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Title: Harper's Round Table, October 13, 1896

Author: Various

Release date: May 10, 2019 [eBook #59467]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Annie R. McGuire


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HARPER'S ROUND TABLE, OCTOBER 13, 1896 ***




Produced by Annie R. McGuire








[Illustration: HARPER'S ROUND TABLE]

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

       *       *       *       *       *

PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, OCTOBER 13, 1896. FIVE CENTS A
COPY.

VOL. XVII.--NO. 885. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.

       *       *       *       *       *




[Illustration]

THE LOST HOMER.

BY WEBB DONNELL.


"Not back yet, Ned?" The tone hardly indicated that Mrs. Sinclair
expected an affirmative answer. The disappointed look on Ned's face told
its own woful tale.

"No, mother," said Ned, looking out of the window upon the valley
sloping to the Hudson, a quarter of a mile away. "No, he isn't back yet,
and I've given up all hope that he ever will come back."

Ned drummed dismally on the window-pane before he went on. "If Helen
'tossed' Fleetwing a hundred miles out at sea, the pigeon would have
been here before dark that day, for the steamer sailed at noon."

"Yes, one would think so," assented Mrs. Sinclair.

"Now it's the third day," went on the boy at the window, disconsolately.
"Helen either forgot to set the bird free until the steamer was too far
out for him to be able to fly back, or Fleetwing has been shot by a
pot-hunter. When can we hear from Helen, mother?"

"Well, the steamer is due at Queenstown next Friday," said Mrs.
Sinclair, "Then it will be six or seven days before her letter can get
back to us. I guess we will have to wait ten days longer, Neddie; but
I'm just as sorry as I can be about Fleetwing, dear."

"Yes, mother," said Ned, brightening at the sympathy.

"And we'll hope for the best," went on Mrs. Sinclair. "You know,
homing-pigeons have returned to their lofts after weeks of absence. We
won't give up Fleetwing till we hear from Helen, anyway."

"I know that some homers are out a long time from the loft and then get
back all right," said Ned, "but Fleetwing always attends strictly to
business. You know, he came straight home from the World's Fair flight
from Chicago, more than a thousand miles."

Ned Sinclair's hobby--most boys of fifteen have one or more--was
homing-pigeons. He had become interested in the subject through a visit
to a pigeon-loving uncle, who taught him the secrets of caring for
pigeons, homing and training them to make longer and still longer
flights to their loft from far-away points.

Ned's father had built for him a splendid loft in the chamber of the
stable, with a wire-covered "flight" stretching out over the green grass
at the side. Great pains had been taken in stocking the loft to get
only the best "strains" of homers, and the result appeared in the speedy
return of almost every bird that Ned had ever sent away to be liberated.

Very often a bird would be intrusted to a friend going upon a journey,
with a request that it be liberated at a certain hour and place.

Mr. Sinclair, too, had almost always taken a bird or two with him when
he went down to New York city on business, a hundred miles from home. It
had frequently happened that in an hour after being liberated from the
Grand Central Station the swift little homer would trip the
alighting-board at his own loft window, far up the Hudson, and so ring
the little electric bell that in the house announced a pigeon's arrival
home.

Then, later on, Ned had joined a Homing-pigeon Club in a near-by city,
and successively from the two-hundred, the three-hundred, and the
five-hundred mile "stations" his homers had flown home, making excellent
records for speed.

While the record made in the World's Fair flight was not at all
noteworthy for speed, Ned's birds did make the long distance, and
returned to their loft, though thoroughly tired out--something that
could not be said of many Eastern lofts that sent birds to Chicago for
that contest.

A few days before, Ned's sister Helen had started with a party of
friends for a trip through Europe. Ned had proposed that she take one of
his homers a hundred miles out to sea, then send a message back to them
from the steamer. He had selected the most reliable pigeon in the loft,
and had packed it carefully in a light basket. Then he had waited
patiently on the day the steamer sailed from New York for the tinkle of
the little bell that should tell of its return home.

Again and again he visited the loft, thinking the bell might have rung
in his absence from the house, but always to return disappointed. It was
not until Helen's hastily scribbled note from Queenstown arrived that
any clew to the mystery was given.

"Tell Ned," the note ran, "how sorry I am that I could not follow out
his directions about the pigeon. Beth was taken frightfully seasick
before we were down the bay, and I was so anxiously attending to her for
some hours that I entirely forgot about liberating Fleetwing and sending
a message home. When I did have a chance to think about it the steward
said we were two hundred and fifty miles out. Then I didn't know what to
do. I couldn't carry a homing-pigeon all over Europe with me, and I
hesitated about liberating it so far out for fear it might not reach
land, especially as the weather was not very clear. I had to decide
quickly, and so concluded the best thing to do was to set Fleetwing
free, but not to hamper him at all with a message tied to his flight
feathers. I 'tossed' the little fellow from the deck, and he went
straight up into the air, circled a moment, and then flew away
America-ward. I _do_ hope he got home safely."

"That explains it," said Ned. "Probably a thick fog came up, and
Fleetwing lost his way, and got exhausted before he could get to land.
That's the end of _that_ bird," he concluded, dismally.

But Ned was not altogether correct in his conclusions, though a fog did
gather over the sea soon after Fleetwing turned his breast landward, and
the bird did become nearly exhausted before he finally reached the
shore. But reach it he did, after a brave struggle in the air, and then
he did what exhausted homing-pigeons will sometimes do. He alighted at a
strange pigeon-loft in one of the towns above New York city. The sight
of other pigeons, homers like himself, and his own utterly wearied
condition, made him very willing to stop for rest, despite his strongly
rooted homing instinct. Then, as has been the case with many another of
his race, the charms of new comradeship caused him to linger in the new
quarters.

Two mornings later a man entered this loft and caught a half-dozen of
the pigeons, Fleetwing among the number. The man evidently did not keep
homing-pigeons for the love of it, since he did not know his birds by
sight, but took those that came first to hand. He packed the pigeons
carefully in a hamper, carried them out to the street, where a carriage
was in waiting, and was driven to the railway station.

A few hours later, with the hamper of homing-pigeons still beside him,
he went on board a great transatlantic steamship in New York and sailed
for Europe.

Two weeks later, while Ned Sinclair was hunting for a tennis-ball in the
bottom of the hall closet, he heard the pigeon bell ring loud and clear.
He started suddenly.

"What's that?" He said to himself, excitedly. "There's no pigeon out of
the 'flight'!"

He hurried out to the loft, tennis and all else but pigeons banished
wholly from his mind.

In the loft, pecking in a quite-at-home way at a pan of split-pease and
hemp seed was Fleetwing, the lost homer. Ned knew him instantly.

"Where under the sun--" he began, excitedly, but stopped on catching
sight of the bird's wing and tail feathers. They certainly had something
most unusual attached to them.

Ned caught the pigeon and investigated the mystery. The quills of two of
the flight feathers of each wing, and of three of the tail feathers, had
bits of thin oil-silk bound firmly about them, and these were tied with
strong silk threads.

It took but a moment to cut the thread and to unroll the silk from one
of the quills. Within were three small stones, that flashed and sparkled
in the light. The other feathers had similar revelations to make.

Here was an incident quite new to the homing-pigeon fancy. As a rule, it
may be said, homing-pigeons do not go flying about the country for weeks
at a time, finally returning to their own lofts loaded with what even to
the inexpert eye appeared marvellously like diamonds. The stones had not
yet been cut as for setting, but their quality appeared even in their
unfinished state.

It is small wonder that Ned was highly excited over the occurrence. His
delight at the safe return of his favorite homer, that he had given up
for lost, was quite over-balanced by his astonishment at the treasures
he had brought back.

He hurried from the loft to find his father and mother to show them the
stones. Very soon every member of the family was very nearly as excited
over the matter as was Ned.

"If it were a strange homer I should think it might be a case of
attempted smuggling," said Mr. Sinclair, remembering that the most
persistent and ingenious attempts are being made constantly to get
diamonds into the United States without payment of the high import duty,
"but that Fleetwing should become engaged in any such disreputable work
is perfectly inexplicable!" he continued, with a laugh.

"Are you sure it _is_ Fleetwing, Ned?" asked Mrs. Sinclair.

"I'm certain sure of that, mother," said Ned, fingering the pieces of
oil-silk. "I should know him anywhere; but to be perfectly certain about
it, I examined his seamless leg-band, and it has his loft number and my
initials."

As he spoke, smoothing out the pieces of silk in his fingers, Ned
suddenly started, and held one piece up to the light. It had a line of
writing across it that could be deciphered readily.

"Take at once to No. -- L---- Street," the line read.

Mr. Sinclair had already planned to go to New York city on business the
following day. Ho took the stones and the bits of oil-silk with him.

Some hours later an official of the United States Treasury Department
was looking them over most intently. He touched a button beside his
desk, and a messenger appeared.

"Ask Mr. Armstrong to come here a moment," he said.

When the expert appeared, the official handed the stones to him without
a word.

"They are diamonds of exceptionally fine quality," said Mr. Armstrong,
after a moment's examination.

"We shall have to condemn the property, Mr. Sinclair," said the Treasury
official, "as there can be no doubt that an attempt was being made to
smuggle them into the country. In fact, we had already discovered that
homing-pigeons were being used in this way, the birds being carried to
Europe, then brought back and liberated, with their burden of diamonds,
before reaching Quarantine. But how on earth your boy's homer became
pressed into this service," continued the official, "I can't conceive.
He deserves a medal, at any rate," he went on, "for flying straight to
his own loft with the diamonds."

The Treasury official picked up the bits of oil-silk.

"I feel quite hopeful," he said, "that with this clew we may be able to
break up this particular attempt to rob Uncle Sam of his just dues."

Ned was a very interested listener to the story his father had to tell
that night, and an exceedingly interested reader, a little later on, of
a letter that came from the national Treasury Department, enclosing a
handsome sum of money as his share of the value of the diamonds, since
Ned--or Ned's pigeon--stood in the place of the "informer," who is given
a generous share of the value that is thus turned in to the government
through his efforts.

The money made Ned's eyes sparkle. "Here's a pony, a dog-cart, and a
russet-leather harness," he shouted; and then, with a fine realization
of the eternal fitness of things, he rushed off to give Fleetwing an
extra dish of hemp seed.




PET SQUIRRELS.

BY JAMES STEELE.


The five varieties of squirrels that are found in North America are
commonly known as the red squirrel, the gray, the flying, the striped
squirrel or chipmonk, and the fox and black squirrels. These last two
are extremely rare, and are found only in the West. In the Middle and
Eastern States the red squirrel is the most abundant. He is to be seen
almost everywhere in the woods, and his noisy impudent call, which has
earned him the name of _chickaree_, is one of the most familiar sounds
in the woods and trees along the road-side. The larger and shyer gray
squirrel, although still abundant, is not so numerous or so often seen
as the red squirrel, and the flyers are still more rare. The chipmonk
finds his home among the stone walls and along the fences; he has little
value as a pet. The red and gray are easily caught and tamed, but the
flying-squirrel makes the best pet of all.

The red squirrel lives in a hole in the ground, or the hollow of a tree,
and both he and the chipmonk can be caught in an ordinary box-trap
placed upon the ground near their familiar haunts. They are usually easy
victims.

The gray squirrel, who lives in a nest that he builds himself, is much
more wary than the red squirrel or the chipmonk. The trap for him should
be set in his runway on the ground, or in the branches of the tree which
he frequents.

The flying-squirrel lives sometimes, like the chickaree, in a hole in a
dead limb, or he often takes the old abandoned nest of a gray squirrel
for his home, lining it with very much softer material than the former
occupant used. But most frequently he lives in the hollow of some limb.
While he does not really fly, in the time sense of the word, the curious
parachutelike folds of skin extending from the fore to the hind legs
enable him to make very long leaps, sometimes a distance of forty feet
from one tree to another, although this is unusual. He is the brightest
and most interesting of all the squirrels, and when once tamed he makes
the most affectionate and loyal pet.

A good way to catch a flying-squirrel that lives in a hollow
limb--usually an old woodpecker's hole--is to take a stocking, put it
over the hole, and then have some one beat with a stick upon the limb
below. Presently the little fellow will come plunging out, and, of
course, into the stocking, where he can be tied up, carried home, and
emptied, as it were, into the cage.

To tame a squirrel is no easy matter, especially if he is a very old
one. His bite is very severe, but when once tamed he can be handled with
impunity so long as he is not hurt.

To teach a squirrel to become accustomed to handling, however, requires
some patience. Every time he is fed it is well to make a little clucking
sound, or something he will recognize as a friendly call meaning
feeding-time. After having tamed him so that he will eat while you are
watching him, which he will sometimes do in one or two days, get him
accustomed to having your hand around the cage. Then lasso or noose him
around his body with a small cord, and take him out of the cage without
lifting him by the cord. Take care, for he will bite and sink his little
teeth almost through the bone of your finger if he has the chance.

Now take a glove that has been stuffed full of cotton, and stroke him
gently with it. If he attempts to bite, which he is almost certain to
do, give him a little tweak. Repeat this as often as he tries to bite,
and he will soon learn that if he sits still he is all right. Now feed
him from the thick glove. In a surprisingly short time he will give up
all idea of biting, and you can stroke him or pick him up with your
hand, and carry him about in your pocket. He will grow wonderfully
attached to you, and when once tamed thoroughly he will never run away;
although he may pay short visits to his mates, he will return to you.
But pray remember this, that his deadly enemy is the cat.

His cage should be made as much as possible of metal, and kept
scrupulously clean. It should be provided with an exercising wheel, or
treadmill, although when a squirrel is perfectly tame and permitted to
run about he will get all the exercise he needs on his little excursions
about the house or up in the trees.

Never give a squirrel any seasoned cake or soft bread to eat. Nuts,
grains, such as dried corn, and now and then a bit of apple, are enough
for him, and he should always have access to plenty of fresh, clean
water. Do not make the mistake of supposing that when your squirrel has
become on sufficiently good terms with you to be permitted to take
little trips among his old haunts he will forage for himself. When he
once becomes accustomed to being fed he speedily forgets how to find
food for himself in the natural way.

Squirrels are remarkably intelligent, and a whole book might be written
about them and their habits, after the manner in which Mr. Frank
Buckland wrote his celebrated volume about rats. A little incident that
happened to one of my own pet squirrels shows how intelligent they are,
and how appreciative of kindness. A little flyer that was seated on the
window-sill of an upper-story room suddenly disappeared. Thinking he had
gone out upon the roof, I called him in the usual way repeatedly, but no
squirrel came.

I searched for him for some time, and finally concluded that he had
decided to take a vacation. Three days after the little fellow had
disappeared I was sitting with my uncle upon the piazza, when we heard a
scratching noise, which appeared to come from a tin leader or rain pipe
that extended from the roof down the corner of the house to a cistern.
The pipe made a sharp angle at the piazza, and it was from this point
that the sound seemed to come. As soon as we began to talk the sound
stopped, to be repeated the moment we became quiet. I tapped the pipe
gently, and spoke, and the frantic scratching from the inside convinced
me of the truth at once. It was poor little "Chatters"; and now the
question was how to get him out.

At last the plan was suggested of removing a section of the pipe and
lowering a cord, which was done. I shall never forget the sensations I
felt when I lowered that miniature life-line. Presently I felt a tug,
and soon, sure enough, I could feel something climbing up. It was
suggested that it might be a rat, but in a moment a little squirrel's
head appeared, and "Chatters" gave one leap, landed on my shoulder, and
then quickly hid himself in my pocket. If any boy spends his summer in
the country, he will find more pleasure taming these little animals than
cruelly pursuing them with sling-shot or stones, or shooting them with a
rifle for the sake of so-called "sport."




THE REBELS DID NOT RUN.

A CUBAN WAR PICTURE.

BY THOMAS R. DAWLEY, JR.


Darkness turned to the gray of dawn and revealed the hazy outline of the
Cuban camp. An expanse of wood and bush and swamp, dotted here and there
with lofty palms. A labyrinth of winding paths guarded by impenetrable
thickets. Within an open space, far within, scattered with the palm-leaf
tents of the Cuban patriots, smouldered the camp-fires.

