and seventh innings. Hastie, their right-fielder, who has not
made an error this year, knocked out two singles and a home run. Three
of Lawrenceville's thus were let in by Wentworth, Andover's
left-fielder, who allowed a base hit to be stretched into a home run by
letting the ball roll by him. Most of the other points were earned by
hard and timely hitting.

Never before this year have the Lawrenceville players shown so much
head-work in batting as they did on this occasion. Andover, on the other
hand, resorted to bunting, trying in that way to advance men on first
base, but they were almost always unsuccessful. Besides the good work of
the Lawrenceville battery--Arrott and Kafer--good work was done by
Righter at second base, who played a first-rate game, accepting every
chance offered, and he had many. The out-field work was almost flawless,
and it is very probable that if Hastie had not been playing so close up
to the infield, Barton's home run might have been pulled down
considerably.

  THE GRADUATE.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Round Table Fund.

The vote in favor of turning over the money in hand to the trustees of
Good Will Farm seems to be unanimous. And hence, in accordance with
these instructions a formal transfer will be prepared, to be placed in
the hands of these trustees. This transfer will set forth, 1, That the
money is to be known as the Round Table Fund; 2, That it is to be
invested and the proceeds used to help one or more students at Good
Will, the application of said income to be left wholly to the trustees.
There is to be, we believe, a girl's department at Good Will, and the
trustees are to be left free to apply the income of the Fund toward the
support and education of a girl, if their judgment at any time approves;
3, The memorials, originally intended to buy stones for the school
building foundation, will be indicated in the transfer, the name of each
person or Chapter being mentioned.

Details of this plan will be carried out at once, and the formal
correspondence and the deed of transfer published here.

       *       *       *       *       *

DON'T WORRY YOURSELF

and don't worry the baby; avoid both unpleasant conditions by giving the
child pure, digestible food. Don't use solid preparations. _Infant
Health_ is a valuable pamphlet for mothers. Send your address to the New
York Condensed Milk Company, N.Y.--[_Adv._]




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Commencing June 6, our store will close at 12 o'clock Saturdays during
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[Illustration: ROYAL BAKING POWDER]

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THE MOST PERFECT OF PENS.




[Illustration]

Reader: Have you seen the

[Illustration: Franklin]

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

[Illustration: Square]

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

[Illustration: Collection]

Sold Everywhere. Price, 50 cents; Cloth, $1.00. Full contents, with
Specimen Pages mailed, without cost, on application to

Harper & Brothers, New York.




[Illustration: THOMPSON'S EYE WATER]




[Illustration: BICYCLING]

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


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

One of the best trips in New England is to start from Hartford,
Connecticut, run out through the northwestern corner of the State into
Massachusetts, through Great Barrington, Lenox, and Pittsfield, and
either to Springfield or back to Hartford or to the Hudson River. It is
one of the best routes in the Berkshire Hills, and though there are some
severe climbs, the varied scenery, the attractive towns, and the good
roads make up for the few hills that must be walked. This route we shall
give in the next two weeks.

Leaving Hartford at the City Hall, run along Main Street, and follow the
car tracks upwards of half a mile. At Albany Avenue turn to the left,
and you will find the road direct to Talcott in good condition and with
few hills, until you have passed Hartford Reservoir No. 2, where there
is a steep climb over the hill by Talcott and down into Avon. It is
impossible to ride this hill, and you must walk about half a mile.
Unless you are somewhat used to riding, you are strongly advised to walk
down part of the hill to Avon, though with great care it may be ridden.
Cross the railroad at Avon, and run direct five miles to Canton. There
are a few hills along this part of the road, but as the road-bed is in
fairly good condition they can all be easily ridden.

