Produced by Annie R. McGuire








[Illustration: HARPER'S ROUND TABLE]

Copyright, 1897, by HARPER & BROTHERS. All Rights Reserved.

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PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, JANUARY 19, 1897. FIVE CENTS A
COPY.

VOL. XVIII.--NO. 899. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.

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[Illustration]

A CHRISTMAS BUCK.

BY HON. THEODORE ROOSEVELT.


Throughout most of the ranch country there are two kinds of deer, the
black-tail and the white-tail. The white-tail is the same as the deer of
the East; it is a beautiful creature, a marvel of lightness and grace in
all its movements, and it loves to dwell in thick timber, so that in the
plains country it is almost confined to the heavily wooded river
bottoms. The black-tail is somewhat larger, with a different and very
peculiar gait, consisting of a succession of stiff-legged bounds, all
four feet striking the earth at the same time. Its habits are likewise
very different, as it is a bolder animal and much fonder of the open
country. Among the Rockies it is found in the deep forests, but it
prefers scantily wooded regions, and on the plains it dwells by choice
in the rough hills, spending the day in the patches of ash or cedar
among the ravines. Fifteen years ago the black-tail was very much more
abundant than the white-tail almost everywhere in the West, but owing to
the nature of its haunts it is more easily killed out, and now, though
both species have decreased in numbers, the white-tail is on the whole
the more common.

My ranch-house is situated on a heavily wooded bottom, one of the places
of which the white-tail are fond to this day. On one occasion I killed
one from the ranch veranda, and two or three times I have shot them
within half a mile of the house. Nevertheless, they are so cunning and
stealthy in their ways, and the cover is so dense, that usually,
although one may know of their existence right in one's neighborhood,
there is more chance of getting game by going off eight or ten miles
into the broken country of the black-tail.

One Christmas I was to spend at the ranch, and I made up my mind that I
would try to get a good buck for our Christmas dinner; for I had not had
much time to hunt that fall, and Christmas was almost upon us before we
started to lay in our stock of winter meat. So I arranged with one of
the cowboys to make an all-day's hunt through some rugged hills on the
other side of the river, where we knew there were black-tail.

We were up soon after three o'clock, when it was yet as dark as at
midnight. We had a long day's work before us, and so we ate a
substantial breakfast, then put on our fur caps, coats, and mittens, and
walked out into the cold night. The air was still, but it was biting
weather, and we pulled our caps down over our ears as we walked toward
the rough low stable where the two hunting ponies had been put
overnight. In a few minutes we were jogging along on our journey.

There was a powder of snow over the ground, and this and the brilliant
starlight enabled us to see our way without difficulty. The river was
frozen hard, and the hoofs of the horses rang on the ice as they
crossed. For a while we followed the wagon road, and then struck off
into a cattle trail which led up into a long coulee. After a while this
faded out, and we began to work our way along the divide, not without
caution, for in broken countries it is hard to take a horse during
darkness. Indeed, we found we had left a little too early, for there was
hardly a glimmer of dawn when we reached our proposed hunting-grounds.
We left the horses in a sheltered nook where there was abundance of
grass, and strode off on foot, numb after the ride.

The dawn brightened rapidly, and there was almost light enough to shoot
when we reached a spur overlooking a large basin around whose edges
there were several wooded coulees. Here we sat down to wait and look. We
did not have to wait long, for just as the sun was coming up on our
right hand we caught a glimpse of something moving at the mouth of one
of the little ravines some hundreds of yards distant. Another glance
showed us that it was a deer feeding, while another behind it was
walking leisurely in our direction. There was no time to be lost, and
sliding back over the crest, we trotted off around a spur until we were
in line with the quarry, and then walked rapidly toward them. Our only
fear was lest they should move into some position where they would see
us; and this fear was justified. While still one hundred yards from the
mouth of the coulee in which we had seen the feeding deer, the second
one, which all the time had been walking slowly in our direction, came
out on a ridge crest to one side of our course. It saw us at once and
halted short; it was only a spike buck, but there was no time to lose,
for we needed meat, and in another moment it would have gone off, giving
the alarm to its companion. So I dropped on one knee, and fired just as
it turned. From the jump it gave I was sure it was hit, but it
disappeared over the hill, and at the same time the big buck, its
companion, dashed out of the coulee in front, across the basin. It was
broad-side to me, and not more than one hundred yards distant; but a
running deer is difficult to hit, and though I took two shots, both
missed, and it disappeared behind another spur. This looked pretty bad,
and I felt rather blue as I climbed up to look at the trail of the
spike. I was cheered to find blood, and as there was a good deal of snow
here and there, it was easy to follow it; nor was it long before we saw
the buck moving forward slowly, evidently very sick. We did not disturb
him, but watched him until he turned down into a short ravine a quarter
of a mile off; he did not come out, and we sat down and waited nearly an
hour to give him time to get stiff. When we reached the valley, one went
down each side so as to be sure to get him when he jumped up. Our
caution was needless, however, for we failed to start him; and on
hunting through some of the patches of brush we found him stretched out
already dead.

This was satisfactory; but still it was not the big buck, and we started
out again after dressing and hanging up the deer. For many hours we saw
nothing, and we had swung around within a couple of miles of the horses
before we sat down behind a screen of stunted cedars for a last look.
After attentively scanning every patch of brush in sight, we were about
to go on when the attention of both of us was caught at the same moment
by seeing a big buck deliberately get up, turn round, and then lie down
again in a grove of small leafless trees lying opposite to us on a
hill-side with a southern exposure. He had evidently very nearly
finished his day's rest, but was not quite ready to go out feeding; and
his restlessness caused him his life. As we now knew just where he was,
the work was easy. We marked a place on the hill-top a little above and
to one side of him; and while the cowboy remained to watch him, I drew
back and walked leisurely round to where I could get a shot. When nearly
up to the crest I crawled into view of the patch of brush, rested my
elbows on the ground, and gently tapped two stones together. The buck
rose nimbly to his feet, and at seventy yards afforded me a standing
shot, which I could not fail to turn to good account.

A winter day is short, and twilight had come before we had packed both
bucks on the horses; but with our game behind our saddles we did not
feel either fatigue, or hunger, or cold, while the horses trotted
steadily homeward. The moon was a few days old, and it gave us light
until we reached the top of the bluffs by the river and saw across the
frozen stream the gleam from the fire-lit windows of the ranch-house.




SINGING IN THE FACE OF DEATH.


When the great hurricane swept over Apia Harbor, in Samoa, seven years
ago, and wrecked the six American and German war-ships that were
gathered there, the world was thrilled with the story of the heroism of
the sailors on the United States man-of-war _Trenton_. Of all the
incidents of that memorable disaster, the one which will live longest in
the memory of readers is the bravery with which the men of the _Trenton_
faced death. Their vessel had snapped her anchor chains, and was
steadily drifting toward the rocks, but the men lined the rigging and
gave rousing cheers to the British ship _Calliope_, which, with all
steam on, was headed for the open sea. The _Trenton_'s band was also
ordered on deck, and to the strains of "The Star-spangled Banner" the
old ship went to her death. As she passed the _Vandalia_, over which the
waves were breaking, the _Trenton_'s men cheered the few survivors in
the rigging, and the feeble shout that came in response was the saddest
feature of the disaster. When the _Trenton_'s band struck up, amazement
fell upon the Americans and other foreigners on shore who were trying to
save the lives of those whom the current brought to the beach. Then,
when the strains of the national air were recognized, a great shout went
up, and men wept to think of heroism that laughed at death.

A similar incident of bravery in the face of death comes from the coast
of China, and the crew of the German gun-boat _Iltis_ were the heroes
who showed genuine courage when all hope of safety was gone. The _Iltis_
left Che-foo on July 23, passed Wei-hai-wei--made memorable by the
defeat and suicide of old Admiral Ting, of the Chinese navy--and rounded
the Shan-tung peninsula. As the vessel passed the northern point of the
promontory the wind freshened to a gale, and with all sails furled the
ship held her way to the south, parallel to the coast. The storm was
soon recognized as a typhoon of great violence; the driving sleet and
the thick darkness confused the look-out, and the strong currents
carried the ship near to the rocky shore. Without warning the vessel
struck, and remained hard and fast on a sunken rock. The engine-room
filled rapidly, and all hands were warned to come on deck. There they
saw that the prospect was hopeless, as every wave helped to stave in the
strong steel plates. Rockets were sent up, but no response came from the
shore; no boat could live in the wild seas which washed over the doomed
vessel. The commander, Lieutenant-Captain Braun, ordered all the men
aft, and gathering them around him, called upon them to give three
cheers for the Emperor. These were given with a will, and a moment after
the masts went overboard, smashing the officers' bridge, and then the
ship parted.

The Captain and the greater part of the crew were on the after-part of
the ship, which still remained high out of the water. When it was seen
that the wreck would last but a few minutes more, gunner Raehm addressed
the crew and begged them to join in singing the Flaggenlied, or
flag-song. This stirring song was then sung to the accompaniment of the
roaring breakers and the howling storm. Its final verse, in German, is
as follows:

  Und treibt des wilden Sturms Gewalt
    Uns an ein Felsenriff,
  Gleichviel in welcherlei Gestalt
    Gefahr droht unserm Schiff:
  Wir wanken und wir weichen nicht,
    Wir thun nach Seemanns Brauch,
  Getreu erfüll'n wir uns're Pflicht
    Auch bis zum leztzen Hauch,
  Und rufen freudig sterbend aus,
    Getreu bis in den Tod:
  "Der Kaiser und die Flagge hoch!
    Die Flagge schwarz, weiss, roth!"

Freely rendered into English this reads:

  And shout the might of wild, wild storms
  On to a reef us drive,
  And dangers menace--'t matters not
  From where--our ship and life,
  Our posts we never will desert;
  And sailorlike and true
  Until the last breath goes from us
  We will our duty do.
  And, joyful dying then we shout
  United true in death--
  "The Kaiser and our standard _hoch_!
  The flag black, white, and red!"

The survivors, with tears in their eyes, described the singing of this
battle chant, in which the poet described the fate of the _Iltis_ and
the doom of her crew. The last verse had just been roared out with a
will when the stern of the vessel heeled over, and a moment later the
whole after-half of the ship plunged from the rocks, carrying down to
death officers and men, except two sailors, who reached the shore. Those
on the other half of the wreck remained for thirty-six hours without
food, when they were rescued by the Chinese. Only nine men were saved,
making eleven in all who reached the shore out of a total of
seventy-seven men and officers.




GOLF WITHIN-DOORS.

BY W. G. VAN TASSEL SUTPHEN.


The true and zealous golfer is not to be deterred from his favorite
sport by the ordinary accidents of the weather, and indeed it is one of
the great merits of golf that it can be played under almost any
atmospheric conditions. Baseball, cricket, tennis, croquet, and archery
are poor fun on a very windy day, while a wet one makes play impossible.
And then these games have each of them a recognized season, and as
winter comes on bat, bow, and ball must be laid aside for good. Football
and hockey are independent so far as rain and cold are concerned, but
the exercise is too violent a one to be continued into the warm days of
spring and summer.

Golf, on the other hand, is restricted to no particular season, and it
is one of the rules governing medal competitions that competitors may
not discontinue play on account of bad weather. Of course on abnormally
warm days any sort of physical exertion may become a burden, and in very
cold weather stiffened fingers and frozen "lies" do not conduce to good
scoring. But there is only one thing that really puts an end to the
game, and that is a heavy fall of snow. With a light sprinkling of an
inch or two, very good golf may be played by using red balls and having
the putting-greens carefully swept, for the snow serves the purpose of a
universal tee, and a special ruling may be enacted allowing the player
(in the event of the ball being buried) the privilege of lifting or of
lightly brushing the snow aside. Among the pines of Lakewood, New
Jersey, golf is played all through the winter, for on that sandy soil
the snow lies but a short time, owing to the mildness of the climate and
the proximity of the ocean. But of course Lakewood is an exceptionally
favored spot for these northern latitudes. In and around New York city
there is generally enough snow by New-Year's day to stop play, and golf
at the big clubs is virtually at an end after the holidays and through
the months of January, February, March, and April. Even after the snow
has disappeared the frost must be allowed to get entirely out of the
ground before play is resumed, or the course, and particularly the
putting-greens, may be ruined.

[Illustration: FIG. 1.]

We must therefore admit that golf may have its "close" season, at least
for places that lie north of Mason and Dixon's famous line, but no
golfer worthy of the name is content to entirely abandon all attempts at
practice. If he can do nothing better, he will at least try "putting"
into tumblers laid on their sides on the dining-room floor, or he will
find some pretext to steal away to the attic for a few trial swings at a
mythical ball. Inventive genius has appreciated this unquenchable
craving on the part of the enthusiastic golfer, and several ingenious
appliances have been patented and put upon the market, by the use of
which he may keep up his practice in putting, approaching, and even
driving.

In Fig. 4 is shown an apparatus called _Linka_. Inside the machine is a
powerful spring pulley-wheel, and over this runs a stout cord with an
ordinary golf-ball attached at the free end. When the ball is teed and
struck away, the propelling force is communicated through the spring to
a self-registering dial. So many pounds of pressure indicate so many
yards in distance, and the scale is graduated in five-yard divisions
from zero up to 225 yards. Fifteen or twenty feet of clear space is
ample for the use of the machine.

[Illustration: FIG. 2.]

For practice in approaching the putting-green there is the stand shown
in Fig. 3. It consists of three concentric hoop-nets, and the accuracy
of the shot is determined by the particular hoop into which the ball is
played. Of course a free ball is used, and the weak point in the
apparatus is that it does not indicate the distance covered (a point
which in real play is quite as important as accurate direction). But it
may be arbitrarily assumed that a ball in the smallest hoop has been
laid within a foot of the hole, while the middle and outer rings may
stand for six and fifteen feet respectively.