[Illustration: A GAUNT PEASANT MOUNTED ON A SHAGGY PONY.]

Maceo had crossed the Trocha! The word spread through the rebel camp,
and the camp bestirred itself. A gaunt peasant, mounted on a shag-headed
pony, brought the news, and it was voiced from mouth to mouth. The gray
fog lifted slowly. Through the dim haze the rebels saw the gaunt peasant
on his shag-headed pony as though fastened there.

Maceo had crossed the Trocha! The camp was impatient to hear the rest.
Nearly two months had passed since the rebel general had gone with his
army down into Pinar del Rio to fulfil his promise of marching from one
end of Cuba to the other. The Spaniards drew a line across a narrow part
of the island, and put their soldiers there, and called it the Trocha.
They said they had Maceo entrapped. He never could pass the Trocha.

The rebels had waited patiently, longingly, for the chief's return.
Morning after morning they had huddled over their fires, or those who
had blankets remained swathed in them until the sun came out and warmed
the steaming earth. Then the rebels foraged. They chewed sugar-cane for
breakfast, and stewed beef and sweet-potatoes for dinner. They begged
cigarettes from their comrades, and there were many who went without.
The Spaniards had not been after them for days, for they had gone off to
hold the Trocha or chase Maceo down in Pinar del Rio.

Occasionally the Havana papers found their way into the camp. They
brought news always discouraging. Maceo was continually fleeing before
the valor of Spanish arms. He would certainly be forced to throw himself
against the Trocha, where disastrous defeat awaited him. Once a battle
was fought, and, according to the papers, Maceo had left six hundred of
their comrades on the field. The camp doubted. A giant mulatto, who had
seen eight years' service in the last war, said the Spaniards lied! They
always lied!

Thus down the labyrinth of winding paths, through wood and bush and
swamp, the rebel camp had waited. And now Maceo had crossed the Trocha!
The peasant brought the news, and the peasant did not lie.

The morning mists rolled up and away. The camp-fires crackled with a new
vigor as their smoke followed the mists. The air was cool and crisp, for
Cuban winters know cold nights and mornings. Ill-clad rebels gathered
around the fires, while others refused to unwind themselves from
tattered blankets captured in the last raid. They looked over the fires
and through the smoke. The gaunt peasant was still there. He was big and
bony. He looked like a giant on the little dingy horse; his bones were
so big, and the horse was so little. And it seemed that his bones swung
on hinges, well oiled. He gesticulated wildly. His arms went up and
down, and his body turned from side to side. A rebel chief, tall and
dignified, with grizzled mustaches, stood by his brown tent and listened
carefully to every word he said.

Maceo had crossed the Trocha! The peasant did not lie. Once more he
threw out his arms wildly. Then he brought both palms down upon the
pommel of his saddle, and straightening his long arms, hunched his
shoulders upon them and rested there. He had finished.

The chief's whistle sounded through the camp. The rebel band was happy.
It had been in the swamp so long. It was impatient. It longed for a
move; anything for a move, and the chief's whistle meant that it was
going to move now.

The sun warmed the earth, and the camp rose. There was a hurrying to and
fro, a sound of cracking twigs and numerous voices. Sorry-looking nags
were pulled away from scattered heaps of cane-top fodder bordering the
camp, over which they had been chewing and dreaming all night.

A mule which did not propose to budge was called a rude name. Cubans are
not violent. They are not addicted to using harsh words. The Cuban
simply tugged at the mule's long halter-rope, called him by his wrong
name, turned and tugged again. The mule was obdurate. A half-naked black
spanked the animal suddenly. The mule relented and stepped quickly
forward, and the Cuban fell headlong. The half-naked black grinned with
a scared expression; another roared. The fallen rebel picked himself up,
and laughed too.

There was a jingling of bridle-bits and a rustling of saddle-gear; a cry
of impatience as a girth broke in the attempt to tighten it. A little
Major yelled an order to a distant subaltern. A Captain demanded his
spurs from an orderly; another his gun. The negro element worked
mechanically and said little.

The last rope was coiled, the last buckle tightened, and the men flung
themselves astride their saddles.

The rebel band was moving.

Two scouts with long machetes at their sides and carbines ready resting
upon their thighs galloped down the path. Others followed. They wound in
and around and through the wooded expanse. The path forked and twined
and forked again, leaving little islands of dense brush and scrubby
trees. The scouts followed these twining paths, each in his own way,
and the rebel band came scurrying on behind.

The many twining paths merged into a grove of guava-trees, and were lost
in the dry matted grass. Out came the scouts from between the islands of
brush. Into the guava grove they spurred their horses, bending here and
dodging there to escape the low branches, and out upon the open they
halted.

A long savanna spread before them. A scout urged his horse out upon the
plain, and he was followed by another. The two galloped to the right and
rose on a ridge overlooking a stretch of country beyond. There they
paused; and as one, bending in his saddle, peered into the distance, the
other shielded his eyes and looked too. Then they wheeled and rode up
and down the ridge. Nothing! Nothing but cane-fields, palm-trees, and a
tall chimney in the distance.

The halted ones advanced. In a reeling, waving line they came sweeping
over the plain. They wheeled to the left and they wheeled to the right,
and as the plain narrowed they wheeled together again, and plunged into
a road through a broad field of cane bearing the marks of repeated
forages.

Led by the tall grizzly chief, the rank and file emerged from the guava
grove and scurried into one long, ragged, irregular column aiming
straight for the road.

The road aimed for the tall chimney.

The grizzly chief could see his advance galloping on ahead, and his rank
and file came swinging on behind. The cane-field changed from green to
brown and black. It had been burned. Beneath the tall chimney could be
discerned rootless walls, charred riblike rafters, and broken sheds
grinning between dark green mango-trees.

Suddenly, where the road seemed to end between the mango-trees and a
gray wall, appeared two horsemen. The gallop of the advance changed to a
walk. It moved cautiously. Two little puffs of smoke and the crack of
distant rifles told that the enemy was there. The rebel band halted, and
the advance-guard came swinging back down the road.

A Lieutenant touched his hat and said, "Orders, my chief?"

"Tell them to spread out and reconnoitre! Maceo has crossed the Trocha,
and we must advance to meet him."

The Lieutenant spurred ahead and met the flying guard. It stopped. The
men looked over their shoulders worriedly as the Lieutenant delivered
his message.

"Maceo has crossed the Trocha." The words were like magic, and the men
turned and urged their horses into the burned field. The charred and
rotten cane broke beneath the horses' hoofs as they made a wide circle,
with the tall chimney for a centre. The horsemen at the end of the road
disappeared.

The rebel band advanced. Again the horsemen appeared at the top of the
road--two, four, six, eight, dozens of them. In rapid succession they
rode out from the gray walls and dark mango-trees. There was another
crack of rifles and puffs of blue smoke.

"Remingtons!" exclaimed the chief, as the advance-guard cautiously
halted in the wide circle which it had mapped out for itself. "A local
guerilla force!" And raising himself in his stirrups, the grizzly chief
turned to his men, and flourishing his long blade, shouted: "Scatter
out! Advance, and let them have it!"

To the sound of thumping hoofs and snapping canes the rank and file of
the rebel band went plunging through the field.

The guerrilleros drew up in one serried rank just where the ground
sloped into the cane-fields. They would meet the on-coming storm. They
knew the rebels would run; they always ran. And they raised their loaded
carbines and fired. As the smoke cleared away they saw a wide circle of
yelling rebels and their horses dashing through the cane. They stuffed
cartridges into their carbines and fired again.

Their shots were answered. They saw the puffs of smoke, they heard the
"ping! ping!" of rebel Winchesters, and they saw the circle growing
smaller as the horses grew larger. It seemed that they were monsters as
they reared above the cane, crushing it down with their heavy hoofs and
breasts. They saw gleaming steel flashing high in the sunlight, and they
heard the rebel cry, "Á la machete!"

"Crack! crack!" rang out the Spanish Remingtons. "Ping! ping!" answered
the rebel Winchesters, and a Spaniard cried, "I'm hurt!" as he swayed
from his saddle. A comrade caught him and swung him back, and the
serried rank could stand it no longer. It gave way--broke and ran.
Helter-skelter by the ruined buildings, through the yard, scampered the
frightened ponies. Down by a gaping broken wall the road commenced
again. With loose rein and unguiding bridle the horses reared and
plunged into one another, jolting the wounded man terribly. His carbine
clanked on the ground, and he knew his only chance was to hang on.

The fleeing Spaniards heard the rebel yells close behind them, and the
"ping! ping!" of their Winchesters. "Tack! tack!" the bullets struck the
gaping corner wall, and a long stretch of road lay before them.

In the distance a church tower, and red tile roofs spread beneath it.
The sunlight glinted upon them as it never had done before, and to the
fleeing Spaniards they seemed as though made of gold and silver. Would
they ever reach the sheltering cover?

And now rang out a fierce, exultant yell. The guerilleros knew that the
rebels had reached the corner wall. They dug their spurs frantically
into their horses' sides as they clung closer to their necks.

Again the rebel cry of victory rang out. But the distance was greater,
and the Spaniards knew that the band was not pursuing.

Maceo had crossed the Trocha! And that was the time the rebels did not
run.

[Illustration]




THE REASON WHY.


  Now the football season's here
    Our muscles we prepare,
  And, 'though perhaps it may seem queer,
    We cultivate our hair.

  We don't do this, you must well know,
    Because we have to, but
  We let it sprout and tangle so
    Because we have to butt.




IN THE OLD HERRICK HOUSE.[1]

[1] Begun in HARPER'S ROUND TABLE No. 879.

BY ELLEN DOUGLAS DELAND.

CHAPTER VII.


"Come, do hurry up, Elizabeth, and promise," urged Valentine. "The time
is going on, and the aunts will come home and catch us. You must be down
stairs as if nothing had happened when they do come. Of course I know
you are not going to give me away. If I had not thought I could depend
on you pretty well, I should not have come. We were good friends when we
were here before, and, after all, you are my own sister."

"I know, Val, and I want to help you," said Elizabeth, slowly; "but--"

"But what?"

"It does not seem right to deceive Aunt Caroline."

"Oh, what difference does that make? I am sure you used to deceive her
enough when you came to this room all the time and had the Brady girls
here, and everything else. You have changed very much, I think."

"I know I have changed. You see, I am a whole year older, and in a year
you learn lots of things, and I am sure it is not right to deceive any
one."

"I do call it a shame," exclaimed Valentine, walking about the room.
"Here have I come all this distance expecting to find a sister who would
help me, and now you go and turn your back on me. There is no use
expecting anything of a girl. There never was one that was worth
anything but Marjorie. I was going to tell you the whole story, and you
know you like to hear things."

"Oh, I know I do!" cried poor Elizabeth. "I am just crazy to hear. What
shall I do about it? I wish I had some one to advise me."

"Come, Elizabeth--there's a good girl! Don't tell, and I will begin
right away to explain. I know you won't, so I will tell you, anyhow! You
see, the other day at school--"

"Wait, wait, Val!" interrupted Elizabeth. "I must not hear, for if you
once tell me I shall have to keep to it, for it would be a bargain; but
if you don't I can decide later. I am going down stairs to think it
over."

Valentine, left alone, scarcely knew what to think.

"I am in for it now," he said to himself. "Who ever would have thought
of that meek little Elizabeth going back on me? I'm in an awful scrape,
and I have a good mind to run away now, only I might meet Aunt Caroline
on the doorstep, just as the Brady girls did. No, I have got to stick it
out, now that I am here, and perhaps after all Elizabeth will come
around. She is awfully curious to know what it is all about, that is one
thing, and it may bring her to her senses. It is awfully poky up in this
room all alone, and I do wish she would come back."

It was an hour and more before she did. Then the door was quietly
opened, and Elizabeth stood before him.

"Well, you are going to promise now, aren't you?"

"No, Val, I have come to suggest something. If you will come over to one
of the other rooms and hide, I will help you all I can. Aunt Caroline
would not find you if you were in one of the other rooms--the one next
to mine, for instance. Even that does not seem quite right, but it is
better than being here. I have been thinking it over, and I am sure it
is not right to have you here when Aunt Caroline told me never to come
into this room again, and I actually had to go to her desk to steal the
key. Will you come to one of the other rooms?"

"No. It has got to be this room or none. I might just as well go sit in
the parlor as be in any room but this. Great Scott! how the fellows will
laugh!"

"What fellows?"

"Never mind. Do you think I am going to tell you anything, Miss
Spoilsport, Tattletale, and everything else?"

"Oh, Val, I am so sorry! I do want to help you!" Elizabeth was crying
now.

"Oh, don't stand there blubbering! Go down and tell auntie all about it.
How Val came and made you steal the key, and made you open the door, and
made you do everything else. It was all his fault--oh yes!"

"Val, you are hateful!" cried Elizabeth, drying her eyes. "You know I am
not that kind of a girl at all. I am sure I want to help you, and I want
to know dreadfully why you came, but I know if I asked any one but you
whether I ought to have let you into this room, they would say no. Mrs.
Loring would, I know."

"And who is Mrs. Loring?"

"Patsy's mother."

"Oh, Patsy again! Everything is Patsy now. That is the reason you don't
want to help me, because you have got a new friend. Even your own
brother is of no account now."

"That is not a bit true, and you have no right to say it; and I don't
think you are a very good brother to ask me to do what is not right."

"But there is no harm in it, really, Elizabeth! I am not doing the room
any harm, and it can't possibly hurt Aunt Caroline to have me here.
Where is the wrong of it?"

"The key," persisted Elizabeth. "I ought not to have taken the key."

"Oh, nonsense! You got it, and that's all there is about it. You can't
undo what you have done, and now the best thing is to keep quiet about
it and it won't hurt any one. But if you were to go and tell it would
make a terrible fuss, and every one would be upset, and nobody would be
a bit better for it."

There seemed to be some truth in this reasoning. After all, it would be
easy to keep her aunt in ignorance, thought Elizabeth. She would never
do such a thing again; but now that it was done--

Valentine saw that his argument had some effect, and he hastened to
follow it up.

"And I do want to tell you all about it!" he added, craftily.

"Oh, Val," said Elizabeth, hurriedly. "I want to hear about it and I
want to help you. And, after all, it is too late about the room.
I--I--think I'll promise!"

"That you won't tell?"

"That I won't tell."

"Elizabeth, good for you! You're a brick! I knew you would come out all
right. I just knew it."

"But wait! I have not altogether promised. Only almost."

"Oh, it's the same thing. I'm sure of you now!"

And Valentine capered about the room in excitement, until Elizabeth
remembered that it was important that he should not be heard, and warned
him to keep still.

"After all, it is not a secret for always," he said. "In two weeks you
can tell them all about it if you want to. You see I am not binding you
down forever." This with an air of generosity.

"It will be harder to tell then than now," remarked Elizabeth. "But I
must go! I hear some one calling me. I'll tell you for certain when I
come back."

She slipped out of the room, and it was but just in time. Her aunts had
returned, and Miss Herrick wished to see her in the library. She met the
maid who was looking for her on the stairs. The library was directly
under the closed room, and Elizabeth wished that she could again warn
Valentine to be very quiet. He was so careless.

She found her aunt in an unwonted frame of mind. Miss Herrick put her
arm about Elizabeth and drew her to her side.

"I have been hearing very good accounts of my niece," she said. "I met
Mrs. Arnold this afternoon, and she told me that your teacher speaks
very highly of you, Elizabeth."

How this demonstration would have pleased Elizabeth yesterday, or even
this morning! Now she felt like a hypocrite.

"And she is very anxious that I should allow you to take
drawing-lessons." Here Miss Herrick paused and sighed heavily. "And you
wish to yourself, do you not, Elizabeth?"

It had been the dearest wish of Elizabeth's heart since she began
school, but now she felt as if she would be doing wrong if she were to
take advantage of her aunt's kindness.

"I--I don't know," she faltered.

"If that is not human nature," exclaimed Miss Rebecca, who had not
spoken before. "When you were not allowed to draw, nothing could keep a
pencil out of your hand, and now that you are given permission you don't
wish to do it."

"Oh, I do want to, Aunt Rebecca!" cried Elizabeth, recovering herself;
"I want to, dreadfully. Are you really going to let me, Aunt Caroline?"