At Canton bear to the left and cross Farmington River, turning to the
right and running up the west bank close by the railroad into New
Hartford, always following the river and the railroad, sometimes between
the two and sometimes to the west of the path. Turn finally, after
passing Greenwood Pond, to the left of the fork, keeping to the railroad
and leaving the river. There are one or two pretty steep hills here.
Pleasant Valley, through which you pass next, is easy riding, and
Winsted is soon reached. From Winsted to Canaan is very hilly in parts,
and the rider is advised to walk up many of the hills. Leaving Long Lake
on the left, follow the railroad out to Colebrook; then keep to the
right at the fork, through Mill Brook--where there are some bad hills
around Burr Mountain--leaving Bigelow Pond on the right, to the depot at
Norfolk. Turn to the right at Norfolk, run out by Mill Pond, and take
the left fork, running along the valley through West Norfolk to East
Canaan, where, crossing the railroad, bear to the left, and follow the
railroad itself into Canaan, crossing it once more before entering the
town. Canaan is a somewhat extensive town, and there are good
accommodations for the night. The distance is forty-one miles from
Hartford.

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




[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.


Yes, my dears, I agree with you that the weather is warm. It was cold
not so very long ago; and whether cold or whether warm, we must take it
as it comes. To complain about the weather, to fret over it, to fuss and
to fidget, and make everybody else as well as ourselves uncomfortable in
consequence, is very stupid.

I have generally found that the heat or the cold, the wet weather or the
dry, the windy or the cloudy day, affected me very little if I went
calmly on and made the best of it. One's work should occupy one's
thoughts and hands so fully that one has no time to be troubled about
surroundings of atmosphere. The busy girl is happier than the indolent
girl for the reason that her mind is taken up with something worth
while.

A little caution about fans. Don't fan so vigorously that you put
yourself into a heat by the exertion. Never fan the back of your
friend's neck if you are sitting behind her. Fan with a gentle steady
motion, so that waves of air strike your own face, but not so that you
send icy shivers down your neighbor's spine.

On a very sultry day nothing is gained by drinking a great deal of
ice-water. The more one drinks, the more thirsty one grows. A little
water held in the mouth a moment, and allowed to trickle slowly down the
throat, will relieve thirst more effectually than a gobletful hastily
tossed off.

I wonder if my girls are careful, in these sultry days, of the comfort
of their pets? The dog and cat grow thirsty, and cannot help themselves,
as we can. The little singing-bird droops if it has not fresh water for
its bath and in its drinking-cup. Pets are a dear delight, but they must
be looked after every day, and whoever undertakes the responsibility of
making their little lives happy must have them on her mind. It is
surprising to watch the growth of intelligence in birds when they are
daily and lovingly cared for. Of course we expect intelligence in the
dog and the cat, but the bird seems less responsive; yet nobody who
loves a canary or a parrot, or any other caged though contented captive,
will fail to see its wonderful powers if it is cared for gently.

The question comes up every summer, how shall we best keep our homes
cool during the sultry part of the day? Shall we close them and shut out
the heat, or simply darken them and allow the air to come in? My way has
been to open every window, both at the top and at the bottom, early in
the morning, flooding the house with the sweet cool air. Then, about ten
o'clock, or earlier, close the windows, except for a few inches at the
bottom, and fasten shutters and blinds so that they will not fly open.
Darken every room which you are not using until the sun goes down. But
do not sit to read, sew, or practise in the dark. Your eyes need plenty
of light. When you go into the darkened rooms, do so to rest, not to
work.

Lottie and Carrie ask if I like flowers on the table. Why, certainly.
Flowers should always form a part of the table decoration, and one does
not need a great many. A few roses in a bowl, a bunch of white pinks
with some green leaves, daisies with their glory of white and gold,
ferns, whatever you can most conveniently obtain at the moment, will
adorn your table well. Only bear in mind that withering, dying flowers
are an offence, and not a pleasure. You must have your flowers fresh
every day, and the daughter of the house is the one who should attend to
this, relieving her mother of every thought on the subject.

  MARGARET E. SANGSTER.

       *       *       *       *       *

That Fatal Letter.

The message was formed of all the words found in the letter that had
more than one way of spelling, and also more than one meaning. Single
letters were also used in the same way. Of these there was, however, but
one, "R." The "H" was used simply to increase the difficulty of getting
the clew. Connective words, of course, were omitted from the message. It
was noticed, doubtless, that great care was used in avoiding in certain
places words of double meaning and spelling. The awkwardness of this
construction was the only clew, as where the letter said, "A man _of_
this town," "in" being the more natural word, but, of course, according
to the plan of the letter, not allowable in that place.