A cheap and effective substitute for the approaching-stand is the simple
target depicted in Fig. 2. It may be painted either upon canvas or
roughly sketched out in chalk upon the barn door. The canvas should be
eight feet square, and provided with guy-ropes and ring-bolts for
attaching to the floor and ceiling. If the lower edge of the canvas just
touches the floor, the centre of the target and the "bunker-line" will
consequently be three feet above it. (The use of the bunker-line will be
explained further on.) The diameter of the outer circle should be four
feet; of the middle one, two and a half feet; and of the inner ring, one
foot. The bull's-eye, which represents the hole proper, should be four
inches in diameter. As before, a ball striking in the outer ring is
supposed to lie fifteen feet from the hole; one in the middle ring, at
six feet; and one in the inner ring, at one foot. A ball that strikes
the bull's-eye is assumed to be in the hole. A ball on the line is
credited to the _inside_ division.

[Illustration: FIG. 3.]

For putting there has been devised the stand shown in Fig. 1. It is
nothing but a circular convex piece of tin with a hole in it. The tin
has a diameter of eight and a half inches, and that of the hole is two
and a half. The convexity is such that the depth of the hole is
three-quarters of an inch. It looks easy, but nevertheless it takes a
good deal of skill to "putt" a ball up the slope and safely into the
cup. If the direction be not accurate the ball will fall off, and if the
force be too great it will run completely over the hole in a very
irritating manner.

Now all of these appliances may afford amusing practice, and there is no
reason why they should not be so used in combination as to give much of
the variety and excitement of a regular round of the links. Granted the
use of the attic or that of the barn floor, and we may at once proceed
to set up our miniature course of in-door golf. The principal expense
will be in the purchase of the driving-machine, which costs several
dollars at the shops; but we will assume that a small club has been
formed, and that the cost of the several pieces of apparatus is to be
equally divided among the playing members. The substitute for the
approaching-stand (Fig. 3) may be gotten up very cheaply, and the
putting-stand can be bought for fifty cents.

[Illustration: FIG. 4.]

It is essential that there should be enough of clear space to allow a
full swing with the driving-clubs. Fifteen feet will do, but eighteen or
twenty will be better. The ball attached to the driving-machine must
have a free course in front of it of at least a dozen feet, for
otherwise its full force will not be communicated to the spring, and the
dial will not register correctly. The machine itself is placed a little
to one side, so as not to interfere with the club, and the ball should
be teed about a yard in front of it. After the tee shot, when the ball
is supposed to be on the ground (as in actual play), we may use an old
door-mat as a substitute for turf, and we will call this the
"driving-pad."

In playing approach shots a free ball is used, and it may be placed on
the "driving-pad" and about fifteen feet from the approaching-stand or
canvas target. In the middle of the floor should be a mark for the
placing of the putting-stand during the process of "holing out." A chalk
line should be drawn from this mark fifteen feet long, with cross marks
at the one, six, and fifteen foot points. So much for the mechanical
apparatus; now for the course itself.

[Illustration 1: No. 1.--Ball in earth bunker or fence, drop five yards
back and add one stroke. Ball in sand, play off bare floor. No. 2.--Ball
in "Serpentine," drop five yards back and add one stroke. No. 3.--Ball
in pond is lost. Tee again and add two strokes. No. 4.--Ball in sand
bunker, drop five yards back and add one stroke.]

Suppose that our course is to be a nine-hole one, we must provide
ourselves with some sheets of stout wrapping-paper, a three-foot rule,
and an assortment of colored pencils. Each imaginary "hole" must now be
sketched out upon a separate sheet, after the fashion shown in the plan.
The sheet should be three feet long, and a convenient scale of
measurement will be a quarter-inch to five yards. Five inches will
therefore represent 100 yards; seven and one-half inches, 150 yards; ten
inches, 200 yards; and so on. Thirty inches is equivalent to 600 yards,
which should be the maximum. The putting-greens should be thirty feet,
or ten yards, square. A line should be drawn from tee to centre of the
putting-green, and each ten-yard point along it should be marked by a
red dot with the number underneath, 10, 20, 30, and so on. A circle
fifty yards in diameter is drawn around the hole, and the space enclosed
is called the "approaching-zone." Water hazards may be indicated by blue
shading, the ordinary earth bunker by red, stone walls by black, and the
tees and putting-greens by green. Everything should be drawn accurately
to scale, and the artistic appearance of the little map will be improved
by introducing hole and line flags in the proper colors. On an
eighteen-hole course red flags are used for the nine outgoing holes, and
white ones for the incoming ones. Red and white flags are used to
indicate the line of play at blind holes, and green flags may mark the
boundaries of the course.

Any boy who has a practical knowledge of golf, and who is possessed of
reasonable ingenuity, may lay out in this manner a series of holes
which, if properly varied, will make the play very interesting. The
principal difficulty is the proper arrangement of the hazards, and this
will be largely determined by the average driving ability of the club
members. Generally speaking, a bunker must never be so situated as to
spoil a really good drive. Hazards are intended to punish bad shots and
not to injure good ones. Accordingly we may place a hazard ten yards
from the tee, or any distance between that and 100 yards. But a bunker
160 yards from the tee would be in just the place to trap a really good
drive, while the topped or short one would go unpunished. Side hazards
will not be required on our in-door course, as there is no way of
determining the "slice" or "pull" of our drives. Each player must be
provided with a stick-pin to mark his progress on the map, and these may
be distinguished by dipping the heads into different colors of melted
sealing-wax. The maps of the holes are tacked up on the wall in regular
succession as the play goes on. And now we are ready for the actual
match, and we will suppose that we are playing the "Longfellow hole."

M. and N. are the players, and M. has the "honor." This being his tee
drive, he is allowed to use a rubber or some other kind of artificial
tee, and of course he plays with the ball attached to the
driving-machine. The dial shows that he has driven 115 yards, and has
therefore carried the earth bunker. He sticks in his pin at the 115-yard
point, and N. has his turn. We will suppose that N. tops his ball, and
the dial shows that his ball has travelled only 50 yards. He sticks in
his pin at that point on the map. N. being the farthest from the hole,
must now play again, and this time he must not use a tee, but must
simply place the ball on the "driving-pad." As he is fifty yards from
the bunker he will probably use his brassie, and this time he gets in a
good shot of 130 yards, which will advance him to the 180-yard point.

The play goes on in this manner until both balls have been played inside
the "approaching-zone" or fifty-yard circle. Then the driving-machine is
set aside, and the approach shot is made with a free ball, and at the
stand (Fig. 3) or target (Fig. 2). As before explained, a ball in the
bull's-eye means that the player has holed out, if in the smallest ring
he is one foot from the hole, and six and fifteen feet away for the
middle and outer rings respectively. A ball that misses the target
altogether is held to be "foozled," and must be taken back and played
again (counting a stroke each time) until the player has succeeded in
hitting the bull's-eye or one of the numbered rings. And particularly
note this: if, as in this case, there is a hazard between the player's
ball and the green, the ball must not only hit the target, but it must
do so above the horizontal mark called on the diagram (Fig. 2) the
bunker-line. Failing in this, the player is held to be in the bunker,
and must add a penalty stroke to his score, and try again, until he does
succeed in hitting the target above the bunker-line. The balls being now
within holing-distance they are placed at their respective marks (one
foot, six feet, or fifteen feet from the putting-stand), and holed out
in the ordinary manner.

The small type under the plans give specific directions for the playing
of each hole, and may be varied at discretion. In sand the player must
drive off the bare floor instead of from the pad, and for a heavy lie or
long grass an old bear-skin (or other long-haired skin) rug may be
substituted. The half-circles mean that a ball driven beyond the marked
figures is out of bounds and lost.

Finally, in the event of a long shot that exactly covers the distance to
the hole, the player may be considered to have holed out in that shot.
M. is 110 yards from the green. He drives, and the dial indicates
exactly 110 yards. M. is down by a lucky fluke, and does not have to do
any approaching or putting.

It is hardly worth while to make any argument against the assertion that
all this is not golf. Of course it is not golf, but it is as near to it
as we are likely to get within the limits of our four walls. Driving
with the machine is good practice for the "long game," even though it
cannot help us in correcting that dreaded "slicing" and "pulling." But
these last, again, are principally matters of a faulty aim; it is the
eye that needs correction. Practice with the approaching-target may
teach us the sense of direction with our wrist shots, and we can leave
the distance problem for our open-air play. The putting will train both
eye and hand. Finally, the game is a practical one, and with a little
ingenuity and intelligence in laying out the imaginary course, it may
serve very well by way of amusement during the winter afternoons and
evenings when the mercury without is hovering around the zero mark and
the snow lies deep upon the links.




THE MIDDLETON BOWL.

BY ELLEN DOUGLAS DELAND.


CHAPTER II.

While Miss Joanna Middleton was imparting the news of her startling
discovery to her sisters in the house, Teddy and her aunt Thomasine were
walking as swiftly as possible toward the lower end of the garden.
Theodora's face betrayed that she was greatly excited, and she held her
aunt's hand tightly, and almost dragged her along in her haste to get
there.

"My dear Teddy," said Miss Thomasine at length, while she fairly gasped
for breath, "I am not accustomed to walking so fast. I--I really must
stop for a moment."

"Oh, do excuse me, Aunt Tom! I never thought. You see, I am so used to
running."

They stopped, and stood facing each other for a moment.

"What have you under your apron?" asked Miss Thomasine.

Theodora's face grew redder still, and she cast down her eyes. This was
unusual, for the child had a frank, fearless habit of fixing her brown
eyes upon those of the person to whom she was speaking which was very
winning. Her face had a way of showing every emotion which she might be
feeling, and her aunt saw at once that something was the matter.

"Are you so troubled about the kitten, Teddy, my dear?" asked Miss
Thomasine. "Do you begin to feel sorry that you fought the boy?"

"I'm not a bit sorry, Aunt Tom. I'm glad, glad, _glad_! But you needn't
look so disappointed; the sorry feeling may come later. It usually does
after I've been naughty, but sometimes not for a good while. For
instance, when I've been naughty in the morning I very often don't begin
to feel sorry till toward sunset. I suppose I begin to think then of
that verse in the Bible about not letting the sun go down on your wrath.
So perhaps late in the afternoon I may begin to feel a little bit sorry
about Andy Morse, though I don't know. But are you rested yet, Aunt Tom?
I do want to get to the funeral, but not unless you are quite ready,"
she added, politely.

"Suppose you take my other hand," said Miss Thomasine, "and I will hold
my sunshade in this one."

For some reason this arrangement did not appear to please Theodora.
However, she put both of her hands under her apron, and after a curious
sound of the clatter of china, she produced her right hand and gave it
to her aunt.

"What have you there, Teddy, my dear? What are you hiding under your
apron?" asked the gentle little lady.

"Oh, nothing much, Aunt Tom. At least--that is--yes, there is something,
but--well--I would rather not tell you what it is, if you don't mind."

Soon they turned a corner, and reached the spot where the six Hoyt boys
were awaiting them.

"We thought you were never coming, Ted! What kept you so long?" shouted
Paul, who was the eldest, and therefore master of ceremonies. Catching
sight of Miss Thomasine, he stopped abruptly. "Aren't you going to have
a funeral?" he asked. "We've got everything ready."

"Oh yes, we're going to have it," responded she; "Aunt Tom came with me
to see how we do it. I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, but I really
could not get here before; and now I must speak to Arthur a minute. You
other boys just entertain Aunt Tom, please. She would like to rest. What
a lovely grave, and what sweet flowers! Arthur, come here a minute."

They walked a short distance away, and then disappeared behind some
currant-bushes. The other boys appeared to be unequal to the task of
entertaining Miss Thomasine, so a profound silence reigned, making
plainly audible the murmur of Theodora's voice.

"Hurry up there," said Paul, impatiently. "If you want me to help with
this funeral you must come quick. What are you talking about, anyway?"

"Never mind," replied Teddy, running into sight, followed by Arthur.
"It's a secret, and you mustn't ask."

Her aunt noticed that both hands were now visible, and that she carried
nothing in them; but Miss Thomasine soon forgot that she had felt any
curiosity in the matter, and turned her attention to the proceedings of
these very remarkable children. She also forgot that she had been
deputed by her sisters to stop these proceedings, and became wholly and
at once an interested spectator.

"We will start from here and walk once around the garden," said Teddy,
"and we will make quite a long procession, for there are so many of us.
I wish we had some music. We might pretend that the poor dear kitten was
a soldier."

"So we will," cried Clement. "I'll get my drum quicker than a wink."

Before he had finished speaking he was over the garden wall.

"And get my trumpet," shouted Raymond.

Presently Clem returned, and all was now ready. Upon the boys' express
wagon reposed a pasteboard box, in which had been placed the kitten,
more honored in its death than in its short, unhappy life. Yellow
daisies, asters, and golden-rod were heaped upon the cart in magnificent
profusion, but the handle was draped in black.

Arthur and Walter acted as horses, and subdued their natural speed to a
funereal gait; Clem and Raymond marched before, one beating his drum
with measured rat-tat-tat, the other blowing long and melancholy wails
upon his Fourth-of-July horn. On either side the cart walked Paul and
Charlie, while close behind came Theodora and her aunt Thomasine.

"You will make a perfect chief mourner," whispered Teddy, "for your hat
is so black and so is your cape. I shall hold my handkerchief to my
eyes, so."

"But, my dear," expostulated Miss Thomasine, "I really cannot. I do not
approve. Remember, it is only a kitten."

"Yes, yes, I do remember. That poor dead kitten! Please come, Aunt Tom!
Don't spoil it all, and try to look as sad as you can!"

And before Miss Thomasine really knew it, the procession had begun to
move and she was in it. Around the garden they walked, and finally
returned to their starting-place, where the grave had been already dug.
Paul and Charlie attended to this part of the ceremonies, the musicians
blew and beat a parting salute upon their instruments, Theodora mopped
her dry eyes, and the horses, when all was over, relieved their feelings
by running away.