"I suppose so. Mrs. Arnold put it before me in such a light that I could
not very well refuse. She says she has an excellent teacher, and if you
have so much talent, Elizabeth, it seems wrong not to give my consent.
But it is very hard for me to say yes! You must be a very good girl if I
do."

Elizabeth hid her face in her aunt's shoulder. If she had heard this
earlier she would not have yielded to Valentine's entreaties. It was too
late now. She had allowed him to stay in the locked room, she had almost
promised not to tell. There was a weight like lead on her heart.

"Stand up straight, Elizabeth," said Miss Herrick, her momentary
tenderness passing. "Naturally you cannot understand my repugnance to
the idea of your perfecting yourself in drawing and painting, and it is
not to be expected that you should. It is connected with events which
happened before you were born." Again she paused.

At any other time Elizabeth's curiosity would have been aroused, and her
indignation also, at the fact that there were more mysteries, but now
she paid no heed. If only she were not deceiving her aunt!

"There must be something queer about our family," she thought,
desperately, "that we are all the time hiding something from one
another. I do wish I were one of the Lorings. They never have any
mysteries or secrets, and it is so nice."

Suddenly there was a loud thump overhead. Miss Herrick started and
looked terrified. Elizabeth exclaimed aloud, and then again hid her face
behind her aunt. Even Miss Rebecca seemed stirred from her usual
indifference.

"What was that?" murmured Miss Herrick. "Was it--was it in the room
overhead?"

Miss Rebecca nodded. "It sounded so," she said.

"What can it be?"

They listened, but there was no further sound.

"Shall I go and see, Aunt Caroline?" asked Elizabeth, in a timid voice.

"You, child! Why should you go? If we hear anything more I will send
James. It is very strange."

"Perhaps the cat has been shut up somewhere," suggested Miss Rebecca;
"or probably one of the servants has been in one of the empty rooms
getting something. It does not necessarily follow that it is _that_
room, Caroline. I would not give it another thought."

"True, the box of oranges was put in the upper store-room. You are
right, Rebecca. Strange how my thoughts always fly to the one place when
I hear anything overhead. I suppose it was because we were talking about
the drawing-lessons when it happened."

And she relapsed again into thought.

"So the locked room has something to do with Aunt Caroline not liking to
have me learn to draw," said Elizabeth to herself. "I thought so. But,
oh dear, it will never do for Val to make so much noise! I must go and
tell him."

She slipped away very soon, and after going to her own room crept down
the short flight of stairs and along the passageway to the door of the
mysterious chamber. She found Valentine sitting on the floor, convulsed
with laughter.

"Did you hear me?" he asked, in a stage whisper. "I haven't dared to
move since. I upset a chair. Giminy! it scared me to death! And I
expected the whole family to march in the door the very next minute.
Didn't you hear me at all?"

"Hear you! I should think we did. It was a very narrow escape, and I
have come to tell you that you must be more careful. You had better not
stir at all, for we are in the library, right underneath. And oh, Val, I
do feel so guilty! Aunt Caroline is so kind, and says I can take
drawing-lessons, and here I am deceiving her! I suppose you would not
let me off now?"

"Well, I should like to see myself letting you off now! No, sir. You
have just the same as promised, and that is the end of it."

Elizabeth sighed deeply and was about to leave him, but he detained her.

"I say, Elizabeth, what about dinner? I'm awfully hungry."

"Hungry again? Why, I brought you a lot of things to eat."

"Gee whiz, girl! Do you think I can live for hours on crackers and cake?
Don't you think you can smuggle up some dinner for me?"

"I will try," said Elizabeth, though somewhat doubtfully; "but I don't
see how I am to do it."

"Put some things in a basket, and pretend they are for the Brady girls."

"I have not had anything to do with the Brady girls for ages," returned
Elizabeth, with some contempt. "Not since I ran away."

"Ran away? You ran away? Ho, ho! so you're not so awfully good after
all! What did you run away for?"

"I can't tell you. I can never tell you. And now I must go."

"Well, I like that," said Valentine, as he closed the door behind her;
"she ran away, and isn't going to tell me about it! But I hope she will
remember my dinner."

It was easy enough to remember his dinner, but not so simple a matter to
secure it. Elizabeth was so absorbed in thinking it over that she forgot
to eat anything herself.

"You are not eating a morsel," said Miss Herrick. "This will never do! I
had hoped that going to school and companionship with other children
would keep up your appetite. Don't you feel well?"

"Oh yes, Aunt Caroline, only I am not hungry. Perhaps, if you don't
mind, I could have something to eat later."

It was an inspiration. In this way she could get something for
Valentine. But she was doomed to disappointment.

"I do not approve of eating just before you go to bed," said her aunt.
"Eat now or not at all."

Elizabeth was quite desperate. She must take the chance of finding
something in the pantry. When dinner was over and her aunts had returned
to the library she slipped into the pantry. Unfortunately nothing had
been left there. All that she could find for Valentine were a few more
crackers and some bread. However, it would keep him from starving.

Her brother received them with small thanks, but they were better than
nothing. Then he wanted Elizabeth to stay with him, but this she would
not do.

"I must go down stairs again to say good-night, and then I must go to
bed," she said, firmly.

"Come here instead, and I will tell you the whole story," suggested
Valentine, who had no desire for a lonely evening.

"No, this is the last time I am coming to-night. I--I think, Val, I will
not hear your story at all. If I have deceived Aunt Caroline I have
deceived her, but I am not going to be paid for it. I have been thinking
it over. You are not to tell me. Good-night!"

It was half an hour later, and Valentine had come to the conclusion
that he might as well go to bed himself, when there was a faint tap at
the door. The room was lighted by but one candle--they had thought that
a gas-light might show beneath the door, and attract attention--and the
place was so gloomy and mysterious that when the knock came Valentine
was startled in spite of himself.

"It is ghosts, maybe," he muttered. "This room is so queer and uncanny."

The tap was repeated, and he moved cautiously to the door. There stood
Elizabeth, her dark eyes shining in the candle-light, and a deep color
burning in her cheeks. For a moment she said nothing. Valentine was the
first to speak.

"Good for you! So you have come to hear the story. Come in," he
whispered.

"No, I am not coming in. I have only come to tell you that--that--"

"What?"

An awful dread seized Valentine's heart.

"That I cannot give that promise. I am going down now. I have been
thinking and thinking, and I know it isn't right to deceive, and I don't
want to hide anything. There is too much hiding in our family. I am
going down now to tell Aunt Caroline you are here."

Valentine did not speak. She could scarcely see his face, for it was in
shadow, but somehow it frightened her.

"Oh, Val, say something! I am so sorry, but I must. Will you ever
forgive me?"

"No. You have the same as broken your promise."

He closed the door, and she turned and ran down stairs. Her aunts were
sitting as she had left them. Miss Herrick was writing notes at the
desk, while her sister read by the lamp on the table. The shelves which
lined the walls were filled with books, and the engravings and etchings
which hung above added to the sombre aspect of the room. It was
absolutely still except for the scratching of Miss Herrick's pen, and
for a moment or two Elizabeth stood there in the silence unnoticed.

"Aunt Caroline," she said at last.

It was in such a weak voice that no one heard her.

"Aunt Caroline!" she repeated.

"Yes," said Miss Herrick; but still her pen travelled swiftly across the
page. It was provoking to be interrupted.

"Aunt Caroline!" said Elizabeth for the third time.

"What is it, Elizabeth?" said her aunt, at last laying down her pen. "I
hear you, and I have answered. Don't stand there repeating my name like
a parrot. Why are you not in bed?"

"Because I have something to tell you. I could not go to bed. I--I have
something to tell you."

"So it appears. Suppose you tell me now, instead of this endless
repetition. Come, I have no time to waste."

"Aunt Caroline," said Elizabeth, drawing nearer, and standing with her
hands clasped behind her back, as she did when she had anything of
importance to say, "Val is here."

"Val? What Val? What do you mean?"

"My brother Val."

"Is here? Oh no! you are mistaken, Elizabeth. Let me feel your hands.
You ate no dinner, and you are feverish. Your eyes are very staring.
Rebecca, do you suppose the child is delirious, or is she walking in her
sleep?"

"I am not either, Aunt Caroline. I am not de--that long word, and I am
wide awake. Val is here. He came this afternoon, and he is up in the
locked room."

Miss Herrick rose to her feet, and even Miss Rebecca dropped her book.

"She is certainly ill. Rebecca, ring the bell for James to go for the
doctor."

[Illustration: "I TELL YOU I AM NOT ILL, AUNT CAROLINE," CRIED
ELIZABETH.]

"I tell you I am not ill, Aunt Caroline," cried Elizabeth. "Val came and
said that he wanted to hide, and that he must hide in that room. I got
the key from your desk--you left your desk unlocked--and I let him into
the room. It was very wrong, Aunt Caroline. I know it was wrong. And I
am so sorry. That is the reason I am telling you, because I ought not to
have done it. If you don't believe that he is here, come and see."

[TO BE CONTINUED.]




A VIRGINIA CAVALIER.

BY MOLLY ELLIOT SEAWELL.

CHAPTER XVIII.


The next day, the 31st of October, 1753, George set forth on his arduous
mission. He had before him nearly six hundred miles of travelling, much
of it through an unbroken wilderness, where snow and ice and rain and
hail at that season were to be expected. In the conference with the
Governor and his advisers, which lasted until after midnight, George had
been given _carte blanche_ in selecting his escort, which was not to
exceed seven persons, until he reached Logstown, when he could take as
many Indians as he thought wise. He quickly made up his mind as to whom
he wanted. He wished first a person of gentle breeding, as an
interpreter between himself and the French officers. He remembered
Captain Jacob Vanbraam, a Dutch officer, now retired, and living at
Fredericksburg, who might be induced to make the journey. Then there
were Gist and John Davidson. It was thought best, however, to take an
Indian along as interpreter for the Indians, as they might complain, in
case of a misunderstanding, that Davidson had fooled them. In regard to
the other three persons George concluded that it would be well to wait
until he reached Greenway Court, which was directly in the route of his
outward journey, as he would be most likely to find in that vicinity a
person better used to such an expedition than in the lower country.
Armed with full credentials by the Governor, and with a belt around his
body containing a large sum in gold and negotiable bills, George at
daylight took the road he had traversed the night before.

He determined not to take Billy on the expedition, but he rather dreaded
the wild howlings and wailings which he thought it was certain Billy
would set up when he found he could not go. George therefore thought it
well as they trotted along to make Billy ride up with him, and describe
all the anticipated hardships of the coming journey. He did not soften
one line in the picture, and enlarged particularly upon the scarcity of
food, and the chances of starving in the wilderness, or being scalped
and roasted by Indians. Billy's countenance during this was a study.
Between his devotion to George and his terror of the impending
expedition Billy was in torment, and when at last George told him he
must remain either at Mount Vernon or Ferry Farm, Billy did not know
whether to howl or to grin.

George reached Fredericksburg that night, and went immediately to
Captain Vanbraam's house. The Dutchman, a stout, middle-aged man, yet of
a soldierly appearance, at once agreed to go, and, in the few hours
necessary for his preparations George took the opportunity of crossing
the river and spending the night with his mother and sister and brothers
at Ferry Farm. His mother was full of fear for him, but she realized
that this brave and gifted son was no longer solely hers--his country
had need of him as soon as he came of age. Next morning Betty went with
him across the river, and bade him good-by with the smiling lips and
tear-filled eyes that always marked her farewells with George, her best
beloved. Billy wept vociferously, but was secretly much relieved at
being left behind. Four days afterwards George and Captain Vanbraam
reached Greenway Court, having sent an express on the way to Gist and
Davidson, who lived on the Great North Mountain.

When George burst into Lord Fairfax's library one night about dusk the
Earl knew not whether to be most delighted or surprised. He immediately
began to tell the Earl of his forth-coming plan, thanking him at the
same time for procuring him such preferment. "And I assure you, sir," he
said, with sparkling eyes, "although at first I felt a strange sinking
of the heart, and was appalled at the idea that I was unequal to the
task, as soon as the command was laid upon me I felt my spirits rise
and my fears disappear. If I succeed I shall be very happy, and if I
fail the world will say I was but a boy, after all. Why did his
Excellency send an inexperienced young man on such an errand? But I
shall certainly do my best."

"Angels can do no more," the Earl quoted.

George's eagerness and his boyish enthusiasm pleased the Earl, who had
no taste for solemn youngsters; and he listened, smiling, as George
poured forth his hopes, plans, and aspirations. When he spoke of the
additional men to be taken, Lord Fairfax said:

"I know of two capable ones. Black Bear would make an excellent Indian
interpreter, and Lance would be the very man to note the French
fortifications. He has as good a military eye as I ever knew."

George gasped with delight.

"Do you mean, sir," he cried, "that you will really let me have Lance?"

"Go and ask him."

The young Major, who had impressed the Governor and councillors with his
gravity and dignity, now jumped up and ran to the armory, bawling
"Lance! Lance!" at the top of a pair of powerful lungs. Lance promptly
appeared, and in three words George told him the plan. Old Lance nearly
wrung George's hand off at the news.

"Well, sir, it makes me feel nigh thirty years younger to be going among
the mounseers again. Maybe you think, sir, I never saw a French fort;
but I tell you, sir, I have seen more French forts, ay, and been at the
taking too, than they have between here and Canada."

Black Bear was across the mountain, but a messenger was sent at once for
him, and he was told to bring another trusty Indian along. Within two
days from reaching Greenway Court the party was ready to start. Lord
Fairfax saw George set off, in high health and spirits, and full of
restrained enthusiasm. He wore the buckskin shirt and leggings of a
huntsman to make the journey in, but in his saddle-bags was a fine new
Major's uniform of the provincial army, and he carried the rapier given
him many years before by Lord Fairfax.

Seven days' hard travelling, at the beginning of the wintry season,
brought the party to Logstown, not far from what is now Pittsburg. The
journey had been hard, snow having fallen early, and, the fords being
swollen, the party were obliged to swim their horses across the mountain
streams. But George had not found time heavy on his hands. Captain
Vanbraam and Lance discovered that they had served in different
campaigns in the same region, and, without forgetting the status between
an officer and a private soldier, they were extremely good comrades,
much to George's delight.

On their arrival at Logstown, Black Bear at once went in search of his
father, the great chief of one of the Six Nations, and the other chiefs
were assembled in the course of a day or two. George found them much
incensed against the French, but, like all their tribe, before they
could act they had to have many meetings and a great oratorical display.
George, who loved not speech-making, made them but one brief address,
and by using all his powers managed to get Tanacharison and
representatives of the other tribes off, and in a few days more they
arrived at a French outpost. It was merely a log house with the French
colors flying over it. George, waiting until dusk, and leaving his
Indian allies out of sight, taking only with him Vanbraam and Lance, as
his servant, rode up to the door and knocked. Three French officers
appeared, and on seeing two gentlemen in uniform, the senior, Captain
Joncaire, civilly asked them, in broken English, to alight and sup with
them.

George, with equal politeness, told them that he was the bearer of a
letter to M. de St.-Pierre, the commandant at the French fort farther
up, but would be pleased to accept their hospitality.

Inside the house was quite comfortable, and the party, except Lance, who
waited on the table, soon sat down to supper. As George had frankly
informed them of his mission, it behooved them to be prudent, and so
they were until the wine began to flow. Captain Vanbraam had not thought
it his duty to let on that he understood French, and the conversation
had been conducted in such English as the French could command. George,
although he could not speak French, could understand it a little,
especially with the help of the abundant gestures the French used.

He had always had a contempt for men who "put an enemy in their mouths
to steal away their brains," and the spectacle soon presented by the
French officers made him vow inwardly that never, so long as he lived,
would he put himself in the condition they were then in. These men,
brave and otherwise discreet, passed the bottle so often that they soon
lost all sense of prudence, and, turning from broken English to French,
told things in regard to their military plans which they would rather
have died than betray. Captain Joncaire, forgetting, in his maudlin
state, that George had said he did not understand French well, turned to
him and said, in French:

"Ah, you English mean to drive us out. Well, let me tell you we are not
to be driven out. We expect to go to war with your country soon, and
this is a good place to begin. We know that you can raise two men to our
one, but you have a dilatory, foolish Governor in Virginia, and he will
let us overrun the country before he does anything to stop us."