"Your guilt is seen. You are chased. I sent draft to Belle Isle. Meet me
there. Flee or you die."




ADVERTISEMENTS.




[Illustration: _What is bicycle tubing made of?_]

_Only one way to know. Buy_

[Illustration: Columbia Bicycles]

STANDARD OF THE WORLD

Every foot of Columbia tubing is made in our own mills from carefully
selected and tested high-carbon steel and nickel steel. Columbia tubing
is the strongest and best in the world.

Art Catalogue free if you call upon the agent, or by mail from us for
two 2-cent stamps.

POPE MFG. CO.

Hartford, Conn.

Branch Houses and Agencies are almost everywhere. If Columbias are not
properly represented in your vicinity, let us know.

       *       *       *       *       *

All Columbia Bicycles are fitted with

HARTFORD SINGLE-TUBE TIRES

UNLESS DUNLOP TIRES ARE ASKED FOR.

WE KNOW NO TIRES SO GOOD AS HARTFORDS.




[Illustration: Hartford SINGLE-TUBE Tires]

THE ORIGINAL SINGLE-TUBES

are made of proper rubber, proper fabric, properly put together--proper
tires in every way. Make bicycling pleasure absolute.

Hartford Tires are furnished with most bicycles of highest grade. Can be
had on any.

THE HARTFORD RUBBER WORKS CO.

HARTFORD, CONN.

New York. Philadelphia. Chicago.




[Illustration]

EARN A TRICYCLE.

We wish to introduce our Teas. Sell 30 lbs. and we will give you a Fairy
Tricycle; sell 25 lbs. for a Solid Silver Watch and Chain; 50 lbs. for a
Gold Watch and Chain; 75 lbs for a Bicycle; 10 lbs. for a Gold Ring.
Write for catalog and order sheet Dept. I

W. G. BAKER,

Springfield, Mass.




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.




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

HARPER'S

PERIODICALS

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




[Illustration: THOMPSON'S EYE WATER]




[Illustration: THE CAMERA CLUB]

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

HOW TO PREPARE GOLD FOR USE IN PHOTOGRAPHY.


Several queries have been sent to the editor recently asking how to
prepare gold for photographic use. Gold is one of the chemical elements.
Its symbol is "Au," the first two letters of the word aurum, the Latin
name for gold. Gold is used in photography in the form of chloride of
gold. To make chloride of gold, pure gold is dissolved in a mixture of
nitric and hydrochloric (muriatic) acid. This mixture is called
"aqua-regia," from its being the only known solvent of gold. It is made
by mixing one part of nitric acid, two parts of muriatic acid, and three
parts of water. Gold dissolves very readily in this mixture.

Chloride of gold may be made from gold-leaf (such as is used by
dentists), gold coins, scraps of gold ornaments, etc. Where the amateur
prepares his own gold about half the expense is saved. Put the gold into
a glass vessel and pour over it eight times its weight of aqua-regia.
Set the vessel in a dish of hot water, and let it stand on the back of
the stove till the gold is entirely dissolved. Pour the solution into a
porcelain crucible, and subject to heat till all the free acid is
evaporated or driven off. After the acid is evaporated, add three or
four drachms of distilled water and evaporate again. When the water is
evaporated, enough distilled water must be added to make the solution up
to a standard strength--one grain of gold to three drachms of water. If
twenty-four grains of pure gold are used, add nine ounces of distilled
water. Keep this solution in a dark place or in an opaque bottle. The
bottle may be wrapped in black needle-paper, which will also protect it
from the light.