"Wasn't it fun?" exclaimed Teddy. "I never did like anybody so much as
you boys, and you do a funeral beautifully. Do you really have to go
back now, Aunt Tom? I wish you could stay here and play with us. Charlie
is going to let me try his bicycle, and I'd like you to see me."

"Oh, my dear child," cried Miss Thomasine. "It will never do in the
world. You must not--indeed you must not! If you knew the feeling that
your aunts and I have about bicycles."

"But they are not dangerous, Aunt Tom. Indeed, _lots_ of people ride
them."

"It is not the danger so much as the-- Well, my dear, you must never do
it without asking your other aunts. A lady on a bicycle!"

"But I'm not a lady; I'm only a child. Besides, lots of ladies ride
them. I've seen them in Alden over and over again."

"It does not seem to me as if they can be real ladies. But come into the
house and ask your aunt Adaline. I cannot take any more responsibility.
I feel uncomfortable now about that funeral. I do not know what your
other aunts will say."

"Oh dear!" grumbled Theodora; "it is such a bother to have to ask so
many people what I can do. If it were just you, Aunt Tom, I shouldn't
mind, but five are such a lot, and you all think everything is so
dreadful. I am sure mamma would let me ride a wheel." Her aunt made no
reply, and they walked toward the house. "There, I suppose I ought not
to have said that," added Teddy, penitently, after a moment's pause. "It
was disrespectful, I suppose. But oh, Aunt Tom, if you only won't all
say I can't ride a wheel, it is all I ask!"

They found the door standing open, and from the sound of voices it was
evident that some one was in the parlor, and immediately the parlor door
was opened a crack, and at it appeared Miss Melissa, beckoning
mysteriously to her sister.

"Come!" she whispered. "Thomasine, the-- My dear sister, be prepared! a
cruel blow!"

"What do you mean, Melissa?" cried Miss Thomasine, her nerves quite
unstrung by the performance in which she had so recently taken part, and
also by her late altercation, if so it could be called, with her niece.

"Come!" repeated Miss Melissa, and her sister went into the
drawing-room, almost expecting to find that there had been a death in
the family.

Theodora ran up stairs. "They have found it out! they have found it
out!" she thought, and flying to her room she closed and bolted the
door. Ten minutes later her name was called from without.

"Miss Theodora, are you there?" It was Mary Ann, one of the maids. Teddy
did not speak nor move.

"Miss Theodora," said Mary Ann again, tapping at the door and rattling
the handle as she spoke. "I think, miss, you had better let me in. Your
aunts want to speak to you."

Slowly Teddy rose from the bed, where she had flung herself, and
reluctantly opened the door. Her dark hair, which was cut short across
her forehead and hung in a wavy mass behind, looked sadly dishevelled,
and her face showed unmistakably that she had been crying. "What do they
want me for?" she asked.

"A terrible thing has happened, miss," replied Mary Ann, in an awed
whisper; "the Middleton bowl is broke--the Middleton bowl as was worth
hundreds of dollars, I've heard tell, that folks has been comin' from
all over the country to see ever since I've lived here, and that's goin'
on fifteen years."

"But why do they want me?" asked Theodora, showing no surprise when told
of the calamity, as Mary Ann noted.

"Because, miss, _some_body has broke it, and as it ain't one of the
ladies themselves, it must have been either you or some of the help. So,
miss, if 'twas you and you don't tell it, some of us has got to suffer."

"Mary Ann," said Teddy, stopping short at the stairs, "must I really go
down? Can't I run away? Won't you help me to run away, Mary Ann? I'll
give you something nice if you will."

"La, miss, don't talk and look so wild! You just tell 'em you did it
quite accidental, and they'll forgive you. The Miss Middletons is real
ladies, and they won't scold, but they'll take it awful hard if you try
to deceive 'em. Just tell 'em you did it."

"I can't possibly do that. Oh, Mary Ann, I wish I were in South America
with my father and mother!"

She had reached the parlor door by this time, and there she paused.
Presently, summoning all her courage, she pushed it open and entered.

"Poor little miss!" said Mary Ann to herself. "Of course she did it, and
I'm real sorry for her."

And then she went off to the kitchen to tell the other frightened
servants that there was no doubt as to who was guilty.

The parlor was a very large room, and Venetian-blinds at the seven long
windows shut out the light of day as much as possible. Two of them, at
one end of the room, had been drawn up this morning, however. As has
been said, the parlor was furnished in old-fashioned mahogany. There
were eight-legged tables, quaintly shaped shelves and cabinets,
Chippendale chairs, and even an ancient piano, made in the style of
eighty years ago.

The Misses Middleton were modern in one respect only; their drawing-room
was filled with bric-à-brac. There were lacquered-ware tea-poys from
Japan and quaint idols from India, while rare old bits of china filled
every available space. Near one of the windows stood a Chinese table. It
was curiously carved, and the top was inlaid with bits of wood and ivory
in the shapes of mysterious Chinese symbols, and upon this table had
always rested, in honor and apparent security, the famous Middleton
bowl.

The walls were lined with rare old paintings, and portraits from the
hands of Sully, Stuart, and even of Sir Joshua Reynolds and
Gainsborough, looked down upon the five descendants of the ancient race
of Middleton this September morning when they sat, drawn up in battle
array, to receive their niece.

Slowly she walked into the room, and with downcast eyes and burning face
she stood before her aunts. They were seated in a semicircle, their
backs turned toward the windows, where the shades had been raised;
therefore the light streamed full in the face of Theodora.

"What have you to say for yourself, Theodora?" asked Miss Middleton, in
an impressive voice.

There was no reply. Miss Thomasine looked unhappy, and covered her face
with her handkerchief, and Miss Melissa again made use of her salts.
Miss Dorcas began to knit nervously, but Miss Joanna stared straight at
Theodora through her gold-rimmed spectacles.

"Have you nothing to say, Theodora?" asked Miss Middleton, after a
pause.

"No, Aunt Adaline."

"You have not told her why she has been called, sister!" exclaimed Miss
Thomasine. "Perhaps she knows nothing about it."

"Is that probable after what you told us?" asked Miss Middleton,
austerely. "However, I will humor you. Theodora, you have seen the
Middleton bowl?"

Involuntarily Teddy's eyes turned toward the now empty Chinese table,
and then were dropped again.

"Yes, it stood there," continued Miss Middleton, "and at ten o'clock
this morning it was still there, for I saw it myself. At a quarter past
eleven, when your aunt Joanna came down to dust the parlor, the
Middleton bowl was gone! Not a trace of it left but this small piece of
china to show that it had ever been there."

Theodora glanced up again, and saw a triangular bit of china, an inch or
two long, which her aunt held in her hand and then laid upon the table.

"You know the value of that bowl. You have been told that your
great-grandfather brought it home, and that there is said to be but one
like it in the world. Now that other is the only one. The Middleton bowl
is no more."

She paused, and her sisters, more than one of them, sobbed audibly. Miss
Middleton, Miss Joanna, and Theodora herself alone were dry-eyed.

"Have you anything to say for yourself?" asked Miss Middleton, for the
third time.

And again Theodora replied, "No, Aunt Adaline."

Miss Middleton's foot moved impatiently. "You must say something,
Theodora. In plain words, did you break the bowl?" There was no answer.
"Very well. You would have saved yourself in our esteem if you had
confessed at once that you broke it, and that it was an accident, as I
suppose it was. We should have forgiven you, great as the loss is. Now
you are attempting to hide it. I am only thankful that you are not
actually denying the fact, but I suppose you realize that it would be
useless. The evidence is too strong against you."

"What do you mean, Aunt Adaline?"

"Your aunt Thomasine will explain."

"Oh, sister!" murmured Miss Thomasine. "I almost wish I had not told
you; but you took me so by surprise that the words came right out before
I knew it. Poor little Teddy! I am sure she did not mean to break it."

"I beg you will not call her by that ridiculous boy's name, Thomasine!"
interrupted Miss Joanna. "And you are doing your best to encourage her
to keep silence. I think you and sister Adaline are entirely too
lenient. If I had _my_ way, I should soon force her to confess."

Teddy, who had almost cried while her aunt Thomasine was speaking, now
raised her head and gazed defiantly at Miss Joanna. "_I did not break
the bowl_," she said, in a loud, clear voice.

"Oh, Theodora!" exclaimed the five aunts, in a chorus of dismay.

"I did not break the bowl," she repeated.

"But, my dear, the pieces which you carried under your apron to the
garden?" murmured Miss Thomasine, greatly aghast at the turn which
affairs were taking.

"How do you know I did?" asked Theodora, her face, which had become
pale, again growing red.

"I--I thought I heard them clatter, but I may have been mistaken."

"The only thing to do," said Miss Joanna, "is to go to the garden
ourselves, and find what is left of the bowl. You said, Thomasine, that
she appeared to have placed the pieces among the currant-bushes. Then we
shall discover whether or not you were mistaken. You are painfully weak
and indefinite, and I am glad that I, for one, always know what I am
talking about. Do you not agree with me, Adaline, that it would be well
for us to go?"

Miss Middleton acquiesced, and the five sisters made themselves ready
for their walk. They were arrayed in garden hats and black silk
mantillas, and each one carried a sunshade. Even in the midst of her
misery Theodora wondered at their dressing so exactly alike, and why
they all wore gloves that were too large for them.

[Illustration: SLOWLY THEY WALKED, TWO BY TWO, ALONG THE PATH.]

Slowly they walked, two by two, along the path which led to the garden,
the maids watching them from the kitchen windows, and John, the hired
man, pausing in his work among the sweet-pease to stare after them in
astonishment. He also had heard of the calamity which had befallen the
household, but he did not know the connection between that and the foot
of the garden, and he never before had seen his mistresses walk there at
high noon (as it was according to the old dial), though he had lived
with them, and hoed their potatoes for twenty years.

Two by two they went, Theodora and her aunt Thomasine in front, the
other aunts behind, down the very path over which had passed that
delightful funeral procession so short a time before.

"I wish I were that kitten!" thought Teddy, miserably. "I would rather
be stoned than this! I suppose there is no way out of it. I've got to
show them where I hid the pieces. If I only hadn't left that little bit
which I never saw at all, they would have thought the bowl was stolen.
They never would have dreamed of my breaking it. How foolish I was!"

One of the Hoyt boys, looking over the wall, saw the approach of the
Middleton ladies, and summoning all his brothers who were available,
they leaned upon the wall and watched the proceedings with intense
interest. Arthur alone, when he saw them coming, dropped the rake which
he had been using and fled toward the barn.

"She's only a girl, after all," he said to himself, indignantly. "She
can't keep it dark. I told her they'd never guess it if she only held
her tongue, and now she has given it away!"

Then his curiosity as to what would happen next overcame his apparent
desire for flight, and he returned to his brothers on the garden wall,
from the top of which could be had a fine view of the Misses Middletons'
currant-bushes. When he arrived at this point of vantage he found that
the ladies had reached the object of their walk, and that they stood in
a row upon the path.

"Now," said Miss Joanna, with sarcasm--"now we shall see whether
Thomasine was mistaken or not!"

She closed her sunshade with a vicious snap, and proceeded to poke with
it under the bushes. Theodora watched her for a moment in silence.

"You needn't do that, Aunt Joanna," she said; and walking to a little
distance, she stooped and thrust her hand into the mass of green weeds
and dead leaves which had accumulated there. Almost immediately she drew
forth two pieces of broken china. "Here they are," she said.

Miss Middleton took one piece and Miss Joanna the other. Without a word
they turned toward home. Miss Melissa and Miss Dorcas followed, and then
Miss Thomasine, holding Theodora by the hand, fell into line behind.
They walked away as slowly as they had come.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]




A LOYAL TRAITOR.

A STORY OF THE WAR OF 1812 BETWEEN AMERICA AND ENGLAND.

BY JAMES BARNES.


CHAPTER XIII.

A FRENCH LEAVE-TAKING.

I could well write a book describing the two months of my life that I
spent as an English prisoner of war; but as this is to be a record of my
adventures alone, I fear me I would take up too much time if I should
allow this fact to leave my mind.

We were awakened early in the morning, and orders were given us to get
our baggage ready, as we were going to be transferred from the frigate
to one of the prison-ships. The order to get our "baggage" must have
been a bit of sarcasm, as there was none of us who possessed a spare
shirt to his back.

Our breakfast was doled out to us on the upper deck, and we hastened
down the gangway. Such a multitude of bumboats and small craft I had
never seen as surrounded the vessel. There was a great hubbub on all
sides, and our departure, being such a small number, created little
comment. A launch was waiting for us, and one by one we jumped into her
stern-sheets.

I almost forgot I was a prisoner in looking about me, for it all was
new. I saw more ships gathered together than I had ever seen in the
whole course of my life. Some were twice as large as the 74
_Plantagenet_ that I had seen from the deck of the _Minetta_.

We rowed under the stern of a great vessel pierced on one side for sixty
guns.

"This is the sort of a craft," said Sutton, pointing, "that Nelson and
their Admirals won battles with. She could swing the _Young Eagle_ at
her side; eh, youngster?"

And well she could, I think, for it struck me that she was more of a
floating fort than a sailing craft. Sheer-hulks and vessels outfitting
crowded the inner harbor, and the constant hammering, tapping, and
picking of an army of calkers filled the air.

When we reached the gangway on the port side we climbed up to the tall
gallery. I had to smile. We might have been royal personages making a
visit, for such ceremony I have never seen equalled. We passed between
two files of marines and were inspected by three different groups of
officers. They asked questions, and for some time seemed to be quite
confident that Sutton was an Englishman. In this belief they were
somewhat shaken when they saw his tattoo decorations, however.

At last our names were taken, and we passed below into the foul-smelling
air of the 'tween-decks. Five or six hundred men were confined on board
this ship, and as the guards had a generous portion set apart for
themselves, the prisoners were much crowded. But we were not going to be
kept here long; and although the time seemed to go slowly and was
certainly most tedious, only a week elapsed before we were informed that
we were going to be taken to a large prison near the town of Bristol.