As he kept on, giving information about his people that he should never
have done, and which George partly understood, such keen contempt came
into George's eyes that a gleam of soberness returned to Captain
Joncaire, and for a few minutes he said no more. But "when the wine is
in the wit is out," and the Frenchmen continued to talk in the foolish
manner which awaits the wisest man when he makes a beast of himself with
liquor.

At ten o'clock George and Captain Vanbraam had to tear themselves away
from the Frenchmen, who, drunker than ever, tried to hold them back by
embracing them.

As they made their way back to their camp Captain Vanbraam repeated
every word the drunken officers had said. George spoke little. The
spectacle was not only disgusting but painful to him.

Next morning, early, Captain Joncaire sought out their camp, and
professed great surprise at seeing the Indians, whom he declared to be
his friends. He invited them to the house, where George well knew there
would be liquor and cajolery in plenty for them.

"My dear Major Washington," cried Joncaire, after a while, and coloring
slightly as he spoke, "I am afraid you had us at a disadvantage last
night. We talked rather wildly, I fancy, but don't put too much
confidence in what we said when the wine was flowing."

"I am compelled to put confidence in what Captain Joncaire and his
officers say, drunk or sober," was George's reply, delivered not without
sarcasm, at which Captain Joncaire winced. The Frenchmen invited the
Indians to their post, and George had the mortification of seeing them
all carried off, except Tanacharison and his son Black Bear; and when,
in the evening, he sent for the chiefs, they returned to him stupidly
drunk and loaded with presents from the French.

"We must get them away as soon as possible," said George to his white
followers and his two faithful Indians. Tanacharison, a venerable old
chief and a man of great eloquence, watched the Indians in their drunken
sleep, and when they wakened, although it was near sun-down, so worked
upon them by a speech he made them, that they agreed to leave with the
rest of the party. George and Captain Vanbraam went to the French post
to bid the officers a polite farewell.

Captain Joncaire said many civil things to them, and sent them a
handsome present of provisions, but was evidently chagrined at the
Indians being carried off under his very nose.

Eleven days more of travelling through intense cold, with the snow deep
on the ground, brought the party to Fort Le Boeuf, on French Creek,
about fifteen miles from Lake Erie. This was commanded by M. Legardeur
de St.-Pierre, an old French officer of great ability, and a chevalier
of the military order of St. Louis.

The party reached the fort late in the evening, and found it a stout
place, well adapted for defence. George rode up to the gate--his horse
now a sorry-looking creature--and asked to be conducted to the
commandant. As soon as the message was delivered M. de St.-Pierre came
out in person, and, receiving the letter from the Governor of Virginia
with great respect, raising his hat in taking it, invited Major
Washington's party in.

Although strictly attending to the commandant's conversation, George
used his keen eyes to the utmost advantage, and he felt sure that Lance
was doing the same thing. There were over a hundred soldiers in the
fort, and not less than thirty officers.

George and his party were led through a court-yard, around which were
barracks and officers' quarters, protected by bastions well provided
with artillery. Arrived at the commandant's quarters, M. de St.-Pierre
said, courteously, in English,

"When you and your party have refreshed yourselves for a day or two,
Major Washington, we will discuss the matters contained in the
Governor's letter."

Now this was just what George did not desire. He knew that every
artifice would be practised on his Indian allies to win them to the
French, as Captain Joncaire had done, with much greater prospect of
success. How would he persuade them to leave the good food, the
seductive liquor, and the presents that he felt sure the French were
ready to shower upon them? His only dependence was upon Tanacharison and
Black Bear. How often did he rejoice inwardly over that bucket of water
he had given to Black Bear the night of the attack at Greenway Court,
six years before! His reply, therefore, to the French commandant was
polite but positive:

"I thank you, sir, for your kindness, but I am ready at this moment to
proceed to the consideration of his Excellency's letter."

This slightly disconcerted M. de St.-Pierre, who had some inward
contempt for the youth of the ambassador sent by the Governor.

"I shall have to send for my second in command, Captain Reparti," he
said, "who left us this morning to visit another post."

"I hope, monsieur, that you will send for him at your earliest
convenience, for my orders are peremptory--to deliver the letter and
return with an answer at the earliest possible moment."

"If I send this evening," remarked M. de St.-Pierre, "my messenger might
lose his way in the darkness."

"If you will kindly give me the directions, sir," answered George, with
much politeness, "I have men in my party who can make the journey by
night, although they have never traversed this part of the country
before."

"I will send, however, immediately," said M. de St.-Pierre, coloring
slightly, and comprehending that he was dealing with a natural
diplomatist.

After a very agreeable dinner George was shown to his room, where Lance,
as his servant, awaited him. Scarcely was the door closed before George
began, anxiously,

"Where are the Indians?"

"In the barrack-room, sir. The French soldiers are promising them guns
and powder and shot and hatchets, and pouring liquor down all of them
except Tanacharison and Black Bear, who won't drink, and who mean to be
true to us. But, sir, you can't blame the poor devils for taking what
the French give them."

"We must get away from here as soon as possible," cried George. "What
have you noticed in the fort, Lance?"

"That it's mighty well made, sir; the mounseers are fine engineers, and
they know how to build a fort. They have eight six-pounders mounted in
the bastions, and a four-pounder at the gate-house. But they have got a
lot more places pierced for guns, and you may depend upon it, sir, they
have a-plenty more guns than they choose to show stowed away somewhere."

Next morning, Captain Reparti having arrived, M. de St.-Pierre and his
officers considered the Governor's letter privately, and then, admitting
George, with his interpreter, Captain Vanbraam, an answer was dictated
denying the right of the English to any part of the country watered by
the Ohio River. This was an important and dangerous announcement, and
although not a word was said about war, yet every man present knew that
if this contention were maintained England and France must fight, and
the country must be drenched with blood. George, with perfect composure,
received the letter, and, rising, said:

"My mission, sir, is accomplished. I have delivered the Governor's
letter, and your reply, M. de St.-Pierre, shall be conveyed not only to
the Governor, but to his Britannic Majesty. I am now ready to take my
leave."

"Do not be in so great a hurry to leave us, Major Washington," said M.
de St.-Pierre, suavely. "Some of my young officers promised a few guns
to your Indian allies, by way of making them satisfied to remain during
our negotiation, which I thought would be longer, and the guns cannot
arrive until to-morrow morning."

As George knew the impossibility of getting the Indians off without the
guns, he consented with the utmost readiness to remain; but he would
have given half his fortune to have got off.

The day was one of intense nervous strain on him. His sole dependence in
managing the Indians were Tanacharison and Black Bear. And what if they
should betray him? But at night the old chief and his son came to him
and promised most solemnly to get the chiefs away as soon as the guns
should arrive in the morning. George had a luxurious bed in his rude
though comfortable quarters, but he slept not one wink that night. By
daylight he was up. Soon after Lance sidled up to him in the court-yard,
and said,

"Sir, the guns have come--I saw them myself; but the Frenchies will not
say a word about it unless they are asked."

Just then M. de St.-Pierre, wrapped in a great surtout, appeared, coming
out of his quarters.

"Good-morning, Major Washington!" he cried.

"Good-morning, M. de St.-Pierre!" replied George, gayly. "I must give
orders to my party for an early start, as the guns you promised the
Indians have arrived, and I have no further excuse for remaining."

"Sacre bleu!" burst out M. de St.-Pierre; "I did not expect the guns so
soon!" At which he looked into George's eyes, and suddenly both burst
out laughing. The Frenchman saw that his _ruse_ was understood.

The party were soon collected, and after a hearty breakfast George took
his leave, and, much to the chagrin of the French, succeeded in carrying
off all his Indian allies with him. They rapidly retraced their road,
and when they made their first halt, ten miles from Fort Le Boeuf,
George exclaimed, aside to Lance,

"This is the first easy moment I have known for twenty-four hours."

"'Tis the first I have had, sir, since we got to the first post,
fourteen days ago!"

It was now the latter part of December. The horses, gaunt and starved,
were no longer fit for riding, and George set the example of dismounting
and going on foot. Their progress with so large a party was not rapid,
and George determined to leave Captain Vanbraam, with the horses and
provisions, to follow, while he, in his health and strength, set off at
a more rapid gait, in order that he might reach Williamsburg with M. de
St.-Pierre's defiant letter as soon as possible. Lance, with his
experience as a foot-soldier, easily proved his superiority when they
were reduced to walking, so George chose him as a companion. Christmas
day was spent in a long, hard march, and on the next day George,
dressing himself in his buckskin shirt and leggings, with his gun and
valuable papers, and giving most of the money for the expedition to
Captain Vanbraam, struck off with Lance for a more rapid progress.

The two walked steadily all day, and covered almost twice as much ground
as the party following them. At night, with their flints, they struck a
roaring fire in the forest, and took turns in watching and sleeping. By
daylight they were again afoot.

"I never saw such a good pair of legs as you have, sir, in all my life,"
said Lance, on this day, as they trudged along. "My regiment was counted
to have the best legs for steady work in all the Duke of Marlborough's
army, and mine were considered the best pair in the regiment, but you
put me to my trumps."

"Perhaps if you were as young as I you would put me to _my_ trumps,
for--"

[Illustration: WITH A SPRING, GEORGE HAD THE SAVAGE BY THE THROAT.]

At this moment a shot rang out on the frozen air, and a bullet made a
clean hole through George's buckskin cap. One glance showed him an
Indian crouching in the brushwood. With a spring as quick and sure as a
panther's, George had the savage by the throat, and wrenched the
firelock, still smoking, from his hand. Behind him half a dozen Indian
figures were seen stealing off through the trees. Lance walked up, and
raising a hatchet over the Indian's head, said, coolly,

"Mr. Washington, we must kill him as we would a snake."

"No," replied George, "I will not have him killed."[2]

[2] Washington, in his journal, speaks of the Indian firing at him at
short range, but says nothing of his preventing his companion from
killing the would-be murderer. But his companion expressly says that he
would have killed the Indian on the spot had not Washington forbidden
him. The Indians became very superstitious about Washington's immunity
from bullets, especially after Braddock's defeat. In that battle he was
the target for the best marksmen among them, and not only escaped
without a scratch, although two horses were killed under him and his
clothes riddled with bullets, but he was the only officer of Braddock's
military family who survived.

The Indian, standing perfectly erect and apparently unconcerned,
understood well enough that the question of his life or death was under
discussion, but with a more than Roman fortitude he awaited his fate,
glancing indifferently meanwhile at the glittering edge of the hatchet
still held over him.

George took the hatchet from Lance's hand, and said to the Indian, in
English: "Though you have tried to kill me, I will spare your life. But
I will not trust you behind me. Walk ten paces in front of us, in the
direction of the Alleghany River."

The Indian turned, and, after getting his bearings, started off in a
manner which showed he understood what was required of him.

The Indians have keen ears, so that George and Lance dared not speak in
his hearing, but by exchanging signs they conveyed to each other that
there were enemies on their path, of whom this fellow was only one.

Steadily the three tramped for hours, Lance carrying the Indian's gun.
When darkness came on they stopped and made the Indian make the fire,
which he did, scowling, as being squaw's work. They then divided with
him their scanty ration of dried venison, and, George taking charge of
the guns, Lance slept two hours. He was then wakened by George, who lay
down by the fire and slept two hours, when he too was wakened. George
then said to the Indian, who had remained sleepless and upright all the
time:

"We have determined to let you go, as we have not food enough for three
men. Go back to your tribe, and tell them that we spared your life; but
before you go pile wood on the fire, for we may have to remain here, on
account of the rise in the river, for several days."

This was a _ruse_, but the Indian fell at once into the trap. After
replenishing the fire he started off in a northwesterly direction. As
soon as George and Lance were sure that he was out of sight they made
off in the opposite direction, and after some hours of trudging through
snow and ice they found themselves on the bank of the river. They had
hoped to find it frozen over, but, instead, there was only a fringe of
ice-cakes along the shores and swirling about in the main channel.

Lance looked at George in some discouragement, but George only said,
cheerfully: "It is lucky you have the hatchet, Lance. We must make a
raft."

The short winter day was nearly done before a rude raft was made, and on
it the two embarked. The piercing wind dashed their frail contrivance
about, and it was buffeted to and fro by the floating ice. They could
not make the opposite shore, but were forced to land on an island, where
they spent the night. The hardships told on the older man, and George
saw, by the despairing look in Lance's eyes, that he could do no more
that day. Wood, however, was plentiful, and a great fire was made.

"Cheer up, Lance!" cried George, when the fire began to blaze: "there is
still more dried venison left. You shall sleep to-night, and in the
morning the river will be frozen over, and one more day's march will
bring us to civilization."

Lance was deeply mortified at his temporary collapse, but there was no
denying it. George had but little sleep that night. Five days afterwards
the two parted--Lance to return to Greenway Court, and George to press
on to Williamsburg. By that time they had secured horses.

"Good-by, my friend," said George. "Tell my lord that nothing but the
urgency of the case prevented me from giving myself the happiness of
seeing him, and that no day has passed since he sent you with me that I
have not thanked him in my heart for your company."

A subtle quiver came upon Lance's rugged face.

"Mr. Washington," he said, "I thank you humbly for what you have said;
but mark my words, sir, the time will come, if it is not already here,
that my lord will be thankful for every hour that you have spent with
him, and proud for every step of advancement he has helped you to."

"I hope so, my friend," cried George, gayly, and turning to go.

Lance watched the tall, lithe young figure in hunting-clothes, worn and
torn, riding jauntily off, until George was out of sight. Then he
himself struck out for Greenway Court. Four days afterwards a tattered
figure rode up to Mount Vernon. The negroes laughed and cried and
yah-yahed at seeing "Marse George" in such a plight. Spending only one
night there, in order to get some clothes and necessaries, he left at
daybreak for Williamsburg, where he arrived and reported to the
Governor, exactly eleven weeks from the day he started on this terrible
journey.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]




TURKEY, "THE SICK MAN."

BY V. GRIBAYÉDOFF.


It is now forty-three years since Czar Nicholas I., in conversation with
the British ambassador at St. Petersburg, referred to Turkey as the
"Sick Man," and suggested that Great Britain and Russia deal him his
death-blow and divide up his heritage. We all know that Great Britain
not only rejected the proposition, but, with France and Turkey as
allies, not long after declared war on the Russian Empire. This Crimean
war cost the great powers engaged in it thousands and thousands of men
and millions and millions of money, and when peace was signed in 1856,
Russia found herself deprived of some territory on the Roumanian
frontier and of the right to maintain a fleet in the Black Sea.

The result acted as medicine on the "Sick Man." Propped up on each side
by the western powers, he raised his head and endeavored to feel himself
again. He has had several relapses since that period, one notably in
1877-8, when the Russian troops encamped within view of Constantinople.
Great Britain again came to his rescue, and prevented some of the
amputations planned by the Muscovite--amputations which would surely
have led to his demise from sheer loss of blood. For this good service
England did a little amputating on her own account, and added to her
dominions the fertile island of Cyprus, in the Mediterranean. The "Sick
Man" thus obtained another lease of life, but recent events would
indicate that his end is at last approaching--as one writer has put it,
from sheer inner putrition; and this time there is no sympathizing
friend to stretch a helping hand, none to ward off his well-merited
fate!

Even those Englishmen who have been most bitterly opposed in the past to
a conciliatory policy toward Russia are beginning to recognize the
mistake of upholding Turkish rule in Europe. As one English religious
journal recently remarked, while advocating the substitution of the
Russian for the Turkish flag in Constantinople, "The Czar's rule is bad
enough, but there is in the hearts of the Russian people the seed of
better things." And it really seems an anomaly that England, of all
countries--England, the land of John Howard, of William Wilberforce, of
David Livingstone--should have been instrumental in maintaining that
pestiferous charnel-house on the banks of the Bosporus! Better a
thousand times that the Turkish government should be abolished!

[Illustration: SOME OF THE "IRREGULARS."]