Gold coins and jewelry contain more or less alloy, but this does not
seem to affect the print in any way. One grain of gold will tone from
twenty to twenty-five cabinet prints. The chemical formula for chloride
of gold is AuCl_{3}, meaning that a molecule of chloride of gold
contains one atom of gold and three atoms of chlorine. In order to
preserve the gold chloride longer, it is usually prepared with salt, and
is called chloride of gold and sodium. It is in this form that it is
sold for use in photographic work, the pure chloride of gold attracting
and absorbing moisture from the air.

The chloride of gold and sodium is prepared by dissolving common salt in
a solution of chloride of gold and then evaporating the solution. Sodium
chloro-aurate is also another name for this salt. Chloride of sodium is
common salt, and the chemical formula is NaCl, meaning that it is
composed of one part natrium (the Latin name for sodium) and one part
chlorine. The chemical formula for chloride of gold and sodium is NaCl,
AuCl_{3}+2H_{2}O, meaning that it is composed of one molecule of
chloride of sodium, one molecule of chloride of gold, to which are added
(+) two molecules of water. The chemical formula is also written in this
way: NaAuCl_{4}+2H_{2}O. When chloride of gold and sodium is used for
toning, a larger quantity by weight must be used than when the pure
chloride of gold is used.

A stock solution may be prepared by adding 15 grains of chloride of gold
and sodium to 7-1/2 oz. of water. (By a "stock solution" is meant a
solution that keeps for a long time, and may therefore be prepared in a
large quantity.)

The toning-bath is made by taking 3-1/2 oz. of water and pouring in the
gold solution till the mixture will turn blue litmus-paper red. (About
half an ounce will be sufficient.) To this mixture add bicarbonate of
soda until it turns the red litmus back to blue. This bath should be
prepared about half an hour before it is needed for toning. A saturated
solution (see first paper on simple chemistry) should be made of
bicarbonate of soda, and kept in stock.

Bicarbonate of soda is a fine white powder, soluble in ten parts of
water. It is used for neutralizing the excess of acid in gold
toning-baths. Natural deposits of bicarbonate of soda are found in
Africa, where it is called "trona," and in South America, where it is
called "urao." Its chemical formula is HNaCO_{3}.

Names of chemical elements mentioned and their atomic weight:

                                            Atomic
  Chemical Element.             Symbol.     Weight.
  Carbon                          C           12
  Chlorine                        Cl          35.5
  Gold (Latin name Aurum)         Au         196
  Hydrogen (standard weight)      H           11
  Oxygen                          O           12
  Sodium (Latin name Natrium)     Na          23

Hydrogen is the lightest substance known, and an atom of hydrogen is
used as the standard weight by which all other atoms of the chemical
elements are weighed.

     SIR KNIGHT SILAS LEON SMITH, New Orleans, La., asks for a formula
     for making paper which can be exposed in the camera like a plate.
     Calotype-paper is probably the paper which Sir Silas says he has
     seen described, and which produces a positive picture when exposed
     in the camera. The process is too long to describe in the space
     devoted to the "Answers to Querists," but the formula may be found
     in _Wilson's Cyclopedia of Photography_, which is in most public
     libraries. Sir Silas sends a formula for sensitizing paper to
     produce a red image, for which he will please accept thanks. The
     formula will soon be published in the Camera Club, and credit
     given.

     SIR KNIGHT FRANK EVANS, JUN., sends the following formula for
     developer, which he recommends both for plates and for bromide
     paper.

     EIKONOGEN DEVELOPER.

     NO. 1.
  Sulphite of Soda (Crystals)   3 oz.
  Hot Water                    45  "

     Thoroughly dissolve, then add 1 oz. of eikonogen.

     No. 2.
  Sal Soda       4 oz.
  Water         15  "

     To develop, take of No. 1, 3 oz.; No. 2, 1 oz.

     This developer can be used over again.

       *       *       *       *       *

Questions and Answers.