On the twelfth day we were landed on the dock in Plymouth, and the dry
ground felt odd to our feet, I can tell you. As luck had it, Sutton,
Craig, and myself were in the first draft. It took us several days to
travel from Plymouth to Bristol, being closely guarded by a squadron of
cavalry and a battalion of infantry on the route.

It was a bright afternoon when we arrived on the outskirts of the city,
where we halted but a few minutes, and I learned that we were yet
several miles from Stapleton, where the prisons were situated. Despite
our fatigue, we were hastened along a broad, dusty road that led to the
north.

At six o'clock we skirted the edge of a vast domain that I found, by
asking, was the private estate of the Duke of Devonshire, and before we
knew it we were halted in front of a long row of stone buildings, behind
the barred gratings of which appeared hundreds of pallid faces. As we
passed over the drawbridge spanning the deep moat, we entered the
court-yard, and found ourselves with the brown sombre prison-houses on
either hand.

The chatter of French sounded all about us, for the majority of the
prisoners were Frenchmen taken in the wars against Napoleon. The
Americans were domiciled in a building apart from the Frenchmen, and did
not appear to enjoy the garrulous, half-contented spirit of the others.

Thus began two months of prison life that I shall dismiss with a few
words, although, as I hinted, I could write a volume about it.

A huge prison, in which are confined some five or six thousand men (our
numbers were swelled every day by new drafts of American prisoners and
Frenchmen) is much like a city. We had theatrical companies, markets,
and exchanges, and men quarrelled and gambled, and plied their trades or
callings to some advantage. Time passed quickly, although one day was
much like another. We were well guarded and fairly well fed, although
clothing and foot-gear were at a premium.

My size and strength had apparently increased since I had left Belair. I
stood six feet in height before I was nineteen years of age, and I
afterwards added two inches more to this. In the sports, especially in
foot-races and wrestling, I found myself a leader. Of course no one
could live in such a community as this, even for a short time, without
picking up a great deal of useful knowledge, besides imbibing much also
that would serve no one in good stead except perhaps as a warning.

My knowledge of the French tongue enabled me to converse with the
Frenchmen, and I whiled away many an hour by talking with them and
reading a romance so smirched by constant handling as to be almost
undecipherable. A small volume of Shakespeare, belonging to an
ex-schoolmaster, who kindly loaned it to me, I pored over by the hour.

One day there came a little excitement in our life, and a great
hallooing and huzzahing resounded through the prison. It was a reception
tendered to a division of the crew of the luckless _Chesapeake_ that was
transferred from the hulks to join us. We got up an entertainment in
their honor that evening.

Now to come to the evening of the 16th of September, 1813, that I can
set down in this chronicle in large important letters; for on this date,
by a combination of fortunate circumstances, I ceased to be a prisoner.
It happened thus:

The officers attached to the military force stationed at the prison
lived together in a small building at the southwest corner of the
rectangle formed by the high walls. Through the building which they
occupied a passage ran to a small postern-gate. On several occasions I
had been over there bearing messages from the prison-keeper (I was one
of the monitor officers in charge of the order of my section of the west
wing). But of course I had never progressed further than the small
antechamber that opened into the guard-room, where I would wait to
secure an audience with the commandant or one of his subordinates.

Now on this day I was bound to see a strange condition of affairs--the
orderly who generally stood at the door was missing from his post. It
was past dusk, and as I pushed in I noticed that the entrance to the
guard-room, usually filled with soldiers, was shut. I thought of giving
a hail, but then perceiving also that the entrance into the main
building was gaping wide, impelled by a sudden impulse I stepped across
the threshold into the hallway. I could hear voices coming from
somewhere; but a room to the right appeared to be empty; a candle was
burning on top of a tall dressing-case, and there across the foot of a
narrow cot lay spread the uniform of a Lieutenant; and a great bear-skin
shako, with a tall plume, topped one of the bedposts.

Now I think to do what I did then took more courage than anything I have
ever attempted. I gave a leap sideways into the room, and closed the
door behind me. Actually panting from excitement, I tore off the rags
which served me for clothing, and shaking from head to foot I donned the
uniform. Luckily the clothes were made for a large man, and they fitted
me to perfection. I glanced at myself in the glass as I put the towering
head-gear on as a finishing-touch. I was a strange-looking object. My
hair, which was long, was done sailor fashion down my back in a queue,
but the locks straggled down my cheeks; and, young as I was, my
appearance would have been improved by the use of a razor. But I
gathered my hair on the top of my head, where it was kept by the weight
of the shako, and then I stepped to the door. The voices had ceased, but
I plainly perceived that some one was coming down the corridor, which
was flagged with stone; the jingling of spurs echoed along the walls.
Hastily I closed the door, and extinguished the light with a pinch of my
fingers. It was good for me that I had done this, for whoever it was
gave the door a push and thrust in his head. How he ever missed seeing
me (for I could have struck him with my knee) I cannot see to this day.
It was one of the general officers, and attired for duty evidently, as
he carried a long sabre hitched under his arm.

"Humph! Not here," he said. "A pretty piece of business."

Then away he clanked, and I heard the slamming of a door to another
apartment. I knew that probably he came from the outside, and that the
way to freedom, or at least to the open air, must be in the direction
from which he was walking. I stepped out into the passageway and tiptoed
down it. Then thinking that cautious steps might attract notice, I
changed my gait to a military stride, and swaggered along with chest out
and shoulders back. My doing this was fortunate, for I went by the open
entrance of a small apartment, and a young man in undress uniform sat
reading a book with the aid of a small lamp. He glanced out at me, but
made no comment. I had affected to yawn, and half covered my face with
my hand.

Now I came to the end of the corridor, and here were three doors; the
one on the left shut, the centre one partly ajar, and the one on the
right closed with large bolts. Looking through the door that was open, I
could perceive a man's leg stretched out on a chair as if he were
resting, so I turned to the one on the left. I was about to draw the
latch when from within I heard the sound of voices in conversation.

"Good for you! Now another throw," some one said. Then came the rattle
of a dice-box.

There was nothing for it but to try the farther door, the one that was
bolted, and to do this I had to run the risk of attracting the man's
attention in the middle room. I stepped by, and giving a quick glance
over my shoulder, I saw that he was asleep, with his mouth wide open and
his arms folded across his chest. With trembling fingers I drew the bolt
of the heavy, iron-studded door, and swung it open.

Here was another passageway much like the first, with rooms on either
side and a staircase in a recess at the farther end. Good fortune still
favored me. I tramped down it, and found that to go out I had evidently
to ascend the steps. When I reached the foot and had placed my hand on
the iron guard-rail, I almost gave a gasp of sheer fright. There
standing on a little platform at the top was a grenadier, with his
musket leaning against him. He had caught sight of me, however, at this
same instant; the hall was dimly lighted with a flickering taper, and I
was in full view.

But to my surprise the man said nothing, but drew himself erect and his
musket snapped to a present. Drawing the heavy cloak that I had thrown
about my shoulders up to my nose, I hurried up the steps and returned
the soldier's salute in proper manner, but with shaking fingers, as I
passed him.

Here I was in the open air, and from the entrance a narrow causeway or
bridge led to the top of the wall. But all danger was not over, for at
the farther end stood two more red-coated gentry. One had called the
attention of the other to my approach, and there they were, drawn up
like two statues at attention. I should have to go between them. But the
light was very dim, and only boldness could serve my purpose. So I gazed
directly at them, and with a great bound of my heart in my throat, I saw
that I was going to be successful. They presented arms as I brushed by.

A small flight of stairs led down the wall on the outside, and here the
ditch was spanned by a foot-bridge, and on the bank stood another
sentry. I had wondered why I had not been asked for a password of some
sort, and now I feared that this last man would prove my downfall, and
that surely I would be stopped and asked some question. I hesitated as I
stood there half-way down the steps, and at this instant I noticed the
sentry across the bridge bring his musket to a half-charge with a ring
of his accoutrements. In the dusk I could see four or five figures
approaching, and then I heard the sentry call them to halt.

I could not make out the words that followed, but it was all merely
perfunctory business I recognized, as the approaching figures were
officers. Now fear often gives a man a judgment and cleverness that
support him in sore straits. There was but one chance, and I took it. I
turned about, retraced my steps, passed the two sentries, who saluted me
once more, then again the third man at the head of the stairway, and I
was back in the corridor.

When I had turned the angle of the passage, I entered one of the rooms,
and crouched down behind a curtain, holding my big hat in my lap. My
teeth chattered so that I feared the noise would be audible, and I had
been just in time, as, laughing and talking, the officers were
approaching.

As I sat crouched in a corner I perceived that they had some huge joke
among them. They were walking slowly, and I heard distinctly what
passed.

"The idea of Tillinghast forgetting the countersign strikes me as being
grand," exclaimed some one, with a guffaw at the end of the sentence.

"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed another. "I told you it was the author of
_Robinson Crusoe_, Tilly."

"Why, confound it all! I always thought that he himself wrote the book,"
roared a deep bass.

I recognized the speaker as the junior in command of the prison. It was
his clothes, by-the-way, that I had on my back at the moment.

"I think the Governor chose it for a play on words," said another. "A
poor pun even for him."

"Why we should require a password at all is more than I can see," said
Tillinghast. "Come down to my quarters, Carntyne. We have time for a
game of whist."

They passed on. I waited a few minutes, putting two and two together,
and suddenly it came to me. _I had the password at the tip of my
tongue!_ Hastily arising, I stepped outside of the room. It was but a
few yards to the bottom of the stairs, and I heard the sentry humming a
snatch of a tune, and keeping time to it with the stamping of his feet
in a sort of a jig. I was afraid that if I approached him the way that I
had done before, he might look closer, so I made believe that I was
carrying on the fag end of a conversation with some one, and answered an
imaginary question with a laugh (a trifle forced, I must admit).

"No, thanks," I said; "you gentlemen are too much for me. I must hasten.
Eh?" (A pause.) "I shall be back by nine o'clock, but I must hurry."
Then I charged up the steps as if the devil was after me. The grenadier
had hardly time to salute me; and I rushed past the other two at the end
of the causeway at the same pace. They made some remark after I had gone
by, but I did not catch it. More leisurely I descended the steps on the
outside of the wall, and crossed the little foot-bridge to where the
last sentry stood. His musket barred my path, but it was a respectful
attitude.

"The word, sir?" he said, slurring the usual challenge.

"Defoe," I answered. He hesitated. "Daniel Defoe," I repeated,
restraining with difficulty a mad impulse to close with him and pitch
him headlong into the ditch.

The response to this was a backward step on the sentry's part, and a
stiff attitude of present arms. I replied with somewhat of a flourish,
and hastened down the path. It led across a sort of common, bordered by
twinkling lights shining from some vine-covered houses, and in the
stillness I heard the sound of a fiddle played somewhere, and from
another direction the voice of an infant crying at top lung. What was I
to do? I had a good fund of general information, perhaps, owing to my
reading, and I had made up by this time the hiatus caused by my being
out of the world those two years at Belair; but I knew little or nothing
of the geography of England, and to save my soul I could not have
imagined which would be the best direction to take.

My one idea was to put as much space between me and the prison-yard as I
could, so I walked away from it with that end in view alone. It grew
very dark, and I kept to the common until I plunged through a thorny
hedge and made the road. It seemed to lead straight to the northward,
which was as good for me as any other point of the compass, so I
hastened along as fast as my legs could carry me.

The big military hat wobbled unsteadily on my head, and I thought how
difficult it would be to make any sort of a fight with such an
encumbrance to quick motions. But I reasoned I would attract a great
deal of attention if I should discard it, so I slung it over my back by
the plume, ready to clap it on if necessary, and went forward at a
dog-trot.

The villages in this part of the country were so close together that I
seemed hardly to leave one before I saw the lights of another. I was
evidently on the highway, however, and, strange to say, I met but a few
country people walking. They looked at me rather curiously, but did not
speak. Thus I had traversed some twelve miles or more before midnight,
and as there was a town of some size in the distance, judging by the
lights and the sounds of two separate sets of chimes striking the hour,
I determined to find some place where I could rest and think over the
situation.

At first glance I might pass for one of his Majesty's officers, perhaps,
but I could not stand an investigation without discovery. Yet I did not
despair, for I was young, and youth builds to suit its fancy. But
leg-weariness began to tell on me, and crawling in behind a hedge, I
rolled myself in a cloak, and must have fallen to dreaming on the
instant, for I began to go over the events of the last two days, and
from them my mind strayed back into the past; and among other things, of
course, thoughts of Mary Tanner came into my head and drove out all
else.

It seemed to me that again I was in a little garden under the shadow of
a rose-bush. I could recall Mary's arch smile and the sideway glance of
her eye. The imaginary conversation we held continued at great length,
and then the scene changed to the sea, and I was the Captain of a ship,
sailing, with a fair wind, to some country whose name I could not place,
but I knew that there Mary was waiting for me.

All at once I awoke and found myself with one hand in the breast of my
brilliant red coat, grasping a little leather bag that was strung around
my neck with a thong, containing all that I knew of that I could claim
in the way of earthly possessions. These consisted of one of the De
Brienne buttons, a single gold piece with the head of King Louis on it,
and a package of dried rose leaves twisted into a small bit of paper.

It was gray dawn; cocks were crowing, and the bleating of sheep sounded
from near by. With wonderful swiftness the light spread, and soon I
could see my surroundings. The road was but a stone's-throw away, and I
pushed through the hedge and found myself standing there not knowing
which way to turn; in fact, I feared it would make little matter which
choice I made--north, east, south, or west. I saw nothing but ultimate
recapture before me. "No matter what happens, I shall have a yarn to
spin," I said, grimly, to myself, as I stretched my stiffened legs and
rubbed my cold hands together to start my chilled blood going.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]




THE OLD DAYS OF CLIPPER-SHIPS.

BY DUNCAN McLEAN.