The recent massacres in Armenia and Constantinople are but repetitions
of the events of former years. When the Russian troops crossed the
Danube in 1853 they found many Bulgarian villages pillaged and their
inhabitants massacred by the irregular Turkish troops. The horrible
stories that are being told to us daily from Armenia are the same as
those told in 1853 from Bulgaria. Towns were burned to ashes, and the
inhabitants were burned with them or were killed in attempting to escape
from them. Nevertheless, the innate barbarity of the Turk did not
prevent the western powers from coming to his help in those days!

In 1861 there were other terrible massacres in the Ottoman Empire, the
Christian Maronites of the Lebanon being the victims this time. In the
course of a few days five thousand men, women, and children were
slaughtered in and around Damascus. This pill was even too much for the
Sultan's complacent western friends, and that potentate was obliged to
submit to the landing of a French army of intervention in Syria. The
many thousands of murders in the Lebanon district were avenged by the
execution of about fifty Mussulman ringleaders, after which the French
withdrew, with colors flying, to the time of "Partant pour la Syrie."

[Illustration: YILDIZ KIOSK, THE SULTAN'S PALACE.]

In 1876 the barbarities of the Turks in Bulgaria aroused, as we know,
the indignation of the whole civilized world. Here was a brilliant
opportunity for putting an end, once and for all, to Mussulman
authority over a Christian population, and yet such was the jealousy
of the great European powers, one for another, that they could not agree,
and at the eleventh hour, as the Russians were about to grasp the
prize--Constantinople--a British fleet was sent to the Sea of Marmora,
and the Turk was saved once more, as above stated, to perpetrate further
atrocities in the name of law and order!

It is a long lane that has no turning, and let us trust, therefore, that
the symptoms pointing to the Porte's approaching dissolution are not
deceptive. When the end does come it will come with a crash. A glance at
the photographs on these pages will convey an idea of the kind of men
still at the Sultan's beck and call. They certainly do not look as if
they would give up to the Giaour without a struggle. Indeed, if the
lessons of history count for anything, the unspeakable Turk will fight
tooth and nail to maintain his supremacy. Since the days of Osman,
founder of the present dynasty, nay, even as far back as the first
century of the Christian era, the ancestors of the modern Turk were
redoubtable warriors and conquerors. Even in the present century,
although usually unfortunate in the outcome of their wars, they have
given evidence of the old fearlessness and disregard for death. The
defense of Plevna furnishes a brilliant example of Turkish bravery and
obstinacy.

[Illustration: TURKISH ZOUAVES.]

The pictures here presented have a peculiar interest at this moment.
They represent the regiments garrisoned in Constantinople upon whom the
Sultan can count in any emergency. These men are well clothed, well fed,
and receive their pay with regularity, unlike the troops in the
provinces, who have been wretchedly neglected of late years. These crack
regiments are the regular imperial guard, line infantry, zouaves, and
marines. They are picked men of Turkish race, and are decidedly more
respectable than the irregulars shown in another group. It is the latter
who, after the Sultan himself, are to be held accountable for the recent
horrible massacres. It is they who organized themselves into marauding
bands and spread death and devastation among the unhappy Armenians, with
the cognizance of the camarilla at the Yildiz Kiosk, or Sultan's palace.

[Illustration: TROOP OF THE SULTAN'S BODY-GUARD.]

When the final day of reckoning arrives, it is sincerely to be hoped
that this gentry will come in for some attention. The civilized world
has an old score against them. May it speak in no uncertain tone--in the
same voice that thundered ten thousand Turkish assassins to their doom
at the sea-fight at Navarino of blessed memory! Those were the days of
noble impulses and lofty aspirations, when international jealousies were
powerless to sway the councils of nations and stifle the cry of the
oppressed. Those were the days of Canning and of Byron. Would that some
such men were alive to-day to teach Europe her sacred duty.




THE VOYAGE OF THE "RATTLETRAP."

BY HAYDEN CARRUTH.

X.


After we got back to the Rattletrap we promised ourselves plenty of
sport the next day watching the freighters with their long teams and
wagon trains. Jack could not recover from his first glimpse of
Henderson.

"Rather a neat little turnout to take a young lady out driving with," he
said, after we had gone to bed. "Twenty-two oxen and four wagons. Plenty
of room. Take along her father and mother. And the rest of the family.
And her school-mates. And the whole town. Good team to go after the
doctor with if somebody was sick--mile and a half an hour. That
trotting-cow man at Yankton ought to come up here and show Henderson a
little speed. Still, I dare say Henderson could best Old Browny, on a
good day for sleeping, and when he didn't have Blacky to pull him
along."

But we got small sight of the trail the next day, as the rain we had
left behind came upon us again in greater force than ever. It began
toward morning, and when we looked out, just as it was becoming light,
we found it coming down in sheets--"cold, wet sheets," as Ollie said,
too.

We could watch the road from the front of the wagon, and saw a number of
freighters go by, usually with empty wagons, as it soon became too muddy
for those with loads. We saw one fourteen-ox team with four wagons, and
another man with twelve oxen and three wagons. There were also a number
of mule teams, and we noticed one of twelve mules and five wagons, and
several of ten mules and three or four wagons. With these the driver
always rode the nigh-wheel animal--that is, the left-hand rear one.

"I'm going to put a saddle on Old Blacky and ride him after this," said
Jack. "Bound to be in the fashion. Wonder how Henderson is getting along
in the mud? A mile in two hours, I suppose. Must be impossible for him
to see the head oxen through this rain."

The downpour never stopped all day. We tried letter-writing, but it was
too cold to hold the pen; and Jack's efforts at playing the banjo proved
equally unsuccessful. We fell back on reading, but even this did not
seem to be very satisfactory. So we finally settled down to watching the
rain and listening to the wind.

When evening came we shut down the front of the cover and tried to warm
up the cabin a little by leaving the oil-stove burning, but it didn't
seem to make much difference. So we soon went to bed, rather damp,
somewhat cold, and a little dispirited. I think we all staid awake for a
long time listening to the beating of the rain on the cover, and
wondering about the weather of the morrow.

When we awoke in the morning it did not take long to find out about the
weather. The rain had ceased and the sky was clear, but it was colder.
Outside we found ice on the little pools of water in the footprints of
the horses. We were stiff and cold. Some of us may have thought of the
comforts of home, but none of us said anything about them.

"This is what I like," said Jack. "Don't feel I'm living unless I find
my shoes frozen in the morning. Like to break the ice when I go to wash
my face and hands, and to have my hair freeze before I can comb it."

But we observed that he kept as close to the camp-fire which we started
as any of us. We went up to Smith's to look after the horses. While Jack
and I were at the sheds Ollie staid in the road watching the freight
teams. A big swarthy man, over six feet in height, came along, and after
looking over the fence at Smith's house some time, said to Ollie,

"Do you s'pose Smith's at home?"

"Oh, I guess so," answered Ollie.

"I'd like to see him," went on the man, with an uneasy air.

"Probably you'll find him eating breakfast," said Ollie.

"I don't like to go in," said the man.

"Why not?"

[Illustration: "I'M AFRAID OF THE DOG."]

"I'm--I'm afraid of the dog."

"Oh!" replied Ollie. "Well, I'm not. Come on," and he stalked ahead very
bravely, while the man followed cautiously behind.

"He's a Mexican," said Smith in explanation afterwards. "All Mexicans
are afraid of dogs."

"That's a pretty broad statement," said Jack, after Smith had gone. "I
believe, if there was a good reward offered, that I could find a Mexican
who isn't afraid of dogs. Though perhaps it's the hair they're afraid
of; Mexican dogs don't have any, you know."

"Don't any of them have hair?" asked Ollie.

"Not a hair," answered his truthful uncle. "I don't suppose a Mexican
dog would know a hair if he saw it."

"I think that's a bigger story than Smith's," said Ollie.

It was Sunday, and we spent most of the day in the wagon, though we took
a long walk up the valley in the afternoon. The first thing Ollie said
the next morning was, "When are we going to see the buffaloes?"

Smith had been telling us about them the evening before. They were down
town, and belonged to a Dr. McGillicuddie. They had been brought in
recently from the Rosebud Indian Agency, and had been captured some time
before in the Bad Lands.

We followed the trail, now as deep with mud as it had been with dust,
meeting many freighters on the way, and found the buffaloes near the
Deadwood stage barn.

"See!" exclaimed Ollie; "there they are in the yard."

"Don't say 'yard,'" returned Jack; "say 'corral,' with a good, strong
accent on the last syllable. A yard is a corral, and a farm a ranch, and
a revolver a six-shooter--and a lot more. _Don't_ be green, Oliver."

"Oh, bother!" replied Ollie. "There's ten of 'em. See the big fellow!"

"They're nice ones, that's so," answered Jack. "I'd like to see the
Yankton man we heard about try to milk that cow over in the corner."

[Illustration: SOME SAID IT WAS A GRIZZLY, AND OTHERS A SILVER-TIP.]

After we had seen the buffaloes we wandered about town and jingled our
spurs, which were quite in the fashion. We encountered a big crowd in
front of one of the markets, and found that a hunter had just come in
from the mountains to the west with the carcass of the biggest bear ever
brought into Rapid City. Some said it was a grizzly, and others a
silver-tip, and one man tried to settle the difficulty by saying that
there wasn't any difference between them. But it was certainly a big
bear, and filled the whole wagon-box. Ollie sidled through the crowd,
and asked so many questions of the man, who was named Reynolds, that he
good-naturedly gave Ollie one of the largest of the claws. It was five
inches long.

At noon we went down to the camp of the freighters on the outskirts of
town, near Rapid Creek. There must have been fifty "outfits"--Jack said
that was the right word--and several hundred mules as many oxen, and a
few horses. The animals were, most of them, wandering about wherever
they pleased, the mules and horses taking their dinner out of nose-bags,
and the mules keeping up a gentle exercise by kicking at one another. It
seemed a hopeless confusion, but the men were sitting about on the
ground, calmly cooking their dinners over little camp-fires. One man,
whom we had got acquainted with in the morning at Smith's, asked us to
have dinner with him, and made the invitation so pressing that we
accepted. He had several gallons of coffee and plenty of bacon and
canned fruit, and a peculiar kind of bread, which he had baked himself.

"I'm a-thinking," he said, "there ain't enough sal'ratus in that there
bread; but I'm a poor cook, anyhow."

[Illustration: THE RECEIPT FOR THE SAL'RATUS BREAD.]

The bread seemed to us to be already composed chiefly of saleratus, so
his apology struck us as unnecessary. He very kindly wrote out the
receipt on a shingle for Jack, but I stole it away from him after we got
home and burned it in the camp-fire; so we escaped _that_.

"Your pancakes are bad enough," I said to him. "We don't care to try
your saleratus bread."

Jack was a good deal worked up about the loss of his receipt, and
experimented a long time to produce something like the freighter's bread
without it, but as Snoozer wouldn't try the stuff he made, and he was
afraid to do so himself, nothing came of it.

We enjoyed our dinner with the man, however, and Jack added further to
his vocabulary in finding that the drivers of the ox teams were called
"bullwhackers," and those of the mules and horses "muleskinners."

In the afternoon we climbed the hill above our camp. It gave us a long
view off to the east across the level country, while away to the west
were the mountain-peaks rising higher and higher. It was still cold, and
the raw northeast wind moaned through the pines in a way which made us
think of winter.

We went to bed early that night, so as to get a good start for Deadwood
the next day. We brought the horses down from the ranch in the evening,
blanketed them, and stood them out of the wind among some trees.

"Four o'clock must see us rolling out of our comfortable beds and
getting ready to start," said Jack, as we turned in. "We must play we
are freighters."

Jack planned better than he knew; we really "rolled out" in an
exceedingly lively manner at three o'clock. We were sleeping soundly at
that hour, when we were awakened by the motion of the wagon. Jack and I
sat up. It was swaying from side to side, and we could hear the wheels
bumping on the stones. The back end was considerably lower than the
front.

"It's running down the bank!" I cried, and we both plunged through the
darkness for the brake-handle. We fell over Ollie and Snoozer, and were
instantly hopelessly tangled. It seemed an age, with the wagon swaying
more and more, before we found the handle. Jack pushed it up hard, we
heard the brake grind on the wheels outside; then there was a great bump
and splash, and the wagon tilted half over and stopped. We found
ourselves lying on the side of the cover, with cold water rising about
us. We were not long in getting out, and discovered that the Rattletrap
was capsized in the mill-race.

"Old Blacky did it!" cried Jack, as he danced around and shook his wet
clothes. "I know he did. The old sinner!"

We got out the lantern and lit it. Only the hind end of the wagon was
really in the race; one front wheel still clung to the bank, and the
other was up in the air. Ollie got in and began to pass things out to
Jack, while I went up the hill after the horses. Jack was right. Old
Blacky was evidently the author of our misfortune. He had broken loose
in some manner, and probably begun his favorite operation of making his
toilet on the corner of the wagon by rubbing against it. The brake had
carelessly been left off, he had pushed the wagon back a few feet, and
it had gone over the bank. I soon had the harness on the horses, and got
them down the hill. We hitched them to the hind wheel with a long rope,
Jack wading in the water to his waist, and pulled the wagon upright.
Then we attached them to the end of the tongue, and after hard work drew
it out of the race. By this time we were chilled through and through.
Our beds and nearly everything we had were soaking with water.

"How do you like it, Uncle Jack?" inquired Ollie. "Do you feel that you
are living now?"

Jack's teeth were chattering. "Y--yes," he said; "but I won't be if we
don't get a fire started pretty quick."

There were some timbers from an old bridge near by, and we soon had a
good fire, around which we tramped in a procession till our clothes were
fairly dry. The wind was chilly, and it was a dark cloudy morning. The
unfortunate Snoozer had gone down with the rest of us, and was the
picture of despair, till Ollie rubbed him with a dry corner of a
blanket, and gave him a good place beside the fire.

By the time two or three hours had elapsed we began to feel partially
dry, and decided to start on, relying on exercise to keep ourselves
warm. We had had breakfast in the mean time, and, on the whole, were
feeling rather cheerful again. We opened the cover and spread out the
bedding, inside and outside, and hung some of it on a long pole which we
stuck into the wagon from the rear. Altogether we presented a rather
funny appearance as we started out along the trail, but no one paid much
attention to us. The freighters were already astir, and we were
constantly passing or meeting their long trains. Among others we passed
Eugene Brooks, the man with whom we had taken dinner. We told him of our
mishap, and he laughed, and said:

"That's nothing in this country. Something's always happening here which
would kill folks anywhere else. You stay here awhile and you'll be as
tough as your old black horse."

Brooks had an outfit of five spans of mules and two wagons. We staid
with him a half-hour, and then went on. As we could not reach Deadwood
that day, he advised us to camp that night where the trail crossed
Thunder Butte Creek, a branch of La Belle Fourche.

The trail led for the most part through valleys or along the sides of
hills, and was generally not far from level, though there was, of
course, a constant though hardly perceptible rise as we got farther into
the mountains. We camped at noon at Elk Creek, and made further progress
at drying our household effects. We pressed on during the afternoon, and
passed through the town of Sturgis, where we laid in some stores of
provisions to take the place of those spoiled by the water, and also a
quantity of horse-feed. We congratulated ourselves later on our good
luck in doing this.

As the afternoon wore away we found ourselves getting up above the
timber-line. The mountains began to shut in our view in all directions,
and the valleys were narrowing. As night drew nearer, Jack said:

"Seems to me it's about time we got to this Thunder Butte Creek. He said
that if we passed Sturgis we'd have to go on to that if we wanted
water."

We soon met a man, and inquired of him the distance to the desired
stream. "Two miles," he replied, promptly. We went on as much as a mile
and met another man, to whom we put the same question. "Three miles," he
answered, with great decision.

"That creek seems to be retreating," said Jack, after the man had gone
on. "We've got to hurry and catch it, or it will run clean into Deadwood
and crawl down a gold-mine."

It was growing dark. We forged ahead for another mile, and by this time
it was quite as dark as it was going to be, with a cloudy sky, and
mountains and pines shutting out half of that. I was walking ahead with
the lantern, and came to a place where the trail divided.

"The road forks here," I called. "Which do you suppose is right?"

"Which seems to be the most travelled?" asked Jack.