Irving R. Kenyon asks what paper should be used and what rules should be
followed by persons submitting manuscripts to editors. It is not a
matter of paper or rules that determines the value of poetry or prose
articles. True, there are a few rules, but they are those dictated by
convenience chiefly. For instance, write on one side of the paper only.
Do not roll manuscripts. Fold them. Use common letter-paper, any
convenient size. Write plainly, punctuate according to your judgment,
and insert paragraphs where needed. If you can do so, have your
manuscript typewritten. This is not a condition to its acceptance;
merely a more easily read form for it. Put your name and full address at
the top of the first sheet. A long letter to the editor is unnecessary.
You can say that the manuscript is submitted at the publisher's regular
rates, if you wish. These rates vary from 1/2 to 3 cents per word, with
perhaps 1 cent per word as the average. Newspapers pay by the column,
but rarely more than 1/8 cent per word. Anything beyond these simple
rules is needless. Whether or not your production is accepted depends on
many conditions: Its merit; its suitability to the publication to which
you send it; the supply of such matter which the editor has already in
hand, etc.

Archibald R. Smith asks if there is a national flower, and if there is
none, which is the favorite American flower? There is no national
flower, and no pronouncedly favorite one. Efforts are always making to
have a flower selected as the national one, but they meet with
indifferent success. Everybody seems busy, and there is no authority
competent to decide, save, perhaps, Congress, and that is busier than
the rest of us. The golden-rod and the rose have, we believe, their
partisans. Harry R. Harbeck, 183 Elm Street, Albany. N. Y., is
interested in photography, and wants to hear from others who have
amateur photographs of interesting spots near their homes. He has many
good Albany views. Edward C. Wood, 156 School Lane, Germantown,
Philadelphia, Pa., is well posted on the medals and souvenirs prepared
to sell to visitors to the United States Mint in his city, and kindly
offers to procure for members any of them at actual cost. There are
fac-similes of the Liberty Bell and medals bearing the Lord's Prayer.

Forest Gaines, 703 North State Street, Champaign, Ill., wants to buy
Nos. 644 and 655, March 1 and May 17, 1892, HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE. T. J.
Pleavin, 61 Bland Street, Alexandra Park, Manchester, England, wants to
hear from members describing their home scenery, industries, and
interests, and he promises to reply in the same line. E. Raymond
Jefferis is informed that the Table has at present no badges in stock.
If new ones are in hand in future, due notice will be given on this
page. David Blondheim says he has read _Recreations in Botany_,
recommended in the "Handy Book," and now asks for definitions of genus,
family, species, and classes. Genus is a group, having so many points of
structure in common that they receive a common name. A genus may not be
the lowest group, for all the species of oak may form a single genus
only. In the animal kingdom the lion, tiger, and leopard species form a
single genus, namely, the cat. A family is a group of organisms, more
comprehensive than the genus, because based on fewer points of likeness.
A species is an ideal or single group that proceeds from a single
ancestor, and reproduces itself in readily identified forms, as the dog,
the rose. Classes are general divisions of things having general points
in common, but capable of being subdivided into species, genus, and
families. Suppose you write to the author, in care of the publishers,
suggesting definitions of these terms in future editions.

The centre of population of the earth is asked for. It would be
impossible, we think, to determine such a point. Carrie Brush, Chelsea,
Iowa, is interested in natural history, and wants specimens and
correspondents. Harry J. Blunt asks again that question about entering
the Naval Academy at Annapolis. Apply to your member of Congress. Only
one cadet is allowed from each Congressional district at one time. There
is no expense attached. Each cadet receives a salary equal to his board,
tuition, and uniforms. Edith F. Morris is secretary of the New York
Stamp Exchange, which issues comprehensive rules. If you want these
rules, enclose a stamp to her at 95 Third Avenue, New York.




[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.


One of the leading English philatelic journals says, "Some day we may be
able to publish a list of postmaster dealers" (those who make or cause
to be made new surcharges, etc.). Such a list would be most instructive.
It would explain much, and open the eyes of many collectors to what is
going on in certain quarters.

Of the rare wood-block Cape of Good Hope errors it has been definitely
ascertained that only 201 of the 1d. error and 386 of the 4d. error were
printed. Each sheet contained 64 stamps, and only one stamp on each of
the 587 sheets was an error. It is wonderful that any copies should have
survived.