During the great wars of Napoleon the mercantile shipping of the world
was much deranged, but at the peace of 1815 it began to revive. New York
organized splendid lines of packets, ranging from 500 to 1000 tons, and
these had the most of the passenger trade with Europe, principally with
Liverpool, London, and Havre. Maine, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Rhode
Island, and Connecticut built many smaller vessels, which traded with
all parts of the world, and which at the same time carried on an
extensive coasting and fishing business, and were manned almost
exclusively by American seamen.

As trade increased, ships were built faster than trained seamen could be
found to man them. This brought seamen from Europe, and in a few years
our shipping, excepting the officers, was manned by foreigners. Many
ship-builders of New England were also farmers, who made both
occupations pay. Although the size of our ships has been increased, and
their models have been improved, there has been no improvement in their
materials or in the style of their construction. As a rule, they were
built of the best seasoned white oak, copper-fastened, coppered, and
through treenailed, and they lasted longer than the best built ships of
thirty years ago. They were certainly far more seaworthy than the best
wooden ships of to-day. These, then, were the vessels which in so short
a time became the subject of remark all over the world. The term clipper
was first applied to schooners built at Baltimore (Maryland), designed
to trade with South America, Africa, the Mediterranean, and the West
Indies. They ranged in size from two hundred tons down to pilot-boats of
fifty tons, were sharp at the ends and sharp on the bottoms or floors,
and had raking masts. In time they became notorious as slave-traders and
pirates, and during the last war with Great Britain were successful
privateers. They were first upon the world of waters for speed and
weatherly qualities. The "long low black schooner" so often mentioned in
exciting sea-stories as a pirate was a clipper.

The late Captain R. B. Forbes, his father, mother, and two brothers,
embarked on board the _Orders in Council_ at Bordeaux (France), in 1813,
bound for the United States. She was one of a numerous fleet of
Baltimore and New York clippers, armed with six nine-pounders, and had a
crew of about twenty all told. Shortly after leaving port she was chased
by three British cutters, sloop-rigged, and outsailed them, but the wind
died away. The boats of the three cutters towed the _Wellington_, the
nearest, within range, and a fight ensued, which lasted over an hour,
when a breeze sprang up, and the _Orders in Council_ soon showed her
clipperly speed. A parting shot cut the cutter's peak-halyards away, and
before they could be replaced the American had escaped. War was then in
progress between the United States and Great Britain. During the war of
1812-14 American clipper-privateers captured over one thousand British
merchantmen.

The same year, Sir Walter Scott, the author of _Waverley_, while
returning in a cutter along the west coast of Scotland from a cruise
among the Shetland and Orkney islands, was chased by an American
privateer, and barely escaped capture. The result of this cruise was the
production of _The Pirate_, one of the best of his many delightful
books.

[Illustration: THE GREAT RACE ROUND CAPE HORN.]

Among the many great results of the discovery of gold in California in
1849, none were more interesting than the clippers which were built in a
few years to perform the carrying trade to the new El Dorado. Rapidly as
the population increased, it hardly kept pace with the means to furnish
supplies, notwithstanding the distance and the tempestuous nature of the
sea they had to be carried over. Month after month ships surpassing in
beauty and strength all that the world had before produced were built
and equipped by private enterprise, to form the means of communication
with the new land of promise. The most eminent ship-builders and
enterprising merchants vied with one another to lead in the great race
round Cape Horn. The common rules which had for years circumscribed
mechanical skill to a certain class of models were abandoned, and the
ship-owner contracted only for speed and strength. Ships varying in size
from 1000 to 3000 tons were soon built and sent to sea, and their
wonderful performances, instead of satisfying, increased the demand to
excel. The ship _Flying Cloud_, of 1700 tons, commanded by Captain
Creesy, made the passage from New York to San Francisco in 89 days and 4
hours. Such results would have satisfied most men that they had at last
produced a model that would defy competition, but such was not the
conclusion of Mr. Donald McKay, who built her and several other
successful clippers. He consulted their captains about wherein they had
failed to come up to his designs. Like a proof-reader, he only desired
to detect their errors. The floor, or bottom, of the _Flying Cloud_
represented the letter V. The next ship he designed was made to
represent the letter U. This gave her more capacity and increased
stability.

He built the _Sovereign of the Seas_, of 2400 tons, on his own account.
Although she did not make as short a passage from New York to San
Francisco as the _Flying Cloud_, yet she beat the swiftest of the entire
fleet, which sailed about the same time, 7 days. In 24 consecutive hours
she ran 430 geographical miles, 56 more than the greatest run of the
_Flying Cloud_, and in 10 consecutive days she ran, by observation, 3144
miles. In eleven months her gross earnings amounted to $200,000.

The following were the passages made from New York to San Francisco by
the clippers:

                                Tons.      Passage.
  Flying Cloud                  1700       89 days.
  Flying-Fish                   1600       92 days.
  Sovereign of the Seas         2400      103 days.
  Bald Eagle                    1600      107 days.
  Empress of the Sea            2250      118 days.
  Staghound                     1550      112 days.

The following sailed from Boston to San Francisco:

                                Tons.      Passage.
  Westward Ho                   1700      107 days.
  Staffordshire                 1950      101 days.

Mr. McKay built the _Great Republic_, of 4550 tons, with four decks; but
she was partly burned in New York in 1853, and when repaired the fourth
deck was taken off. She sailed several voyages between New York and San
Francisco, and was never beaten. During the Crimean war she was hired as
a transport by the French government, and with a leading whole-sail
breeze not a steamer, far less a sailing-vessel, could keep alongside of
her.

[Illustration: SHOWING DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE LINES OF THE OLD SHIPS AND
THE NEW CLIPPERS.]

The last great ship designed and built by Mr. McKay was the _Glory of
the Seas_, of 2009 tons. She was a combination of the clipper and the
New York packet-ship, designed to carry a large cargo, to sail fast, and
to work like a pilot-boat. She was 240 feet 2 inches long, had 44 feet
extreme breadth of beam, and was 28 feet deep, with three decks. Captain
Tom Chatfield, who commanded her several voyages, speaks of her as the
grandest vessel he ever knew. She is still afloat, and hails from San
Francisco. At one time she was owned by J. Henry Sears & Co., well known
as eminent merchants of Boston.

Captain Waterman, in command of the clipper-ship _Sea Witch_, made some
of the quickest passages on record between New York and China. His last
command afloat was in the ship _Challenge_, which he took from New York
to San Francisco. Captain Philip Dumaresq, of Boston, who last sailed in
the ship _Florence_ in the China trade with New York, ranked high during
his whole service afloat. At sea he never took his clothes off to turn
in at night, that he might always be on hand to spring on deck. The
quickest passage on record from Shanghai (China) to New York was made in
the ship _Swordfish_ by Captain Crocker. Though becalmed a week on the
equator, he made the run in 84 days, and beat the overland mail from
India a week. It was stated in a San Francisco paper that the _Young
America_ made the passage from New York in less time than the _Flying
Cloud_, but it was not confirmed. One hundred days was considered quick
time for an outward passage. The ship _Northern Light_ made the passage
from San Francisco to Boston in 76 days. She was in ballast, and had
fair winds all the way.

To show the rapidity with which clippers were built, the ship _John
Bertram_, of 1080 tons, was launched six weeks from the time her keel
was laid, and in two weeks more was on her way from Boston for San
Francisco with 1500 tons of cargo on board. When she was launched, her
builder, Mr. Robert E. Jackson, fell overboard; her owner, Captain
William T. Glidden, plunged after him, without even taking off his coat,
and saved him. Old sailors predicted that she would be unlucky, yet she
kept afloat thirty years afterward, and cleared her original cost a
dozen times.

[Illustration: A CLIPPER-BRIGANTINE.]

In 1855 there were 268 ships of an average of 1200 tons each under our
flag, and most of them were clippers. In addition to these there were
many barks, brigs, and schooners remarkable for beauty of model and
famous for speed. From 1849 to the breaking out of the civil war we had
the cream of the carrying trade of the world. After that our shipping
declined rapidly; many of our famous clippers were sold to avoid
capture. Steam navigation has superseded sails in the China and
Mediterranean trade, and to-day there are not a dozen clipper-ships left
under our flag.

When gold was discovered in Australia, the British purchased many of our
fine clippers, which were very successful in their passages. The
emigrants from British ports soon preferred them to their own vessels,
on account of their spacious between-decks and high rate of speed. We
also shared largely in the trade, and for several years kept regular
lines of swift ships, laden with American goods, which found a ready
market in Melbourne. After the adaptation of iron to ship-building, the
British copied our clipper lines for most of their new sailing-vessels,
and now compete successfully with us in carrying heavy cargoes. Iron
ships have the preference in carrying grain from San Francisco to
Europe.

In 1813 a vessel from China received a pilot off Cape Cod in a fog, and
kept close inshore to avoid two British frigates which were in the bay.
When off Plymouth the fog lifted and revealed the frigates about two
miles distant, which instantly made all sail in chase. It was only
half-flood, and the pilot was afraid that there was not water enough to
run in; but he took the chances and succeeded, though both vessels
opened fire upon him. Fortunately there was a company of militia on hand
with a field-piece, which protected the ship against the boats that were
despatched to cut her out. All the men of the place turned out and soon
landed her cargo, composed of teas and silks, and then stripped the ship
to her lower masts, apprehensive that the boats might make a night
attack on her. But they did not.

William Gray, a rich ship-owner, had a clipper-bark which had been
knocking about in the West Indies in search of freight. A vessel laden
with sugar put into St. Thomas in distress, and sold her cargo, which
the American purchased as a venture. She ran the blockade, and Mr. Gray
was the first to board her. "Captain," he said, nervously, "I see you're
very deep; what have you got in?" "Sugar," was the brief reply,
"purchased on the ship's account." He felt that he had made no mistake,
especially as Mr. Gray threw his hat in the air before he responded.
Picking up his hat, Mr. Gray faced the Captain with a pleasant smile,
and said, "It's just our luck, Captain; you have not only saved your
ship, but this day there are not fifty boxes of sugar in all Boston, and
prices are sky-high."

Early in the century Salem had some swift vessels engaged in the East
India and China trade, but these have mostly disappeared.

Although large clipper-ships have mostly disappeared, we have many fine
clipper-schooners engaged in fishing, which are unequalled for speed and
weatherly qualities by the fishermen of all other nations. Change is the
order of the day in shipping, as well as in most other things. The
navies of the world have been changed three times during the past fifty
years. The huge wooden ships of the line and frigates were displaced by
the application of steam, and these have been superseded by iron and
steel; and the end is not yet, for inventors assert that electricity
will be the motive power on the ocean as well as on the land.




WITH THE THANKS OF THE WAR DEPARTMENT.

BY WILLIAM DRYSDALE.


"Yes, the boy is in a bad way," Dr. Murray said, with his fingers on
Frank's pulse; "a very bad way. This is a serious case. Why not let me
take him out to Tortugas? We have plenty of fresh air there, and I
should like to have him with me."

"To Tortugas?" Mrs. Bethel exclaimed. "To the quarantine station? Why,
you are liable to have yellow fever cases there any day! Oh, doctor, I
never could let him go out there!"

"Do you think I would take him into any danger?" the doctor laughed. "It
is much safer there than in Key West. Our quarters are in the great
fort, but the pest-house is on Bird Key, half a mile away. I do not know
of any place in the far South that has as good a summer climate, for the
wind strikes us on every side, as we are seventy miles from land. And as
to danger--pshaw!"

With Frank eager to go and his mother anxious to have his health
improved, there was not much doubt that in the end the doctor's
invitation would be accepted. That was the way it turned out, and when
the doctor's steam-launch started from the naval depot wharf two days
later, Frank was in the little cabin with the doctor, and his trunk was
stowed away somewhere up forward.

"Now for a quick run to 'Tugas, let us hope!" the doctor exclaimed, as
the launch began to cut through the clear water of Key West Harbor.
"Eight-thirty; we ought to be there by four-thirty this evening, unless
the weather changes. We can't risk any rough seas in this launch, you
know. If a storm should come up, we'd have to take refuge on one of the
four or five keys between here and 'Tugas. Do you know that Fort
Jefferson is the hardest place in the United States for a traveller to
reach, Frank, unless he has a government boat to travel in?"

The Gulf was as smooth as a pond, as it often is in summer, and every
minute Frank could see fish darting through the transparent water, and
great turtles and sea-fans and brain-stones on the bottom. He was as
much excited over it as if he had been starting for China.

"There's something ahead," he exclaimed, about the middle of the
afternoon, "that I should say was a city growing right out of the water
if I didn't know that it must be the great fort. But there can hardly be
any fort as big as that. Is that really it, doctor?"

"That is really the fort," the doctor answered, "and I think we will be
there now inside of an hour."

"But it seems to stand right in the water!" Frank exclaimed. "I don't
see any land around it at all!"

"It would take good eyes to see any land around it," the doctor replied,
with a twinkle in his own eyes. "You see, the island was only five acres
in extent, and they built a fort covering seven acres, so the
foundations were laid right out in the water."

When they were near enough to see plainly, Frank did not try to conceal
his delight.

"What an immense building!" he exclaimed. "I never imagined there was
such a big building in the world. No wonder it cost thirty millions! And
there are roofs and chimneys inside the walls, and palm-trees waving
over the top. I didn't know they had chimneys on a fort, doctor, and
palm-trees?"

"They do in this one," the doctor laughed. "The roofs and chimneys
belong to the officers' quarters and barracks, and the palm-trees have
been growing ever since the fort was dismantled, thirty years ago."

Once inside the great walls, they were in a large yard grown up with
palms and bushes; and crossing this, they entered the officers'
quarters, where Dr. Murray had his office and living-rooms. Such big
rooms, too, with great open fireplaces, and broad halls with iron
staircases.

"Now make yourself at home, Frank," the doctor told him. "The whole
place is open to you, and you can go anywhere you like."

For an hour or more he wandered alone among the open casemates, dodging
around conical piles of cannon-balls, patting the immense but
long-silent columbiads. Then the doctor joined him for a short time
before dinner in the vaulted casemates.