"Can't see any difference," I replied. "We'll have to leave it to the
instinct of the horses."

"Yes, I'd like to put myself in the grasp of Old Blacky's instinct. The
old scoundrel would go wrong if he knew which was right."

"Well," I returned, "come on and see which way he turns, and then go the
other way." (Jack always declared that the old fellow understood what I
said.)

He drove up to the forks, and Blacky turned to the right. Jack drew over
to the left, and we went up that road. We continued to go up it for
fully three miles, though we soon became convinced that it was wrong. It
constantly grew narrower and apparently less travelled. We were soon
winding along a mountain-side among the pines, and around and above and
below great rocks.

"We'll go till we find a decent place to camp, and then stop for the
night," said Jack.

We finally came to a little level bench covered with giant pines, and we
could hear water beyond. I went on with the lantern, and found a small
stream leaping down a gulch.

"This is the place to stop," I said, and we soon had our camp
established, and a good fire roaring up into the tree-tops. Ollie found
plenty of dry pine wood, and we blanketed the horses and stood under a
protecting ledge. It was cold, and the wind roared down the gulch and
moaned in the pines, but we scarcely felt it blow. We finished drying
our bedding and had a good supper. Jack got out his banjo and tried to
compete with the brook and the pines. We went to bed feeling that we
were glad we had missed the road, since it had brought so delightful a
camping-place.

Ollie was the first to wake in the morning. It was quite light.

"What makes the cover sag down so?" he asked.

Jack opened his eyes, reached up with the whipstock and raised it.
Something slid off the outside with a rush.

"Open the front and you'll see," answered Jack.

Ollie did so, and we all looked out. The ground was deep with snow, and
it was still falling in great feathery flakes. Old Blacky was loose, and
looked in at us with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]




[Illustration: INTERSCHOLASTIC SPORT]


The championship season in football is now fairly under way in almost
every section of the country, and the reports that come in from all
sides are of a most promising nature for the welfare of the sport. More
players in a greater number of schools spread over a broader area of the
country are at work on the gridiron this year than ever before, and the
colleges may feel confident of receiving a higher grade of raw material
in the future than has ever come in with any previous Freshman class.

In the Boston Association the number of schools in the Junior League has
become so large as to make it necessary to divide it into two sections,
the winners of each to play off to decide the championship; and then, of
course, the champion of the Juniors must play the tail-ender in the
Senior League to determine whether or not they exchange places. Newton,
Somerville, Chelsea, and Medford form one division of the Junior League;
Roxbury Latin, Dedham, Hyde Park, and Dorchester the other. Dorchester
and Medford are new-comers, and thus, to a certain extent, unknown
quantities. Somerville High, having won the championship of the Junior
League last year, will now move up into the Senior ranks, and from
present appearances the team ought to make a good showing. In the game
with Tufts College, Somerville held the collegians down to one
touch-down in a twenty-minute half. They developed good team-work in
their aggressive play, but when on the defence they were not so strong.
This is the natural result of practice work against a weaker team, such
as a second eleven usually is. The only way to develop a strong defence
is to practise against stronger opponents, hence the advisability of as
many matches with outsiders as possible.

The weak spots in the Somerville team are the guards. They are somewhat
light, but with training and careful coaching should develop well,
Almeida, the captain, is a good man, and is playing an unusually strong
game at quarter for a captain. If he can manage his men as well as they
were managed last season, Somerville need have no fears of losing its
position in the Senior League. The backs, Pipe and Cuddy, are doing as
well as can be expected so early in the season, and if Hanlon, at
full-back, can keep on improving in his kicking, the team will be well
taken care of back of the line.

From present appearances it looks as if English High would have fully as
good a team as last year, and the eleven is certainly as strong as any
other in the League to-day. Five of the old champions are back, and they
form an excellent nucleus for an exceptionally good lot of new material.
Kimball, who will probably hold centre, is pretty green, but will
improve. He will doubtless be guarded by Walker, who is a new man, and
by Carroll, who was last year's substitute centre. If these three men
are finally selected, they will make as heavy a centre as there is on
any team in the association. The position of quarter-back is still open,
as it is not known yet definitely whether Sherlock will return to
school. If he does not, however, Mansfield and Mann will make good
substitutes, and can be trained into excellent players. Mann is a fast
runner, and will make a good running quarter if he takes the place.

The Boston Latin School loses a good many of last year's team, but is
fortunate in having an unusually large number of men anxious for
positions on the eleven. The practice work so far has been of the first
order, and the number of candidates has made it possible for the old men
to get good practice. Those who are trying are not all by any means new
to the game. Some were substitutes to the team which won the
championship in 1895.

The men of last tear's team who are left to represent Boston Latin this
year are Lowe, who played left guard; Teevens, who was substitute tackle
in 1894, but who played back of the line last year; Daly, last year's
right half-back, who, however, will doubtless make a try for full-back
this fall; and Brayton, who is a candidate for guard. The new men,
besides being a promising lot, are all pretty heavy, and so we may
expect to see the Latin School represented by a heavy team in the coming
championship.

The schedule for the championship series in the Senior League was made
up at a recent meeting of the football committee as follows:

     Boston Latin.--Oct. 30, Brookline High at South End; Nov. 6,
     Hopkinson at South End; Nov. 13, Cambridge High and Latin at South
     End; Nov. 26, English High at South End.

     Cambridge Manual.--Oct. 30, Boston Latin or Cambridge High and
     Latin, Soldiers' Field; Nov. 6, Brookline High at Soldiers' Field;
     Nov. 13, Hopkinson at Soldiers' Field; Nov. 20, English High at
     Soldiers' Field.

     English High.--Nov. 6, Cambridge High and Latin at South End; Nov.
     12, Brookline High at South End; Nov. 17, Hopkinson at South End;
     Nov. 20, Cambridge Manual at Soldiers' Field; Nov. 26, Boston Latin
     at South End.

     Cambridge High and Latin.--Oct. 31, Hopkinson (undecided); Nov. 6,
     English High at South End; Nov. 13, Boston Latin at South End; Nov.
     18, Brookline (undecided).

     Brookline High.--Oct. 30, Boston Latin at South End; Nov. 6,
     Cambridge Manual at Soldiers' Field; Nov. 12, English High at South
     End; Nov. 18, Cambridge High and Latin at Soldiers' Field or South
     End; Nov. 24, Hopkinson at Soldiers' Field.

     Hopkinson.--Oct. 31, Cambridge High and Latin at South End (?);
     Nov. 6, Boston Latin at South End; Nov. 13, Cambridge Manual at
     Soldiers' Field; Nov. 17, English High at South End; Nov. 24,
     Brookline High at Soldiers' Field.

The schools of Maine are beginning to practise for their championship
season, and several minor games have already been played. Portland High
ought to have a fairly strong team, although it is perhaps too early yet
to form any idea of what the new material will develop into. Bangor High
is practising hard, and of last year's team there are again in school
Connors, McCann, Snow, Hall, Hunt, Knaide, and Crowley. The Cony
High-School, of Augusta, is looking forward confidently to winning the
championship, and the eleven is practising hard every day. Several of
last year's team are back, notably Savage and Sawyer, the guard and
tackle. The regular League schedule, however, has not yet been arranged.

The Cook County High-School League, of Chicago, had a little trouble
over its elections recently, but it is to be hoped that if any ill
feeling resulted, it has all been smoothed over by this time. It seems
to be a natural desire among a great many of us to go ahead regardless
of rules sometimes, and this always results in trouble afterwards. When
it comes to an election, nothing should ever be attempted that is not
strictly in conformity with the regulations of the association. The
desire for office or the enthusiasm of supporters should not be allowed
to influence any candidate. A man elected under any circumstances except
those of absolute regularity can never feel satisfied with his position,
and will always suffer the loss of a certain amount of self-respect.

At the last meeting of the League's committee this trouble over the
election was satisfactorily arranged, and a schedule for the
championship series was laid out as follows:

     Oct. 10.--West Division at North Division, Lake View at Oak Park,
     English High at Hyde Park, Northwest at Englewood, Chicago Manual
     at Evanston.

     Oct. 17.--Hyde Park at West Division, Englewood at Lake View, North
     Division at English High, Evanston at Northwest, Oak Park at
     Chicago Manual.

     Oct. 21.--West Division at Englewood, Chicago Manual at Hyde Park,
     Northwest at North Division, Lake View at Evanston, English High at
     Oak Park.

     Oct. 24.--Evanston at West Division, Chicago Manual at Lake View,
     Oak Park at Englewood, Hyde Park at North Division, Northwest at
     English High.

     Oct. 31.--Northwest at Oak Park, North Division at Chicago Manual,
     Englewood at Evanston, West Division at Oak Park, English High at
     Lake View.

     Nov. 4.--North Division at Lake View, Evanston at English High,
     Hyde Park at Oak Park, West Division at Northwest, Englewood at
     Chicago Manual.

     Nov. 7.--Lake View at Hyde Park, Oak Park at Evanston, Englewood at
     North Division, Northwest at Chicago Manual, English High at West
     Division.

     Nov. 14.--Hyde Park at Evanston, English High at Englewood, Chicago
     Manual at West Division, North Division at Oak Park, Lake View at
     Northwest.

     Nov. 21.--Hyde Park at Englewood, Northwest at Oak Park, Evanston
     at North Division, Chicago Manual at English High, West Division at
     Lake View.

The home grounds of the different teams are: Englewood, Hyde Park, and
Chicago Manual, Washington Park; Lake View and North Division, Lincoln
Park; English High and West Division, Douglas Park; Northwest Division,
Humboldt Park; Evanston, Evanston; and Oak Park on the Oak Park Club
baseball-grounds.

The New Jersey Interscholastic A.A. has arranged its football schedule,
and the games will be played in the following order:

  Oct. 10.--Newark Academy _vs._ Pingry, at Newark.
  Oct. 15.--Stevens Prep. _vs._ Montclair H.-S. at Montclair.
  Oct. 24.--Pingry _vs._ Stevens Prep. at Elizabeth.
  Oct. 24.--Newark _vs._ Montclair at Montclair.
  Oct. 31.--Stevens _vs._ Newark at Hoboken.
  Nov.  7.--Pingry _vs._ Montclair at Elizabeth.

It is probable that the Wisconsin Interscholastic League will soon fall
to pieces, inasmuch as three of the strongest members have withdrawn
from it. The reason given for this action on their part is that the
high-schools in the State are so widely separated, that the time and
expense incurred in travelling to and from games are so great, that
these contests must be abandoned. The Milwaukee schools, however, have
decided to keep up interscholastic sport so far as they are themselves
concerned, and have adopted a constitution and drawn up a set of rules
to govern their own games, which shall take the place of the old League
regulations. These rules were made by delegates representing three
schools. They debar all undesirable persons from taking part in any of
the contests, and a committee has been appointed to see that athletics
are kept pure not only in Milwaukee, but to enforce the Milwaukee
standard against all out-of-town teams that desire to hold contests with
members of this new association.

From all accounts it would seem that athletics in Wisconsin must have
been about as impure and un-amateur and shamefacedly semi-professional
as could possibly be. The trouble all came about, as it usually does,
gradually. One school committed some small offence, and then another
school committed a larger one, excusing itself on the ground that its
neighbor was the first sinner. Madison High-School, so far as I am able
to learn, seems to have been the worst transgressor. It is a great
boaster of championships, and it is true that the Madison High-School
football team has never been defeated. It has seemed to many, however,
that the authorities of that school ought to take some steps to prevent
men who are students at the University of Wisconsin from playing on the
High-School team. Such men actually did play on the school teams while
members of the university, by taking some single subject in the
High-School. With university men on the school teams, victory naturally
came to Madison very frequently when it met other schools, and this
afforded a bad example.

The contagion reached Milwaukee, and the High-Schools there did a great
many things which are doubtless now regretted by the better element. To
such a point have they come in Wisconsin that the _Mercury_, which is
the paper of the Milwaukee East-Side High-School, says, in a leading
editorial: "There must be an entire revolution in the High-School
athletics of this State. Otherwise Wisconsin will have a league
professing purity in athletics, but really composed of professionals and
'ringers' and some unquestioned amateurs.... Numerous charges have been
wafted to our ears, but we will deal only with those which we can
substantiate." So long as the _Mercury_ can substantiate the charges, it
may be interesting to the readers of this Department to hear what those
charges are.

It would seem that the first case of irregularity occurred in last
year's football season, when, according to the _Mercury_, the Madison
eleven had two players who were regular members of the University of
Wisconsin. The next case was in the Milwaukee East Side High-School
itself. Members of that institution had the rules of the League
suspended until after the date of the field meeting in order to allow
one of their men, who had not been regularly enrolled since December, as
the rules required, to enter and compete. "The next irregularity," says
the _Mercury_, "was the entrance of a professional from the interior of
the State, but that resulted satisfactorily. He was ruled out." The
editorial then goes on to tell another story of professionalism in which
two schools, holding a majority vote, refused to obey the rules of the
Association, and legislated so as to allow certain individuals to
represent their schools in a track-athletic meeting who had no more
right to do so than any professional performers that they might have
called on for similar work. It is to be hoped that the new spirit which
seems to be awakening in Milwaukee will have sufficient influence and
power to root out these evils in the future, or the sports of that State
will get into a sad condition, where the young are so crafty and bold in
their adoption of unfair methods.

With the awakening spirit of purity in athletics the prospects for
football in Wisconsin seem to be brighter than ever before. The Madison
High and the East Side and South Side high-schools at Milwaukee will
undoubtedly be the strongest three high-school teams in the State.
Madison has more old players back than the others, and thus has a slight
advantage to start with; and it has the additional advantage of good
coachers from the neighboring university. The Milwaukee schools,
however, will put heavier men into the field.

The St. John's Military Academy will be stronger on the gridiron this
year than it has been for some time, and ought to come out pretty well
in interscholastic contests. The amateur spirit has had some pretty hard
rubs at St. John's, as has been told of before in this Department, but I
understand that this year no instructors will be permitted to play on
the team, and none but students of the institution will be allowed to
wear the school colors. It has not always been possible to say this of
St. John's teams.

[Illustration: LINE-UP OF THE BROOKLYN HIGH-SCHOOL ELEVEN.]

All the schools of the Long Island League are working hard at football
this year, much harder than they have worked for the past few seasons,
and we may therefore expect to see a better general average across the
river. St. Paul's School always has had a strong team, and expects to
have the best that ever represented the school this year. The Boys'
High-School of Brooklyn has an energetic captain, Dickson, and promises
to put a strong eleven into the field.

[Illustration: THE BERKELEY OVAL FOOTBALL FIELD.]

The trouble with last year's High-School team was that the men were too
light, and became discouraged early in the season, and did not work with
that determination which alone can insure success on the football field.
A number of the old men are back, however, this fall, and the new
material seems to be heavier than any which has before been available.

The unusually large number of students at the Buffalo High-School this
year seems to have bred a lively interest in football. The first team
the High-School ever put into the field was in 1892, but so little
interest was taken in its work by the students at large and the players
themselves, that they were able to accomplish but little. This year,
however, a change seems to have come over the spirit of B.H.-S., and
large crowds watch the practice every afternoon. The eleven is light
when compared with some of the teams which it will meet during the
season, but the men play well together, and the new rules are so
arranged that a light eleven is not under such a disadvantage as it used
to be in years past. Vayers, the captain, knows the game thoroughly, and
has the ability of imparting knowledge to those under him.

The Andover football team this year seems to be rich in candidates for
positions behind the line, whereas very few good men can be found for
the rush-line itself. Nevertheless, Captain Barker is working hard with
such material as he has, and no doubt by the close of the season he will
have developed an eleven of the usual Andover calibre. It seems very
improbable that a game with Exeter will be arranged this year, although
there has been a renewal of interest in the subject lately, and
considerable thought and some activity among the graduates of the two
schools.

The papers on the "Science of Football" which have been appearing in
this Department during the past few weeks, written by Mr. W. H. Lewis,
of the Harvard football team of 1893, are published now in book form,
with much additional material, and many more illustrations and diagrams
than were given originally in the ROUND TABLE. The book will be found
especially valuable to beginners, for whom it is intended rather than
for the more experienced player, and the chapter on training will be
found especially serviceable to the captains of school teams.