One of the Boston papers claims that the P.O. clerk who sold the first
U. S. stamp in 1847 and the first U. S. envelope in 1853 is alive, and
in the Boston Post-office to-day. His name is James Lafitte Smith,
seventy-nine years of age, and he has been in the service of the U. S.
Post-office Department for more than fifty years.

The movement to encourage collecting "straight" issues of stamps and to
disregard minute varieties is gaining ground. One dealer in New York
printed a catalogue omitting different perforations, etc., etc., and his
album corresponds with the catalogue. Now another of the large dealers
has sent out circulars notifying customers of a catalogue and an album
on the same lines. It is a step in the right direction. Let the
millionaires--and there are many of them--who are stamp-collectors, make
up albums showing different perforations, inverted water-marks, double
impressions, etc. They have the time and the money necessary. But
ordinary collectors of moderate means are not wise in trying to follow
them. The whole tendency hitherto has been to force the money values of
stamps into prominence, and naturally this has attracted the attention
of speculators. The pleasure in collecting stamps has been lost sight
of. I hope the corner has been turned.

     HARRY T. LEES.--Send your address to the stamp editor.

     G. TARLETAN.--Before postage-stamps and stamped envelopes were used
     it was the custom to collect the postage from the receivers of the
     letters. The postage was charged according to weight and distance.
     For instance, I have a number of letters sent from Illinois to New
     York, on which the postage was $1.87-1/2 each. The same letter
     could now be sent for 4c. In the few cases (comparatively) where
     the postage was prepaid the postmaster either wrote the word
     "Paid," or else printed on the letter "Paid 5c." (10c., 25c.,
     etc.). As such letters are neither stamped envelopes nor do they
     bear adhesive stamps, they are not collected by philatelists.
     Consequently they have no value.

     WURTEMBERG.--You say you have a "complete" set of _unused_
     Wurtemberg stamps. If you mean a set from 1851 to date, you have a
     fortune in your grasp. Some of the earlier issues, used, sell for
     5c. or 10c. each, but unused they are worth $50 or $100 each.

  PHILATUS.




[Illustration: Ivory Soap]

The frequent use of a good soap like the Ivory will purify the
complexion as no cosmetic can.

THE PROCTER & GAMBLE CO., CIN'TI.




[Illustration: THOMPSON'S EYE WATER]




=Second-hand printing-presses.= All sizes and makes. Catalogue free. F. L.
Garbutt, Garbutt, N.Y.




By CAPTAIN CHARLES KING

CADET DAYS.

A Story of West Point. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, $1.25.

CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK,

And Stories of Army Life. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, $1.25.

BETWEEN THE LINES.

A Story of the War. Illustrated by GILBERT GAUL. Post 8vo, Cloth, $1.25.

A WAR-TIME WOOING.

A Story. Illustrated by R. F. ZOGBAUM. Post 8vo, Cloth, $1.00.

       *       *       *       *       *

By THOMAS W. KNOX

THE BOY TRAVELLERS IN THE LEVANT.

Adventures of Two Youths in a Journey through Morocco, Algeria, Tunis,
Greece, and Turkey, with Visits to the Islands of Rhodes and Cyprus, and
the Site of Ancient Troy. Illustrated. Square 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental,
$3.00.

_THE "BOY TRAVELLERS" SERIES._

Copiously Illustrated. Square 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $3.00 per volume.

ADVENTURES OF TWO YOUTHS--

  IN SOUTHERN EUROPE.
  IN CENTRAL EUROPE.
  IN NORTHERN EUROPE.
  IN GREAT BRITAIN AND IRELAND.
  IN MEXICO.
  IN AUSTRALASIA.
  ON THE CONGO.
  IN THE RUSSIAN EMPIRE.
  IN SOUTH AMERICA.
  IN CENTRAL AFRICA.
  IN EGYPT AND PALESTINE.
  IN CEYLON AND INDIA.
  IN SIAM AND JAVA.
  IN JAPAN AND CHINA.

_OTHER BOOKS BY COLONEL KNOX:_

Hunting Adventures on Land and Sea.