"There are so many rusty machines here, doctor!" Frank exclaimed. "This
looks like a little furnace. What do you suppose it was for?"

"That was for heating cannon-balls," the doctor answered, "so that they
could fire hot shot into a hostile ship."

"And this thing looks like an oven big enough to supply a city."

"It is an oven," the doctor explained. "This is the fort's oven. You
know at one time there were nearly three thousand people here, prisoners
and garrison, and all their bread was baked in this brick oven. That is
the reason it is almost as big as a house."

"And this great machine in the bastion?" Frank asked. "It looks
something like a steam-engine; but it is rusty enough to fall to
pieces."

"Ah, I am glad you reminded me of that!" the doctor explained. "I must
caution you about the water-tanks. That big machine is a condenser,
Frank. So many people required not only a great deal of bread, but a
great deal of water, too, and no fresh water is to be had out of this
coral rock. So this big condenser was put up. It pumped water out of the
Gulf and converted it into steam, and when the steam condensed into
water again the water was fresh. This old machine used to run day and
night at one time.

"Then," the doctor went on, "they had to have places to store the water,
of course. For that purpose they built a system of water-tanks under the
entire fort. Under every one of these lower casemates there is a great
stone tank twenty or thirty feet square and ten or twelve feet deep; and
they are all connected, so that now when they are not full you could go
under the whole fort through the tanks. I suppose there is not another
series of water-tanks like them in the whole country. They have not been
used for years, but a little rain-water still flows in from the roofs,
so that the water is always two or three feet deep in them. It is a
dark, slimy place down in the tanks.

"And that is what I want to caution you about," he continued. "You see
in the stone floor of every one of these lower casemates there is a trap
about two and a half feet square, covered with a square stone with an
iron ring in the centre. Those traps lead down to the tanks. Sometimes
one of the covers is lifted and is carelessly left off. I want you to be
very careful about them if you come into the casemates at night, for it
would be an ugly thing to tumble into the tanks. Here, I will lift this
cover and let you look down."

[Illustration: "UGH!" FRANK EXCLAIMED; "WHAT A GHOSTLY PLACE!"]

"Ugh!" Frank exclaimed, drawing back from the black hole. "What a
ghostly place! I suppose that stagnant water is full of all sorts of
creatures, too!"

The dinner bell called them back to their quarters, and Frank found that
the quarantine establishment comprised about eighteen persons, including
the doctors and nurses, engineers, boatmen, and laborers; and these,
with the ordnance sergeant and the light-house-keeper, were the sole
inhabitants of the big fort.

After dinner the doctor was busy, but Frank went out alone into the soft
moonlight to enjoy the cool evening breeze. He soon made the
acquaintance of the ordnance sergeant, and together they climbed the
solid stone stairs in one of the bastions up to the upper casemates.

"Why, this is like fairy-land, if there is such a place!" Frank
exclaimed. "Just see the moonshine through the long rows of brick
arches! What a tre_men_dous big place! And the water looks like silver
outside, and in the enclosure everything is dark green."

"This is only one section of the fort that you see," the sergeant said,
smiling at Frank's enthusiasm. "There are six sections just like this.
To-morrow I will take you up on the parapets. You can almost see Cuba
from there, but not quite."

"And to think that three thousand people once lived on this little
island!" Frank exclaimed. "They must have been packed pretty thickly in
these casemates."

For days Frank spent all his spare time in wandering about the great
fort, sometimes alone, and sometimes with the doctor or sergeant. There
were so many queer things to see! And everything was so solid and
warlike! And every evening while the moon lasted he climbed to the upper
casemates to enjoy the silvery water and the cool breeze.

But after a while the moon disappeared and the nights became dark. Then
he moved about with caution, for the bushes in the enclosure tripped
him, and the vastness and silence of the great place awed him. Late one
evening, after he had said good-night to the ordnance sergeant and was
thinking of going to bed, the notion occurred to him:

"How terrible it must have been to be shut up for months in one of those
lower casemates, with only a big columbiad and a pile of shells for
company! It makes a fellow shiver just to think of it!"

"Pshaw!" he exclaimed, a moment later. "I don't like this being scared
at a shadow. I'm going over to some of those cells this minute, just to
punish myself. I know every inch of the way now, and can easily find
them in the dark."

He started across the enclosure, picking his way carefully among the
bushes. The long grass tripped him, but he persevered. Once he ran plump
against something tall and hard, and after feeling it with his hand he
knew just where he was, for it was the tombstone of Major Smith, who
died in the fort of yellow fever in 1867, and was buried on the spot.
That made his flesh creep just a little bit, but he kept on. After he
reached the sally-port, which always stood wide open, he turned to the
right, dodging piles of solid shot, a fallen partition, and an old
steam-engine. In a minute more he was in front of the casemate he
wanted--not the casemate which he had stood in so many times already to
look out upon the sea, but a particularly gloomy one he remembered. He
stepped into the casemate, about two feet higher than the ground, and
the thick darkness staggered him for a moment. But he would not back out
now. Slowly he groped his way across the stone floor.

Crash! In a second he saw a thousand stars shooting, and like a flash he
thought he realized that some one had struck him a blow on the head.

"Help! help! help!" he shouted. "Murder! help! help!"

He put up a hand to ward off a second blow, and found that it was
dripping wet. Blood, perhaps! Something was trickling down his face.
Maybe that was blood too! He was dripping all over. He tried to run, but
he could not, for something held his feet. He was standing in water
above his knees!

Then he realized his terrible situation. Somebody had uncovered the trap
in the casemate and left it open, and he had fallen into the tank. He
was down in that horrible, black, slimy pit. Perhaps he had struck his
head in falling, but the water had broken the fall.

"Help! help!" he cried, when this dawned upon him. But he soon stopped
that. All the men, he knew, were on the opposite side of the fort, and
probably all in bed. There was not the faintest hope of making any one
hear if he shouted all night. To climb out was impossible, for the hole
was six feet above his head, in the middle of the ceiling. He was doomed
to spend the night in that dreadful place, and in the morning he might
hope to attract attention.

How long he stood there, shivering with the damp chill and with terror,
he does not know. It was long enough, at any rate, to make him fear that
he might lose his senses before morning, and fall and be drowned in the
slimy black water. Perhaps older fellows than Frank would have shivered
with fear in that awful black vault.

He had pulled himself together enough to try to dry his upper clothes,
when he was startled by a slight noise overhead. Yes, he was sure he
heard a noise; and the next moment he heard a voice. Ah! surely a human
voice never sounded so sweet before! He had his mouth ready to cry out
for help, when he caught a word or two that made him pause to listen.

"I tell you I'll wait no longer," the voice said. "They're all in bed
before this, and we're going to work. Come on."

Frank was familiar with all the voices in the fort, but this was a
strange voice. Evidently strangers had landed; but what could they mean
by going to work at night?

He still waited to listen, but instead of more words he heard the tread
of feet overhead. Could they be going away? Whoever the men were, he
must have help, and he would have called out in a second more if-- Hark!
There was a grating on the stones above, then a glimmer of light, as if
from a lantern. Then another strange thing happened. By the dim light he
saw the end of a ladder come down through the trap--not the trap over
his head, but two casemates further down, nearer the sally-port.

By the same dim light Frank saw that the tanks were connected by broad
brick arches, through which the water flowed from one to another. The
ladder was let all the way down, and down it came four men, one after
another, one carrying the lantern, all carrying hammers and saws, and
all strangers. Frank was so surprised that he could do nothing but stand
still and watch. There was no danger of his being seen, for he was in
the deep gloom; but he could see every move the men made, as they
carried the light.

The men seemed to know the ground thoroughly, for they waded off through
the water without hesitation, going in the opposite direction from
Frank. Through two of the brick arches they went, then up to the front
wall of the tank, and began to use their hammers and saws briskly.

Frank saw that the wall was covered with a perfect maze of pipes, both
iron and lead, and that made it all plain to him. These men were
thieves, and they were cutting away the lead pipes to steal them.
Perhaps the strange situation sharpened his wits. At any rate, Frank saw
that the men were all absorbed in their work two casemates beyond the
ladder, and without waiting a moment longer he waded silently but
swiftly down to the foot of the ladder, flew up its rounds like an
athlete, and drew the ladder up after him. That left the thieves
securely trapped in the tanks. The stars were shining brightly now, and
half wild with joy at his release Frank rushed across the enclosure.

"Help! help! help!" he shouted again. "Thieves! thieves!"

His friends could hear him plainly enough now that he was outside; and
when Frank told his story they made short work of capturing the burglars
and taking possession of their sloop that waited by the wharf.

"Those fellows have been here before," the men reported who were sent
down into the tanks: "they have cut away miles of lead pipe."

The doctor saw that Frank was nearly used up with the excitement, and
insisted upon his having a cup of hot coffee and going to bed.

"You have made an important discovery," he said, "and the War Department
ought to have something to say to you for it. Those fellows must have
taken hundreds of dollars' worth of pipes, and I think we can recover
them. I shall make a report to the Department, of course."

It was not long before nearly $1600 worth of lead pipes were recovered
in Key West, where they had been taken; and when Frank went home late in
the fall, as strong and brown as any mother could ask to see her son, he
found a big letter waiting for him, without any stamps on the envelope,
but printed in the corner, "War Department, Adjutant-General's Office.
Official business."

"Mr. Frank Bethel," the letter said:

     "DEAR SIR,--The Secretary of War has learned from Dr. R. D. Murray,
     and from other official sources, of the recovery, through your
     efforts, of a large amount of government property stolen from Fort
     Jefferson.

     "I am therefore directed to forward you the enclosed check for one
     hundred dollars, with the thanks of the War Department.
     Respectfully yours,

  "J. W. ARMSTRONG, Chief Clerk."

"Phew!" Frank exclaimed. "I'm glad the War Department don't know how
scared I was down in those tanks!"




[Illustration: INTERSCHOLASTIC SPORT]


The interest in golf among the schools of the country seems to be
growing rapidly, and at a number of the large out-of-town schools, as
has already been told in this Department, courses have been laid out,
and tournaments have been held, notably at St. Paul's School, Concord,
Hotchkiss School, Lakeville, and at Lawrenceville.

[Illustration: BERKELEY SCHOOL GOLF CUP.]

The first scholastic tournament to be held in New York was that played
by the students of Berkeley on Election day. The competition was medal
play for a cup offered by Dr. White, the winner to receive an individual
cup in addition to having his name engraved on the championship cup,
which is to remain in the possession of the School Athletic Association.

Great interest was taken in this tournament, and although H. M. Bowers,
one of the best golfers in school, was unable to take part, the
competition brought out some good play. The tournament was held at the
Van Cortlandt Park links, and there were fifteen entries. Studwell won
by an easy margin of seven strokes over Granbery, who came in second.
Summary of the match: G. Stuart Studwell, Jun., out, 63; in, 60--total,
123. E. Carleton Granbery, out, 73; in, 57--total, 130. Theodore R.
Pell, out, 67; in, 66--total, 133. Cornelius S. Pinkney, out, 76; in,
64--total, 140.

The last three holes on the Van Cortlandt course are long ones, the
equivalent in distance to the total of the first six, the distance
between the eighth and ninth holes being nearly half a mile. Thus a
score of 60 on this course at Van Cortlandt Park would seem to be about
as good as 50 on an ordinary course where the holes are shorter.

[Illustration: THE VAN CORTLANDT PARK GOLF COURSE.--THE THIRD HOLE.]

The Van Cortlandt Park course has only recently been opened to the
public, but doubtless it will soon become one of the most popular in the
neighborhood of the city. The first hole is an open one, and may very
well be made in three strokes. There are two obstacles before the second
hole, a stone wall and a brook, but a long drive ought to clear both of
these. A skilful player can make this hole in three, but the ordinary
player will doubtless require four strokes, by reason of falling short
of the stone wall.

There is a bunker that even the unskilful player should be able to drive
over toward the third hole. On the way to the fourth there is another
stone wall, just beyond which is a hazard in the form of a dry
river-bed. The third stone wall lies on the road to the fifth hole, and
ought to be cleared with the second shot. It is unadvisable to attempt
to drive over it, unless one is particularly skilful.

[Illustration: THE VAN CORTLANDT PARK GOLF COURSE.--A TYPICAL
HAZARD.]

The sixth hole is a very short one. It starts with an easy hazard, a
little ditch not more than ten yards from the tee, which anybody but the
most inexperienced should be able to drive over safely. The return trip
consists of only three holes, but they are all harder than any of the
preceding. There is long grass, and the railroad track along the right
of the first two, and then the shore of a pond as a boundary for the
ninth. Therefore any swaying to the right will prove expensive; to the
left the ground is level and safe.

The seventh hole might be called an open one, except for the low stone
wall that runs through it, and a dirt bunker at a good distance this
side of the putting-green. Both these obstacles, however, are placed so
as only to penalize the very poor player. Toward the eighth hole one
meets two more bunkers, that ought also to be easily handled by a fairly
experienced player. Thereafter comes what is said to be the longest hole
in the United States, the distance being 700 yards. The turf is fairly
clear, and crossed by two stone walls, and broken by a dirt bunker. It
is possible to clear the first stone wall on the drive, and a brassey
shot will bring the ball nearer the second. It is proposed to shorten
this last hole at an early date, and to lengthen the eighth to about 580
yards, making the two thus more nearly equal. As it is, the ninth hole
is an unsatisfactory one to play.

[Illustration: THE VAN CORTLANDT PARK GOLF LINKS.]

The trouble about crossing the next hazard is the danger of swinging to
the right and going into the tall grass, or even into the pond. Then
comes the bunker, and after that the course is clear. I am told that the
best record for this hole is 7, which is remarkably good. It is also
said that the best amateur record over this course is 42, but there is
nothing to show that this is a fact. Studwell's best figure was made in
the second round,--60; but Granbery made it in 57, making the record for
that tournament.