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

  THE GRADUATE.




A little boy who had been very well and carefully brought up was
overlooked one evening at dinner in the serving of the roast. Presently
he said,

"Papa, will you pass me the salt, please?"

This was an unusual request, and the father said: "Certainly. Have you
none at your end of the table?"

"Not enough for all the meat you are going to give me," replied the
little boy. And he was served at once.




[Illustration: ROYAL BAKING POWDER]

A cream-of-tartar baking powder. Highest of all in leavening
strength.--_Latest United States Government Food Report._

ROYAL BAKING POWDER CO., NEW YORK.




Arnold

Constable & Co

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Ladies'

Furnishings.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Fine Underwear,_

_Night Robes, Petticoats,_

_Dressing-Sacques._

SILK PETTICOATS.

_Infants' Ouffittings,_

_Real Lace Robes,_

_Hemstitched Silk Caps,_

_Long Coats._

CHILDREN'S HAND-EMBROIDERED

UNDERWEAR.

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NEW YORK.




[Illustration: THOMPSON'S EYE WATER]




Harper's Catalogue

Thoroughly revised, classified, and indexed, will be sent by mail to any
address on receipt of ten cents.




[Illustration: PISO'S CURE FOR CONSUMPTION]

CURES WHERE ALL ELSE FAILS.

Best Cough Syrup. Tastes Good. Use

in time. Sold by druggists.




[Illustration: BICYCLING]

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


There are several well-known rules in bicycling to-day which have
established themselves by custom, and yet many of which, perhaps, will
not be found in any book. They are, none the less, rules to be followed,
because they are founded on experience. Riding in the city is very
different from riding in the country, and there are certain differences
in riding in small towns from either the country or the city. In the
country there is no reason why one should not ride on side-paths or
sidewalks if the road is better there. There is much less traffic, not
so many pedestrians, and no one has any objection to this side-path
riding there.

It is very different in towns, however. There, whether the law forbids
sidewalk riding or not, no bicyclist should leave the street. In towns
and in cities bicycles become in every way subject to the laws of
carriages; a wheelman should keep always on the right-hand side of the
road on principle. When a horse and carriage or another wheel is
approaching, he should turn to the right, although both the driver of
the horse and carriage and the rider of the wheel must give him room to
pass on the right. In overtaking and passing either carriages or
bicycles, you should pass to the left, turning, in other words, from the
right-hand side of the road in towards the centre. In turning a corner,
there are several rules to be observed, and in practice they ought all
to be observed invariably. If you are turning into a street to the left
a wide circle should be made, keeping well to the right, leaving room
always at the corner for any vehicle, whether bicycle or carriage, to
easily pass.

In fact, a good principle is to keep straight on until the cross-road is
nearly passed, then turn to the left, and running into the cross-road
close to the curb at the right. Where there is a road with a walk, or a
car track, or anything of the sort in the centre that divides the avenue
into two roadways, always keep on the right hand of the two, and when it
is necessary to cross in order to get into a side road, do the crossing
as quickly as possible. If this one rule alone were followed, many
accidents would be avoided.

The use of bells and brakes constitutes an important part of city
riding. Every man or woman who rides in a city should have a brake.
There are times when nothing can save a fall except a very powerful
brake. You may be riding close behind a horse-car, a cable-car, or
carriage, when either the cars are obliged to stop suddenly, or perhaps
a horse falls down. The sharp turn required to avoid running into the
cars or carriage on a slippery pavement would throw the rider.
Back-pedalling is of no use in the emergency, and a brake is the only
thing that will save a collision. In like manner, in riding at night,
and turning a corner, some one may come upon you suddenly when only a
brake will save a collision. Bells are of just as much use. It is always
safe, and therefore advisable, to ring your bell as you cross a
cross-street. One should never overtake and pass another bicyclist,
especially a woman, without giving a distinct notice by ringing a bell.
The rider may be new to the wheel, or a hundred different things might
happen to change the direction of the leading rider, and the notice
given by ringing the bell will often save a catastrophe. No corner
should be turned without notice being given by ringing the bell. No
carriage should be overtaken and passed without the same notice.

Of course this looks as if one would be kept ringing the bicycle bell
continually in the city, which is indeed the case; but after a moment's
thought it will appear that any vehicle which moves without noise is
obliged to give notice by ringing bells just as frequently. Cable-cars,
trolley-cars, horse-cars, etc., are all ringing bells continually, and
yet the newspapers each day contain notices of accidents from one or the
other. Hence one should make up his mind that if he is to ride in the
city he must be continually on the watch, and must continually be giving
notice of his presence by the only noise-making method at his
command--the bell.




[Illustration: THE CAMERA CLUB]

     This Department is conducted in the interest of Amateur
     Photographers, and the Editor will be pleased to answer any
     question on the subject so far as possible. Correspondents should
     address Editor Camera Club Department.

A CAMERA CLUB PRINT EXCHANGE.


There is scarcely a State in the Union but what is represented in our
Camera Club, and its membership extends to Canada, the maritime
provinces, and Europe. Correspondence and local photographic chapters
are formed among the members, who find that the exchange of ideas and
experiences are of the greatest help to the amateur who wishes to
improve.

A few weeks ago one of our members living in a Western State, wishing to
have a picture of the Treasury Building in Washington, wrote to the
editor, asking if some member of the Camera Club living in that city
would not be willing to send him a print of it in exchange for one of
some Western views, a list of which he enclosed in his letter. By a
singular coincidence the same mail which brought this letter brought one
from a member residing in Washington, who stated that she had made some
fine negatives of the government buildings, and asking suggestions in
regard to the printing and mounting. The address of the young lady was
sent to our Western correspondent, and the exchange of prints made to
their mutual satisfaction.

This incident has suggested to the editor the idea of forming a
photographic-print exchange for the benefit of the members of the club
who wish to form a collection of views from different localities.
Suppose some member of the club wished photographs of the State Houses.
He could state his wish, and say what pictures he had to offer in
exchange. Members residing in the capitals of the different States, who
cared to make the exchange, could correspond with the member wishing the
pictures.

If the starting of a photographic-print exchange meets the favor of the
club, a limited space could be given each week to the printing of the
requests. The print exchange would enable one to make a fine collection
of views, and the members would receive many helpful suggestions from
seeing the work of other amateurs. The addresses and wants would be
published in the Camera Club Department of the ROUND TABLE, but the
correspondence would of course be carried on by mail, and not through
the Camera Club.

Some of our amateurs have been abroad, and have made fine negatives of
foreign scenes: the stay-at-home amateurs might, through the print
exchange, be able to obtain some of these pictures. Amateurs who make a
specialty of some particular subject or branch of photography might add
to their collection, and in many ways the exchange would be a source of
pleasure and profit.

The plan of exchanging prints is not a new one to our amateurs, for
several of the prize-winners in our photographic contest exchanged
prints of the prize pictures.

In making exchanges it is better to send unmounted prints, as the
pictures can then be mounted on cards of uniform size, or placed in an
album.




[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.


It is now reported that instead of 200,000 sets (except the 5c.) Nova
Scotia cents issue, there were 200,000 stamps only, divided as follows:

   1c.             52,000
   2c.             54,000
  8-1/2c.          54,000
  10c.             28,000
  12-1/2c.         12,000

The price paid was about $10,000, and the entire quantity of stamps has
been divided into 2000 lots, each containing the same number of stamps,
and the price was fixed at $6 per lot. Stanley Gibbons, of London, the
English agent, stated in a letter that 80 sets would cost $500, and that
single sets would retail at $6. In Stanley Gibbons's paper announcing
prices of the Nova Scotia sets, advertisements of other dealers appeared
offering sets at $2.40 to $3.60. Harry Hilckes, of London, states that
sets have been offered to him at 62c. per set. The difference between $6
and 62c. per set is simply ridiculous. Collectors should not pay fancy
prices for stamps which are common.

The French government announces the early withdrawal of the 75-centime
adhesive stamp, the 5c. and 60c. envelopes, and the 3c. newspaper
wrapper.

The new Japanese stamps which were to be issued in Japan on September
12, 1896, were received on letters in London on September 5.

The S.S.S.S. adds the following to its list of speculative stamps the
collection of which should be discouraged:

Uruguay (Suarez memorial), 1c. black and violet; 5c. black and blue;
10c. black and red. Venezuela (Miranda), 5c., 10c., 25c., and 50c., and
1c. Bolivar.

The desire to differentiate minute varieties on the part of advanced
collectors gives point to a story which is going the rounds of the
philatelic press. A certain dealer secured a lot of U.S. stamps with
original gum, etc. Some were older than other copies of the same issue,
others were a little "off," still others had had the gum soaked off,
etc. He began marking them "uncancelled"; a better copy became "unused,"
a still better one "original gum"; then advancing, "old original gum,"
"older original gum," "very old original gum"; and still there were a
few which seemed to him should be classed by themselves, so after much
thought they were labelled "pre-historic gum."

     MCHENRY COAL.--The 1827 dime can be bought for 20c.

     W. G. CRAWFORD.--I do not understand your inquiry regarding
     postal-cards. There is a "Postal-Card Society" in existence which
     is quite active, but stamp-collectors, as a rule, confine
     themselves to adhesive stamps. In many instances, however, cut
     square envelopes are added. Entire envelopes of the U.S. are coming
     into favor gradually.

     W. T. HOLDEN, 36 Marcy Ave., Brooklyn, N. Y., wishes to exchange
     stamps. I believe dealers are eligible to membership in the
     Dorchester Stamp Exchange. I do not know the New York Stamp
     Exchange. All the philatelic societies in New York have exchange
     circuits of their own, confined to their own membership. Dealers
     are not eligible to membership in "The Philatelic Society, New
     York"; but members who afterward become dealers can continue their
     membership if they wish.

     H. O. KOERPER.--The 1839 dime is offered by dealers at 20c. each;
     the 3c. piece in fair condition from 10c. to 20c. each. Worn copies
     of either are worth face only. U.S. fractional currency which is
     not fresh and clean is worth face only.

     L. V. GREEN.--Continental, Colonial, and Confederate paper money is
     extremely plentiful. With a few exceptions, dealers do not care to
     buy, except in large quantities. One house held Confederate money
     in _bales_, and sold it by the pound. The copies mentioned by you
     have no money value.

     T. A. B. OSAGE.--No illustration of the St. Louis stamp appeared in
     No. 871 HARPER'S ROUND TABLE, page 875. It was illustrated in No.
     826 (August 26, 1895). You say you have a copy of the 5c. St.
     Louis, and ask its value. It is impossible to express any opinion
     as to the value of a rare stamp until after examination. I am
     always glad to oblige a subscriber to the ROUND TABLE, but I cannot
     be responsible for the loss of stamps in transit. If you wish me to
     examine it I will do so, provided it be sent by express prepaid.
     When returned, it would be sent express at your expense. In the
     case of less valuable stamps, they can be sent by registered mail,
     and an addressed envelope stamped for return in the same way should
     be enclosed with the stamps. If stamps are sent in the regular
     mail, they will be returned the same way, provided an addressed and
     stamped envelope be enclosed.

     MARY WILLIS.--French assignats are worthless. The French government
     made thousands of millions, which gradually sunk in value from par
     with gold to absolutely nothing within four years. The same was
     true of Colonial and Continental currency in this country, with the
     solitary exception of Vermont Colonials, which were redeemed at
     par.

     G. T. T.--Your 1853 quarter is the common variety, worth face only.

  PHILATUS.

       *       *       *       *       *

YOUNG MOTHERS

should early learn the necessity of keeping on hand a supply of Gail
Borden Eagle Brand Condensed Milk for nursing babies as well as for
general cooking. It has stood the test for 30 years, and its value is
recognized.--[_Adv._]




ADVERTISEMENTS.




[Illustration]

W. G. BAKER

..Pays You..

Well to Introduce

Teas, Spices and Baking Powder.

JUST go among your friends and sell a mixed order amounting in total to
50 lbs. for a Waltham Gold Watch and Chain or a Decorated Dinner Set; 25
lbs. for a Solid Silver Watch and Chain; 10 lbs. for a Solid Gold Ring;
175 lbs. for a Lady's High-Grade Bicycle; or sell 75 lbs. for a Boy's
Bicycle; 100 lbs. for a Girl's Bicycle; 200 lbs. for a Gentleman's
High-Grade Bicycle; 30 lbs. for a Fairy Tricycle.

     Express or freight paid if cash is sent with order. Send address on
     postal for Catalogue. Order-sheet and particulars.

W. G. BAKER (Dept. I), Springfield, Mass.




WALTER BAKER CO., LIMITED.

Established Dorchester, Mass., 1780.

Breakfast Cocoa

[Illustration]

Always ask for Walter Baker & Co.'s

Breakfast Cocoa

Made at

DORCHESTER, MASS.

It bears their Trade Mark

"La Belle Chocolatiere" on every can.

Beware of Imitations.




Postage Stamps, &c.




[Illustration: STAMPS]

100 all dif., & fine =STAMP ALBUM=, only 10c.; 200, all dif., Hayti,
Hawaii, etc., only 50c. Agents wanted at 50 per cent. com. List FREE!
=C. A. Stegmann=, 5941 Cote Brilliant Ave., St. Louis, Mo.




STAMPS

=10= stamps and large list =FREE!=

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




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

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




[Illustration: THOMPSON'S EYE WATER]




[Illustration: Commit to Memory]

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

[Illustration: Clear, Sharp, Definite,]

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

[Illustration: Old and New Songs]

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

[Illustration: Table of Contents,]

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

Harper & Brothers, New York.




The Importance of Care.


Not infrequently has the Table urged upon its readers the desirability
of good penmanship and careful selection of words in letter-writing.
Here are three stories, all vouched for as true, which emphasize the
points anew:

A Cincinnati grocer's house found that cranberries had risen to $6 per
bushel. The purchasing clerk immediately sent this note by the firm's
teamster, "One hundred bushels per Simmons." (Simmons was the driver's
name.) The well-meaning correspondent thought the scrawl read, "One
hundred bushels persimmons," and boys were straightway set to work, for
persimmons were plentiful. The wagon made its appearance next day loaded
down with eighty bushels. The remaining twenty bushels were to follow
next day, and when the correspondent found out his mistake he angrily
demanded why the order did not read _by_ Simmons?

A New England clergyman wrote a letter to the General Court. The clerk
came to a sentence which he read, "I address you not as magistrates, but
as Indian devils." The Court was wroth until the "Indian devils" were
found to be "individuals."

An English gentleman, in writing to a Lincolnshire friend, mentioned the
latter's kindness to him, and said he should soon send him a suitable
"equivalent." The friend read the word "elephant," and immediately built
a handsome barn for the reception of his elephantine majesty. But much
to his surprise a barrel of oysters was the "equivalent."

       *       *       *       *       *

Minimized Writing.

Mention was made in the Table, not long since, of the microscopic ring
presented to Queen Elizabeth, consisting of a silver penny on which
Bales "put more things than would fill several duodecimo pages." For a
long time, Pliny's remark that Cicero had once seen Homer's Iliad in a
nutshell was considered an exaggeration, at least. But an old French
writer named Huet proves the statement to be true. A sheet of sheep-skin
10x8 can be neatly folded up so as to fit the shell of a large walnut.
In its breadth the strip will contain one line of thirty verses, and in
its length, 250 lines. Each side of the page would, then, contain 7500
verses, or the whole of the Iliad! Huet proved this fact in the presence
of the Dauphin, using a sheet of paper and a crow-quill pen.

In the library of St. John's College, Oxford, is a head of Charles I.
made up of minute lines of script which at a little distance resemble
common engraving lines. The lines of the head and ruff form the Psalms,
the Creed, and the Lord's Prayer. There is a portrait of Queen Anne in
the British Museum "not much above the size of the hand." This drawing,
too, is made up of microscopic lines and scratches which form the
contents of an entire folio!

Elizabeth's silver penny ring was surpassed by the farthing of Peter
Almunus, an Italian monk. On the coin were engrossed the Acts of the
Apostles and the Gospel according to St. John. Another example of
microscopic writing was presented to Elizabeth in the shape of a piece
of parchment the size of a finger, containing the Decalogue, the Creed,
the Lord's Prayer, the name of the giver, and the date. A pair of
spectacles accompanied this Lilliputian manuscript.