2 vols. Copiously Illustrated. Square 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $2.50
each.

  THE YOUNG NIMRODS IN NORTH AMERICA.
  THE YOUNG NIMRODS AROUND THE WORLD.

       *       *       *       *       *

HARPER & BROTHERS, Publishers, New York.




[Illustration]

  "IF FLOWERS HAD A LANGUAGE, AS HAS OFTENTIMES BEEN SAID,
  I WONDER IF THE BUTTERCUPS WOULD CRY ALOUD FOR BREAD?"

       *       *       *       *       *

SLEPT IN THE HEN-COOP.

"Papa, is Mrs. Bigelow very poor?"

"No, Cedric, Mrs. Bigelow is well off; don't you know what a nice house
she has?"

"But she sleeps in the hen-coop, papa."

"Why, Cedric!"

"She said she did."

"What do you mean?"

"Don't you remember when she was here to dinner night before last she
excused herself, and said she must go home early because she went to bed
with the chickens!"

       *       *       *       *       *

ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. "Well, my son, can you tell me what little boys are
good for, anyway?"

BOY. "Yes, sir; they're good to make men out of."

       *       *       *       *       *

He was a delicate young man in a pink shirt and duck trousers, both of
which he wore in a pompous and conceited manner. He was seated in the
train dangling his tennis racquet, and busily amusing a number of bright
young ladies and gentlemen of his party.

"Ah, how good! Here's the conductor. Watch me astonish him."

"Ticket, sir," said the conductor.

"My dear man," said the young man, "my--er--face is my ticket."

The conductor smiled and looked around at the young man's friends, and
then, in a polite and apologetic manner, said, "I beg your pardon,
ladies and gentlemen, but my orders are to punch all tickets, and I'm
afraid I might destroy this ticket so much that I can't turn it in at
the end of the run."

Here the young man colored redder than his shirt, and hastily produced
his ticket amid shouts of laughter from his friends.

       *       *       *       *       *

The penny-in-the-slot-machine can be found in the remotest portions of
the backwoods, and sometimes it is about the only thing to remind one of
civilization that can be found there.

A weary hunting party stopped at a small hotel off in the backwoods not
long ago, and wishing to remove the evidences of their long tramp before
supper, found after washing that to secure a towel they would be obliged
to make use of a slot-machine that stood next to the wash-basin. The
sign read, "To obtain a clean towel put a penny in the slot, and pull
the drawer slowly out." One of the party was somewhat of a wag, and
procuring all the coppers he could gather he proceeded to abstract the
towels one at a time. He had reached the fifth towel when the proprietor
entered to wash his hands. He gazed at the man with the five towels in
astonishment. The wag laughingly complimented the proprietor upon his
enterprise in selling new towels for such a little money. It is needless
to say the proprietor later put up a sign that read, "For the use of a
clean towel put a penny in the slot."

       *       *       *       *       *

Every lover of art knows of the celebrated works of Meissonier, the
painter. Now Meissonier not only could paint, but he could tell a good
story, and he was especially fond of relating this little anecdote of
his gardener, whose horticultural erudition was remarkable. A smattering
of learning is a dangerous thing, and Meissonier's gardener had a little
knowledge of the Latin tongue, which he was fond of using to name his
different plants. Meissonier for a long time was sceptical of the
correctness of his gardener's Latin, so one day he set a trap for him by
giving him the roe of a red herring and asking what seed it was. Without
hesitating the gardener gave it a long Latin name, and promised that it
would bloom in about three weeks. Meissonier chuckled to himself, and
agreed to inspect the blooms in three weeks or more. When the time came
the painter questioned his learned horticulturist about it, and that
party led him into the hot-house to an enormous flower-pot. There, sure
enough, were the blooms in the nature of the heads of six red herrings
just emerging from the dirt in the pot. Meissonier breathed a deep sigh,
and shook his gardener's hand, exclaiming, "What a wonderful man you
are!"

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A TAIL OF WOE, OR THE MONKEY WRENCH.]





End of Project Gutenberg's Harper's Round Table, June 16, 1896, by Various