The rules adopted by the Milwaukee schools to govern interscholastic
sport are in some respects severe, but it is very probable that the
condition of affairs necessitated this stringency. Many of the students
are complaining that the 70-per-cent. standard in scholarship required
of all those who wish to take part in athletics is too high, and it is
very probable that next year this figure will be somewhat reduced. It
will not do any harm, however, for a short time, to bring things around
with a sharp turn, and to make high scholarship a condition of
participation in sport.

In looking over these new rules there are some which strike one as
somewhat peculiar. For instance, it is specified that nobody shall play
under an assumed name. That it has been necessary to insert such a
regulation proves conclusively that amateur sport must have fallen to a
pretty low ebb if boys would enter contests under names not their own.
But we know that this is done, and that it was shamefully done, by a
number of football-players in Chicago this last fall.

One of the new Milwaukee rules provides that "the principal of the
school, or persons authorized by him, shall be the manager or managers
of the teams representing the school." This is not a desirable change.
It is always best for schoolboys to manage their own sports, and if it
is found that they cannot or will not manage them properly and honestly
and in a sportsmanlike manner, then it is time for older heads to take a
hand in the proceedings. But even then it is not advisable to have head
masters as managers.

It is far better to let graduates of the school act as an advisory
board, and to empower graduates with sufficient power to control the
actions of the undergraduate managers. It is hardly possible to find any
school principal who can understand and be in thorough sympathy with the
boys in their athletics. A schoolmaster is bound to look at things from
a different point of view from his pupils, and he would naturally try to
reach an end, doubtless for good, in an entirely different way from that
which will appeal to the students.

On the other hand, graduates of the school, who are no longer affected
by the influences of active personal competition in sport, can better
understand the methods and feelings of the students and the requirements
of school athletics. They are closer to the boys than the professor can
possibly be, and they naturally inspire more confidence in the younger
men, because the latter feel that these graduates have a livelier
personal interest in sport itself than an older man can have, who has
probably never participated in any of these games. Furthermore, a number
of these graduates, who might be called upon as advisers, are probably
in college or have been through college, and have there acquired much
valuable experience in the conduct and management of athletics of all
kinds.

One of the chief elements to do away with in the management of sports,
especially where reforms are being undertaken, is friction; and there is
bound to be more or less friction between head master and pupils,
because their chief relations are so entirely different from the new
ones that are being inaugurated through athletics.

Among other suggestions proposed at the time these rules were adopted at
the Milwaukee schools was one that certain changes be made in the
football-playing rules. Fortunately, however, there was enough good
sense in the committee to overcome this proposition, and it was decided
that the intercollegiate football rules were plenty good enough for
Milwaukee.

A new departure in interscholastic sport is to be made by the East Side
High-School of Milwaukee this spring. It intends to put a crew on the
water. A number of men are already in training, and a racing-shell has
been secured. If an eight is eventually turned out, it will be the first
crew that ever represented a high-school in the West, and, so far as I
know, the first that ever represented any high-school in this country.

No particular progress has been made so far in the arrangements for the
Knickerbocker in-door games. It is probable that there will be a
relay-race for "juniors," which is an absurd and unnecessary event, as
most of these "junior" events are. If a boy is too young to compete in
the regular events at an athletic meeting, he is too young to go into
active competition at all, and it will do him more harm than good to
train at that age. I hope to see the day when these "junior" events will
be entirely done away with, and when boys under sixteen years of age
will be discouraged from competition with older lads. These youngsters
have plenty of time ahead of them, and their constitutions will be much
the better for it if they postpone athletic work until their muscles are
better able to stand the exertion.

A very good change that is to be inaugurated at these games is the
adoption of the regulation high hurdles--3 ft. 6 in.--instead of the
dwarfed obstacles that the New York I.S.A.A. has hitherto favored.

It is reported that the Harvard School will apply for readmission to the
New York Interscholastic League this spring. It is to be hoped that
there will be no opposition to this request, for it would be unjust to
keep a body of young men from participation in interscholastic sport
because of the mistakes of some misguided youths who attended the school
before they did, and for whose actions they should never, of course, be
held responsible.

Just as we are about to go to press I am informed that the Connecticut
Interscholastic Association has decided not to divide up the $400
surplus remaining in the treasury after the football season. The
officers of that Association are to be congratulated upon this action.
They will no doubt eventually realize that they have done much for the
good of amateur sport in Connecticut by keeping the money question as
far away as possible from athletic competition.

The Interscholastic skating-races held at the St. Nicholas Rink last
week were contested at too late a day to allow of proper comment in this
issue of the ROUND TABLE. Mention of them, therefore, will be reserved
until next week.

Ice polo has begun to be played among the Boston schools, the first game
of the season having been held in the last week of December. There were
several matches on the 21st of that month, Stoneham High defeating
Wakefield High, 1-0, English High First defeating English High Second,
2-1, and Somerville High defeating Medford High, 5-0.

A few days later Arlington High met Cambridge High and Latin, and took
them into camp, 2-1. Arlington's team-work was far superior to that of
the Cambridge men, and although the latter tried all sorts of changes in
their team, they were unable to withstand the fierce rushes of their
opponents. The same afternoon, on Spy Pond, Arlington met Winchester
High, and scored another victory, 3-0.

This Arlington H.-S. team is undoubtedly a very strong one, and is
putting up good polo this winter. On January 3 they met Cambridge Latin,
and defeated them, 6-0. Arlington's especially strong point is in
passing.

A very unsportsmanlike dispute has arisen between two schools of the
Worcester County South Football Association. Both the North Brookfield
H.-S. and the Southbridge H.-S. claim the championship of the League in
football, and so eager is each to write the word "championship" upon its
school banner that each seems to have lost its head in the discussion.
As to which school is entitled to this rather empty honor I am not
prepared to determine, although both parties have laid rather lengthy
arguments before me, but it would seem that North Brookfield has the
better claim.

A game was played early in the season between these two schools, in
which a member of Southbridge H.-S. acted as referee. His decisions
proved unsatisfactory to the North Brookfield players, and a squabble
ensued. As I understand it, the game was left undecided, with the score
favoring Southbridge. Later it was arranged that a second game should be
played by these two schools. It was played, and North Brookfield won,
4-0.

If this contest was held to settle the question that arose over the
first game, then the first can have no bearing on the championship, and
the final game alone counts as a championship game. But the defeated
players cannot see it this way, and the result is that both schools are
claiming everything in sight, and their mathematicians are juggling
figures to prove the case. This is one of the evils of the
"championship" system.

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

  THE GRADUATE.




ADVERTISEMENTS.




[Illustration: ROYAL]

[Illustration: ROYAL BAKING POWDER.]

Caring for your health, and studying simple, every-day economy, you will
see to it that no baking powder but the ROYAL enters your kitchen.

The low-grade, cheap powders contain alum and lime, and injuriously
affect the stomach and kidneys.

ROYAL BAKING POWDER CO., NEW YORK.




QUESTIONS FOR YOUNG MEN.


ON THE USE OF BOOKS.

M. Taine, the famous french essayist, once said that a book was only the
overflow of a man's mind; that his mind must be full of thoughts first
before anything could come out on paper, and that after the mind had
been filled to the brim a book overflowed. So that in reading any work
of great merit we must always read between the lines, and see how much
more the author meant to say than he did say, and how much care and
thought and study he must have put into it before it appeared in its
present form. Any one who understands books, therefore, has for them a
wholesome respect that approaches reverence, and you can estimate the
amount of brains a man has by the way he treats his books. If he tosses
them about, if he leaves them lying open, if he turns down the leaves,
you may be sure he uses them but little, and knows less about them and
what they contain. There is many a strong athlete and good fighter who
is as tender as a woman with his books. He loves to have them around, to
sit in the same room with loaded bookshelves, and to turn to them
occasionally. There you will find--in the room of the boy or man who
knows books--copies of this or that book, from the _Three Musketeers_ to
the Bible, pretty well worn, and showing that they are not merely once
read, but that they are companions to whom he turns when he feels blue,
when there is nothing else to do for the moment, when something is
bothering him about which he does not wish to think.

Another good remark somebody made once is that if you own books you do
not have to read them. That is, if you hear of a certain book, you say,
"I must get that out of the library and read it." If you do so, it is
necessary to read it at once and return it. If you can buy it, you read
what portion satisfies your particular want at the moment, and then
there it stands among your other good friends, always ready, like any
real friend, to serve you at a moment's notice in any way it can.
Indeed, it is a real friend, because it never deserts you, never goes
back on you, never changes, unless somebody borrows it, and that is not
the book's fault. The mere fact that your room is filled with books is a
good kind of influence, for there is something in the mere proximity of
books that makes a chap serious occasionally, and induces him to sit and
ponder once in a while in the midst of his grind, his sport, his daily
work, and his other and less valuable friends at school or college.

Then, too, in these days, when there are so many hundreds of books a
year and so many millions already published, it is utterly impossible to
try to read, as the old fellows in the later Middle Ages used to,
everything that is published. It is far better to re-read some good
familiar things again and again. They are good books, they are your
especial favorites, and you will seldom fail to find something new in
them each time you read them. It gives you a little idea of how much the
writing of them must have meant to their author if you can read them,
say, twenty times, and still go on finding something you had not
succeeded in discovering in them before.

Some day you will go to call upon a friend who is perhaps a good deal
older than you are, and finding him in his library, you will walk in and
come upon him standing at his bookshelves, with a volume in his hand. As
he stops reading or examining a book, he will sit down, talking with you
and handling the book carefully, smoothing down its outside cover, or
gently feeling the leaves between his thumb and forefinger. Then, as he
gets up to take down a book to show you, he will gently blow off the
dust from the top, in order that as he opens it no dirt shall go down
between the leaves, there to remain and work ruin like sand-paper. Such
a man understands books and has an affection for them. He may be a busy
merchant; he may be a lawyer; he may be a bookworm; but in all three
cases he is sure to be a refined, educated, more or less scholarly man,
because no one can live in the company of good books long and be
otherwise. It is a good plan for a schoolboy to begin to make his
library at once. Money spent in good books is never wasted, and no
sensible parent will check a reasonable desire for them. At college the
library will increase, and before you know it you will be starting in on
your work of life with one little room in your bachelor apartments or
your family home that is just as good as a teacher--better in many ways.

       *       *       *       *       *

A PERSON TO BE AVOIDED.

There is one thing that every bicycler needs to look out for more than
for anything else, and that is the bicycle-thief. There is no denying
that he springs up everywhere, and his ingenuity is something to marvel
at. The latest device of these people is somewhat amusingly shown in a
story which comes to us from over the sea. It seems that a well-known
guards Colonel was exhibiting to an admiring group of ladies in
Battersea Park, the other morning, the excellences of a magnificent
bicycle, rumored to have cost an immense sum, when he was courteously
accosted by name by a well-dressed stranger, who ventured to admire the
wonderful machine. The stranger inquired as to the cost, and address of
the makers, and asked if he might mention the Colonel's name when
ordering a similar machine, a request to which the Colonel, who thought
that the stranger might be an acquaintance whose face he had forgotten,
immediately acceded. Then the stranger wanted to try the bicycle, and
the Colonel, proud that his machine should have created such an
impression, agreed to that proposition also. "I am only a novice, you
know," the stranger remarked, as he treadled feebly along in a
serpentine course; and then he mysteriously quickened his pace and began
to ride straight. He was out of sight in a minute, and the Colonel is
still waiting for him to return.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE REPLY TO THE "DRUMMER."

Travellers in the buffet-car of the Chicago Limited have provided many
good stories for the delectation of readers. The following is a good
instance.

As the train pulled out of Chicago, a quiet, gentlemanly-looking man
entered the buffet-car, and ensconcing himself in a comfortable chair,
drew out a long cigar, and entered deeply into his paper. He remained so
quiet and retained his seat so long that another passenger, whose
hearing distinctly stamped him as a commercial travelling man, one of
the kind full of chatter and curiosity, could no longer restrain
himself. Addressing the quiet gentleman, he inquired, "Travelling East?"

Slowly removing his cigar the gentleman turned and looked at his
questioner with slightly elevated eyebrows, replying, "Yes."

"New York?"

"Yes."

"Pleasure?"

"Yes and no."

"Great place, New York. Ever been there before?"

"No."

"I'm going home this trip--New York, you know."

The gentleman made no reply but resumed his paper. After a little
silence the commercial man began again.

"I'm with C. & Co., on Broadway. If you drop in I'll show you over the
city."

"Thank you, it will not be necessary."

"Excuse me, but might I ask what you're going to New York for?"

By this time most of the other passengers were interested. The
gentleman, who was extremely annoyed at the drummer's curiosity, laid
down his paper, and exclaimed:

"I'm going to New York, first, because the train is taking me there;
second, because I've got lots of money and can afford it; and last,
because if I like the place I intend to buy it."

The commercial man subsided amidst a roar of laughter.




[Illustration: THE CAMERA CLUB]

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


A HOME-MADE VIGNETTING-GLASS.

A short time ago directions were given for vignetting pictures, using
empty plate-boxes with an opening covered with tissue-paper. This is a
good way to vignette pictures, but a new box must be prepared for each
kind of vignette desired. By using a sheet of ground glass in a frame
and painting on it with a non-actinic paint, water-color paint, a
vignetting glass is made which is always ready for use by simply washing
off the paint and covering again, leaving the shape of the vignette
clear.

The frame for the glass may be of wood, or one can take an empty
plate-box a little larger than the printing-frame, cut out the bottom,
and put the glass in its place, gluing strips of cloth along the edge to
hold it in place. The ground side of the glass should be uppermost.

Mark on the glass with pencil the shape of the vignette, have some
Gihon's opaque--which is a non-actinic water-color--and paint the glass
with it, except in the place marked for the vignette. The paint should
be mixed quite thick and be applied evenly, so that the light cannot
shine through the glass except where the vignette is to be made. Along
the edges of the opening work the paint with a piece of moist surgeon's
cotton, which will give a soft effect in the printed picture. A new
vignette is made by washing the glass and applying the paint in a
different shape. This device for making vignetted pictures will be found
very handy, and one which can be easily prepared.