Ælian tells us of an artist who wrote a "distich in letters of gold,
which he enclosed in the rind of a grain of corn," while Menage writes
of microscopic sentences, pictures, and portraits. He mentions reading
an Italian poem in praise of the Princess, "written by an officer in the
space of a foot and a half."

With Pope we would say:

  "Why has not man a microscopic eye?
  For this plain reason--man is not a fly."

  MAURICE MAXWELL.

       *       *       *       *       *

A Story about Holland's Young Queen.

Queen Wilhelmina, of Holland, who once applied for membership in the
Order of the Round Table, and purchased a set of Columbian stamps
through the Editor of the Round Table Stamp Department, has become
betrothed to her second cousin, although yet in her early teens. When
the German Emperor paid a visit to The Hague, in 1893, the Queen desired
to be present at the banquet given in his honor. This, of course, was
out of the question. To all the pleadings of her daughter the Queen
Regent turned a deaf ear. "You are too young and must go to bed." As,
however, the child Queen persisted in her demands, there remained for
the Regent but one alternative--to herself conduct the young lady to her
bedroom. This she did, but not without one final energetic protest from
the disappointed Queen. "I will go to the balcony and tell the Dutch
people how you abuse their Queen."

Of course the young lady did nothing of the kind, but sobbed herself to
sleep instead, and next day dutifully begged her mother's pardon.

       *       *       *       *       *

Kinks.

No. 41.--A PROSE CHARADE.

I am a combination of the animal and vegetable kingdom, generally made
by boys, and carried in their pockets. Part of me once belonged to a
two-legged farm animal, and helped to do what Maxim, Langley, and
Lielenthal have as yet failed in. The next important part grew in the
forest and was shaped by a jack-knife. The third and last part grew in
the ground. Many a fly has met death at my hands, but my chief merit is
noise. What am I?

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 42.--POLITICAL QUESTIONS.

1. What legislature is known as the "House of Keys"?

2. What early American hero boasted of having killed, while in Austria,
thirty men merely to prove to a party of ladies that he was brave?

3. Who burned up the "copy" of the first _Congressional Record_?

4. Who made the principal address at Gettysburg, now forgotten, on the
day that Lincoln made his famous impromptu one?

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 43.--A STAR.

[Illustration]

1 to 2, part of a woman's cap; 1 to 3, an explosion of thunder; 4 to 5,
a soothing ointment; 4 to 3, a soft mass; 5 to 2, a wooden mallet.

  B.

       *       *       *       *       *

NO. 44.--SINGLE ACROSTIC.

The following words, all the same length, give for their initials, when,
read downward, the full name of a President of the United States: To
attempt; firmness; something that comes to us all; to answer; to
succeed; value; to varnish; keen; to dance; dexterity; to toil; to
command; a recess in a wall.

  F. X. M.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 45.--NUMERICAL ENIGMA.

  I am composed of three words and nineteen letters.
  1. My 11, 6, 3, 19, 5, is to mount.
  2. My 10, 11, 12, 18, is a low place between hills.
  3. My 13, 11, 10, 12, 5, is a dipper with a handle.
  4. My 19, 1, 2, 4, 18, is to clear up.
  5. My 14, 15, 17, 8, is the dearest place on earth.
  6. My 7, 3, 18, 13, 10, to sway.

       *       *       *       *       *

Answers to Kinks.

No 37.

2803 miles--found by taking all the letters in the lines that are
employed in the Roman notation, setting down their common value in
figures, and adding all together. Count i as figure 1.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 38.

        R
      W A R
    W A V E S
  R A V A G E S
    R E G E T
      S E T
        S

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 39.--Niagara.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 40.

1.--1. Baret. 2. Abode. 3. Rosin. 4. Edict. 5. Tents.

2.--1. Prong. 2. Racer. 3. Ochre. 4. Nerve. 5. Green.

3.--1. Sharp. 2. Honor. 3. Angle. 4. Rolls. 5. Press.

       *       *       *       *       *

A Clever Chapter Memorial.

The prettiest memorial that we have ever seen of any Round Table Chapter
comes to us from the Kearsarge Chapter, of Hudson, N. Y. It is a small
volume, bound in white cloth, neatly printed, and containing about half
a hundred pages. This Chapter has fourteen members and has had two jolly
and profitable years. Its clever editors, Messrs. L. G. Price, M. A.
Jones, Paul Rowley, C. S. Keating, and S. J. Salls, dedicate their neat
book to the Chapter--and its friends. They explain the objects of the
Order, and define a Knight: "A nineteenth century relic of the past,
distinguished for his chivalry, honor, and appetite"--the Kearsarge
variety, we presume. In some cyclopædic information it defines _gavel_:

  "Something the Chapter needs, but hasn't got;
  Different from gabble, which it has, but needeth not."

There is a witty salutatory, a list of the officers and members, minutes
of the year, done in college class-day oratory style, football, skating,
bicycling, tennis, and debating records, and a skit in one act, "Tales
of a Soda-Water Fountain," which is clever in composition and
exceedingly droll. Here is the Chapter yell:

Hobble, gobble! Razzle, dazzle! Sis! Boom! Ah! Kearsarge Chapter, Rah!
Rah! Rah!

Ten pages of advertising help out the "Business Manager's Cinch." The
editors hope it will be "a credit to the Chapter." It is indeed. No
mention is made of price, but we presume other Chapters can buy copies.
The treasurer is Allen Rossman, Hudson.

       *       *       *       *       *

Proposed International Club.

Efforts are being made to form a Correspondence Chapter, its members to
be Ladies, and those whose homes are widely scattered, in order that
they may describe each other's homes, and have those descriptions of
interest. Three members interested in it are: Donna Vittoria Colonna,
Colonna Palace, Rome, Italy; Miss Isma Fincham, Roydon, Queenstown,
South Africa; and Miss Florence E. Cowan, Kingman, Arizona. The
last-named desires to hear from Miss Marie Ojetti, Rome, Italy, from the
members in Australia and New Zealand, and all others, fourteen to
eighteen years of age, who may wish to join.

       *       *       *       *       *

Questions and Answers.

Robert Burdette Dale asks about the Panama Canal. The projector of it
was M. Ferdinand de Lesseps, the man who success fully financed and
constructed the Suez Canal. For his Panama venture he obtained vast sums
from the French middle classes. The United States consul at Colon
reported, about one year ago, that $400,000,000 had been spent upon the
canal, but that comparatively little progress had been made toward
completion. Yet he said in the same report that $100,000,000 would
complete it. The discrepancy is due to the cause you mention--profligacy
in the management thus far.

Charges of fraud were made in France, and the last days of the great
engineer were embittered by the wreck of his hopes and of many poor
French families. Direct fraud was not, we believe, traced to M.
Ferdinand, but rather he was the victim of over-confidence and of
unscrupulous men. At present about 1000 men are employed on the canal,
chiefly to protect machinery and work already done. The Nicaragua Canal
is to be 170 miles long, and its estimated cost $100,000,000. Its survey
crosses no rivers; but were a canal to do so, it would, if on the same
level, let the river run into the canal and act as a water-feeder. If
not on a level, either the river or the canal would be crossed by an
aqueduct. Mountains are tunnelled, or the route laid out around them.

Don Rathburn, write to Hon. George D. Perkins, Sioux City, your member
of Congress, who will give you full particulars about entering
Annapolis. At least he can tell you if there be a vacancy from your
district. Only one person at a time may be at Annapolis from one
district. Hence, ordinarily, one is appointed every four years. If, in
this busy political season, Mr. Perkins does not reply promptly, write
to Hon. Hilary A. Herbert, Secretary of the Navy, Washington, D. C.
Elizabeth Barber, 126 Court Street, Oshkosh, Wis., wants numbers 783 and
787 HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE. These issues are out of the publisher's
stock. If any reader has them and is willing to sell them, Miss Barber
will pay both price and postage. Thomas Skelley will do the same to get
numbers 787, 792, and 796, and Nicholas J. Healy, 203 West Street, New
York city, to get number 821. The last named is informed that he can get
number 833 by applying to the publishers. These numbers are wanted to
complete volumes for binding. Ralph B. Hughes, Richmond, Mo., a member
of our Order, says: "I am much interested in the collection of the
colloquial songs of this country, and would be very glad to receive a
copy of the words of any of these songs from any of the readers of the
ROUND TABLE. I want plantation songs, negro and steamboat deck hands'
songs, sailors' and soldiers' songs. Any one who will send me these
songs will confer a favor, which I would be glad to repay in any way
that I can. I have a small collection of these songs, many of which are
very interesting, and I would like to enlarge it."

"Fortunatus" can find, probably, no place where "fine needle-work may be
readily sold at a good price." The reason is an over-supply. She can try
two ways to earn money with her needle. One is to secure the names of
well-to-do women and write them personal letters, mentioning the wares
for sale, and asking if they may be sent for inspection. A few
replies--perhaps ten out of fifty letters--will be received, and it is
safe, as a rule, to send the article on approval, with stamp for its
return. If any be lost, charge it to profit and loss, which is in every
business. The other is to place the work on sale at exchanges, which are
found in all cities. To reach them, address "Woman's Exchange." A small
commission is charged, and generally hints are given you about what
class of articles sell best.

       *       *       *       *       *

Can You give these Directions?

Malcolm I. Davis asks how to make an Æolian-harp for his library window.
Some time ago we gave directions for such harp, but several who followed
them said their harps were capable of being improved--"might be better,"
one Connecticut member wrote. Will some one give us directions for
making a harp warranted to be the best.




[Illustration: IVORY SOAP]

  'Tis wisest to economize
  By blending, in the home supplies,
  The highest worth and widest scope.
  Now Ivory, being pure and good
  For laundry, bath and toilet, would
  Save fully half the bills for soap.

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




[Illustration: THOMPSON'S EYE WATER]




HARPER'S NEW CATALOGUE,

Thoroughly revised, classified, and indexed, will be sent by mail to any
address on receipt of ten cents.




_Just Published_

A PRIMER OF COLLEGE FOOTBALL

By W. H. LEWIS. Illustrated from Instantaneous Photographs and with
Diagrams. 16mo, Paper, 75 cents.

     Mr. Lewis, an old Harvard football centre-rush, has put together in
     this book the result of his experiences in practical football. The
     work, therefore, is not so much a treatise on the game as a series
     of practical suggestions, to be used by captains in teaching their
     men and coaching their teams. The book is divided respectively into
     the "individual" and "team" play. The part on the "individual"
     discusses, first, the individual plays, such as passing, kicking,
     running, falling on the ball, and so on, and then the work of the
     individual players themselves. The second part discusses, first,
     offensive and then defensive team play. It will be seen, therefore,
     that the book is unique of its kind, and in its small compass will
     be eminently suited for use from day to day in the field or during
     the discussion after practice.

       *       *       *       *       *

RECENT POPULAR BOOKS

       *       *       *       *       *

WITH MY NEIGHBORS

By MARGARET E. SANGSTER. 16mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25.

     Mrs. Sangster is a gentle mentor, and while she preaches with great
     earnestness, it is the sweet womanliness that shines through all
     she says that attracts and holds the reader.... "With My Neighbors"
     is wholesome and sweet.... A little book that fulfils an admirable
     mission.--_Chicago Evening Post._

THE OLD INFANT, AND SIMILAR STORIES

By WILL CARLETON. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25.

     Every one breathes the sympathy of a whole-souled man, whose humor,
     while pungent, is always kindly.... There is always that trembling
     in the laugh that betokens the presence of a tear ready to fall.
     Will Carleton is always a poet, whether he writes in verse or
     not.--_N. Y. Commercial Advertiser._

SHAKESPEARE THE BOY

With Sketches of the Home and School Life, the Games and Sports, the
Manners, Customs, and Folk-Lore of the Time. By WILLIAM J. ROLFE,
Litt.D., Editor of "Rolfe's English Classics," etc. Illustrated. Post
8vo, Cloth, $1.25.

     Clearly, forcibly, yet simply, has Prof. Rolfe presented the story
     of a boy's life, a great boy, a boy of high aspirations, for the
     literary pleasure of the student and the scholar, as well as for
     the captivation and delight of the undergraduate and the children,
     with whom in all ages is Shakespeare a favorite.--_Boston Courier._

       *       *       *       *       *

HARPER & BROTHERS, Publishers, New York




[Illustration: THE LITTLE RABBIT'S MISTAKE.]

  "HELLO, SOME RABBIT'S LOST ITS TAIL! TOO BAD, I DO DECLARE!"
  (HE SAW A FLUFFY THISTLE-DOWN AFLOAT UP IN THE AIR.)

       *       *       *       *       *

THAT SETTLES IT.

TEDDY. "I tell you it's so."

NELLIE. "I say it is not."

TEDDY. "Well, mamma says it's so; and if mamma says it's so, it's so
even if it isn't so!"

       *       *       *       *       *

PRIDE GOETH BEFORE A FALL.

The following anecdote was new many years ago, but will bear repeating.
A certain Spanish knight, very poor but proud, and rightly so, as his
birth was as high as a King's, arrived late one very dark night at an
inn in France. Riding up to the entrance on his forlorn nag, he fell to
battering the gate. He finally awakened the landlord, who, peering out
into the night, called,

"Who is there?"

"Don Juan Pedro Hernandez Rodriguez de Vellanova, Count of Malofra,
Knight Santiago and Alcantara," replied the Spaniard.

"I am very sorry," shouted the landlord, "but I haven't room enough for
all those gentlemen you mention." And he slammed the window and retired.

       *       *       *       *       *

WELL TO REMEMBER.

What is good for one is not always good for another. This is illustrated
in a short tale told some time ago about a French medical student. While
in London on a visit the student lodged in the house with a man very
sick with a fever, who was continually besieged by his nurse to drink
very nauseating liquids which were lukewarm. The sick man found this
almost impossible to do, until one day he whispered to his nurse,

"Bring me a salt herring and I will drink as much as you please."

The woman indulged him in his request; he ate the herring, drank the
liquids, underwent the required perspiration, and recovered.

The French student, thinking this very clever, inserted in his journal,
"Salt herring cures an Englishman of fever."

On his return to France he prescribed the same remedy to his first
patient with a fever. The patient died. On which he inserted in his
journal: "N.B.--A salt herring cures an Englishman, but kills a
Frenchman."

       *       *       *       *       *

A LONG CHASE.

It was noticed, at one of the boys' clubs over on the East Side, that a
little negro who attended regularly always sought a certain book each
evening, and laughed uproariously apparently at the same picture. One of
the supervisors approached and saw that the picture represented a bull
chasing a small colored boy across a field. He asked the little fellow
what amused him so.

"Gosh!" answered the boy, "he 'ain't kotched him yet!"

       *       *       *       *       *

A new pair of shoes came home for Davy, aged five. He was delighted with
them until they had been put on his feet. Then he exclaimed, with a
pout, "Oh, my! they're so tight I can't wink my toes!"

       *       *       *       *       *

One of King George's ministers was once asked why he did not promote
merit. "Because," replied the minister, "merit did not promote me!"

       *       *       *       *       *

David Garrick, the celebrated actor, was once urged to become a
candidate for Parliament. "No, I thank you," replied Garrick. "I would
rather play the part of a great man on the stage than the part of a fool
in Parliament."

       *       *       *       *       *

Just before the sea fight between the fleets of Admiral Duncan and
Admiral de Winter, the former called his men together, and said,

"Lads, there is a hard winter coming on; see that you keep up a good
fire!"

       *       *       *       *       *

"Now, boys," said the new school-teacher, "I want you to be so quiet
that we can hear a pin drop."

There was a cavernous silence for a second, then a voice in the rear
muttered, "Now, then, let her drop!"

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: PURE FOLLY.]

MRS. DACHSHUND. "MY SON, HOW OFTEN MUST I TELL YOU NOT TO GET INTO AN
ARGUMENT WITH THAT GOAT?"

SON. "WHY?"

MRS. DACHSHUND. "BECAUSE HE'S ENTIRELY TOO HEADSTRONG."





End of Project Gutenberg's Harper's Round Table, October 13, 1896, by Various



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