     SIR KNIGHT W. RYERSON asks to have the rules of the competition
     published; what the cause of the yellowish color is in the finished
     negative; the expense of putting up a reasonable amount of toning
     solution; and the necessary qualifications to belong to the Camera
     Club. The competition rules were published in the ROUND TABLE for
     October 6. The yellowish color in the negative is caused by the
     unused silver salts not being thoroughly dissolved out of the film.
     If a toning solution is prepared with chloride of gold and sodium
     with bicarbonate of soda, it will cost 35c. for the chloride of
     gold and sodium, and 5c. for the bicarbonate of soda. Put the 15
     grs. of gold and soda into 7-1/2 oz. of water. This is the stock
     solution. Put the bicarbonate of soda in water, using just enough
     water to dissolve it. To make the bath for use, take 3-1/2 oz. of
     water, and 1/2 oz. of the gold solution. Dip a piece of blue litmus
     into the solution, and if it does not turn the paper red, add a
     little more of the gold solution. Add to this a few drops of the
     bicarbonate of soda, till it turns the litmus-paper back to blue.
     Mix the bath half an hour before it is needed. To be a member of
     the Camera Club one must be an amateur photographer. To join the
     club, send name and address and state your wish to the editor of
     the Camera Club.

     SIR KNIGHT WILBUR T. HELM, JUN., and SIR KNIGHT HALL M. CROSSMAN
     ask whether a pocket-kodak picture can be entered in the prize
     competition, and which is the best film or plate. The pocket-kodak
     pictures are under the size allowed, 4 by 5 being the smallest size
     entered. The Stanley, Carbutt, Cramer, Seed, as well as other
     standard makes, are all good plates. Eastman and Carbutt films are
     both fine.




[Illustration: IVORY SOAP]




GEORGE WASHINGTON

By WOODROW WILSON, Ph.D., LL.D. Copiously Illustrated by HOWARD PYLE,
HARRY FENN, and Others. Crown 8vo, Cloth, Deckel Edges and Gilt Top,
$3.00.

     What particularly strikes the reader in enjoying Professor Woodrow
     Wilson's "George Washington" is the way the writer makes that
     historic figure warm and vital for us.... This stimulating and
     delightful historical study.... This work of Professor Wilson's
     must be widely recognized as of great value, because of this
     grasping of the salient features of Washington's life and
     character, the features we all want to see.--_Hartford Courant._

     We must now be content with a word of praise for its finished
     literary workmanship, its accurate scholarship, and its high
     patriotic ideal. We doubt if the career of Washington has ever
     received worthier treatment at the hands of biographer, historian,
     or political philosopher.--_Dial_, Chicago.

     A familiar and delightful study of Washington.... We do not recall
     a popular work on Washington of more graphic interest than
     Professor Wilson's performance.--_Philadelphia Bulletin._

A VIRGINIA CAVALIER

A Story of the Youth of George Washington. By MOLLY ELLIOT SEAWELL.
Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.50.

     An absorbing tale.... The account of Braddock's rout is an
     admirable bit of descriptive writing. The style is warm and
     polished, the characters are faithfully drawn, and there are
     passages of intense interest in the book.--_Philadelphia Bulletin._

     The youth of George Washington is treated in almost biographic
     form, and certainly with lifelike effect.... The book is well
     adapted to the needs of young people, giving them an admirable
     picture of Washington's early home life.--_Pittsburg
     Chronicle-Telegraph._

"HARPER'S ROUND TABLE" FOR 1896

Volume XVII. With 1276 Pages and about 1200 Illustrations. 4to Cloth,
Ornamental, $3.50.

     An ably edited, well-balanced magazine, which presents valuable
     history, art, and science, so interwoven with the best fiction and
     sport as to make its pages as valuable as they are attractive and
     entertaining. The "Round Table" has the correct idea of healthful
     juvenile literature.--_Chicago Inter-Ocean._

     The illustrations are plentiful and in the highest style of the
     art, and the contributions--stories, poems, sketches, and
     essays--are, as everybody knows, the best work that can be secured
     by the leading authors and artists who write for
     children.--_Hartford Courant._

     A volume which comprises within its covers a whole young people's
     library of history, science, literature, fiction, fun, etc., and a
     whole gallery of pictures besides.--_Advance_, Chicago.

       *       *       *       *       *

Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York




[Illustration]

A WONDERFUL SAIL.

Forty Dollars in Prizes to Readers Eighteen who can find out most about
this Trip.


'Tis said that few winds are so ill that they blow nobody any good, but
the wind that blew a recent hunting-party into the middle of the upper
Niagara River, and then over the falls, was an exception. It did nobody
any good. True, the victims of the tragedy were that Shakespearian
character (1) who lived in a group of Mediterranean isles; a Roman
satirist (2) who is always mentioned whenever a teacher is; and the
Greek philosopher (3) celebrated for wise sayings and just judgments,
who lived in a city renowned for its heroic resistance to barbarians.

"One of these never really lived and the other two died long years
agone, say you?" "Well, suppose they did. Pray don't spoil a story by
speaking at the wrong time."

These three persons went gayly out, undismayed by the warning on the
boat-house sign:

BOATS TO LET.

Adssdq Mfbwf Yzw Xlnkzmb Yvsrmw (4)

I nearly forgot to say that there were to have been five in the party,
but the Schoolmaster of our Republic (8) and the Mad Yankee (6) read the
sign and refused to go. But such a lot of things as were found by the
three who went!

First they explored a mysterious excavation (7) contained in a
street-sweeper, and a place of trade (8) kept in an insect. They met a
wise man (9) in conception, and bought a warm covering (10) contained in
a wrinkle; some small cord (11) done up in strengthening medicine; a
bedded carriage (12) in sparkling; a covering for the head (13) in an
impropriety; a quantity of paper (14) in demand; some food;(15) in a
scoffer; a chart (16) in a telegraph; a clamp(17) in useful; a white
linen garment (18) in military weapon; a large farm (19) in the gills of
fishes, and some certificates of stock (20) in a title.

These filled the boat, though some were eaten, some lounged upon, and
others studied. Queer place to shop? Well, never mind if it was so. Let
my story go on.

As the three men were trying on what they found in the impropriety which
they had purchased, one of them discovered a few things that had
probably been left in the boat by a former sailing-party. The first (21)
had once been in the fields and brooks, aye, a part of it even in the
sky. Then it had been warmed, put through a process that city folk are
laughed at by country folk because they cannot manipulate, and finally
subjected to great pressure. The second (22) was once a part of a great
mountain. Then it helped raise potatoes. Next it was buried in a grave.
Again it was heated and then cooled, and became the source of so much
comfort that the wonder was its owner left it behind. The third thing
(23) is supposed to bring good luck. It is something that, in its
natural position, moved rapidly--often with two motions at the same
time. There was that about it which masons use. It was a sad loss to its
owner, no doubt. The fourth and last thing was a liquor (24) contained
in a secretion of the ear. It was not the first time that a
drinking-vessel (25) which we find in refreshment brought death in its
train. From that moment the men were doomed. They grew reckless, and
here are some of the things they thought they saw:

An agricultural implement (26) in a railway employé; a small bed (27) in
a writer; a temporary shelter (28) in a native of South Africa; an open
land (29) in the bottom of a ship; a small house (30) in a window
covering; a stream of water (31) in a dance; a church seat (32) in a
cordage manufactory; a man (33) in a lizard; and a small horse (34) in a
place of worship.

Finding all these in a place so strange, and making so poor use of them,
it is no wonder that that which the sign-board warned them against
carried them over the falls, and brought an end to the story. The local
paper next morning said the bodies of the three were recovered and taken
to "The Bad Lands of the Say It" (35) for burial.

       *       *       *       *       *

In the foregoing story there are not a few questions in philology. There
are also some popular nicknames, an anagram, and some riddles. In
sending answers, do not write out the story. Number names as numbered
here, write one below another in the proper order, and put your name and
address at the top of your first sheet of answers. Mail answers not
later than February 6, 1897, to HARPER'S ROUND TABLE, New York--no
street number required--and put in the lower left-hand corner of your
envelope "Puzzle Answer." Correct answers, with names of winners, will
be published in HARPER'S ROUND TABLE as early after the close of the
contest as possible, probably within two weeks.

The prizes, which will be awarded by the Messrs. Harper & Brothers,
Publishers, New York, are: $40, divided among the ten best solvers
according to merit. If one solver stands conspicuously ahead of the rest
he or she will be given from $10 to $25, as the comparative excellence
of the answer warrants. Persons of any age may help find the answers,
but only those who have not passed their 18th birthday, and who are
members of households in which this paper is regularly read, may send
them in. Merit signifies correctness and neatness, and has no reference
to the solution reaching the office of HARPER'S ROUND TABLE first in
point of time. Elaborate decoration of answers is not encouraged. Use
common stationery, note size, and do not roll. Write on one side of the
paper only. Everything comes to those who--try!

       *       *       *       *       *

Questions and Answers.

H. M. Kimball says he made a battery after the suggestions given in the
TABLE, and that it worked well when he put one cell in the circuit. But
when he connected two, the battery seemed to give out. He asks for an
explanation. The matter is, probably, that he connected the negative to
the negative and the positive to the positive poles, in which case one
cell nullified the strength of the other. The positive should be
connected to the negative pole, and the negative to the positive. That
is to say, the zinc to the copper, not the zinc to the zinc. Yes, the
Calland cell is dirty and easily upset. In these days of improvements in
batteries it is cheaper and cleaner to buy one's cells outright. The
only thing lost then is the experience gained in putting them
together--and the fun of doing the thing one's self.--Edgar W. Hall asks
for a charter for a Chapter, and fails to give the name of the latter.
What does he call his society? Tell us what name to fill in, and we will
send charter promptly.

James D. Waite says his school battalion went to Washington last year,
and is going again this year, and he offers to write a morsel describing
the trip. By all means let us have the morsel. You are a member of the
Order if you have a Patent in the Camera Club. One Patent admits to all
divisions of the Order. Henry T. Smith asks what the new process is by
which so much more gold than formerly is now gotten out of quartz and
gold ore. Here it is. It is somewhat technical. It was invented in
Australia. The machine consists of vertical distributors and mercury
baths, placed as follows:--The crashed materials or slum enter a
cast-iron trough or distributor, which is from 3 feet to 6 feet long and
5 inches wide; its sectional shape is half round. At the bottom of this
distributor, and in a straight line from end to end, is a row of
1-4-inch holes, 5-6 inch from centre to centre. Below this is placed a
mercury bath 2-1/8 inches wide by 5/16 inch deep, running the whole
length of the distributor, and placed at a distance sufficient to cause
the materials passing through the holes to form an indentation in the
silver about the size of half a pea. These jets strike the mercury in
the centre of the ripple at right angles. By these means the whole of
the stuff is brought into forcible contact with the silver without
separating it, and flows over its surface into another distributor
below; and from there it again passes through another row of holes, and
brought into contact with a second bath of silver. This operation is
repeated until every particle of tailings has passed over eight mercury
baths.




[Illustration: STAMPS]

     This Department is conducted in the interest of stamp and coin
     collectors, and the Editor will be pleased to answer any question
     on these subjects so far as possible. Correspondents should address
     Editor Stamp Department.


The old-style St. Helena stamps have been displaced by the current issue
of the De la Rue type. The immediate advance in prices of the obsolete
set prompts the _Weekly Era_ to warn the dealers and speculators that
the extreme rise in ordinary stamps, simply because they have become
obsolete, will tend to kill the goose that lays the golden eggs. In many
cases such advances are not only unjustifiable, but foolish also, in
view of the fact that large stocks are in existence. Every one except
speculators will heartily agree with the _Era_ in trying to abolish an
evil which threatens the popularity of stamp-collecting.

Philately is only one of the many forms of "collecting" which are a part
of our human nature, but it seems exceptionally conducive to
sociability, good-fellowship, and general jollity. The Collectors' Club
House in New York was taken in hand by a Christmas entertainment
committee, who decorated the house with greens, put up a big Christmas
tree, and made the whole house seem homelike. The entertainment was
given on the night of the 28th of December, and those members who were
unavoidably absent missed a great treat. The Christmas tree was
stripped, and almost every one received a present of something he did
not want--upon the condition, however, that the parcel should be opened
by the recipient in full view of all the audience. The burlesque
presents showed both good-humor and wit.

NEW ISSUES.--British Central America.--

  1d. black.
  2d. black and green.
  4d. black and orange.
  6d. black and blue.

The above watermarked Crown C A.

  2s. 6d. black and violet.
  3s. black and yellow.
  5s. black and violet.
  £1 black and orange.
  £10 black and vermilion.
  1s. on £1 blue and red.
  2s. on 6d. lilac and red.
  With black surcharge.

The above watermarked Crown C C.

Congo.--

  15c. black and ochre, banana-tree.
  40c. black and green, canoe.

Nankin.--

  1/2c. gray, two figures.
  1c. rose, pagoda.
  2c. green, two elephants.
  3c. yellow, landscape.
  4c. claret, pagoda.
  5c. violet, bell.

Salvador.--

The 1, 2, 3, 5, 10, 12, 15, 20, 24, 30, 50 centavos and 1 peso of the
current series have been issued with "Official" surcharge.

South African Republic.--

  4d. olive and green.
  6d. mauve and green.

Sweden.--

  25 ore, orange.
  15 ore, light brown.

     J. FETTERIDGE.--The "Officially Sealed" stamps are losing favor
     rapidly, and probably will be omitted in future catalogues. They
     are interesting as labels connected with the postal service, but
     they cannot be called postage-stamps.

     F. G. ELLIOTT.--During the first half of this century the mint
     frequently made use of old dies when making a later issue. For
     instance, the 1838 1c. die was used for the 1839 issue. The figure
     8 was changed to a figure 9 in a bungling manner, with the result
     that the date looks as if it had been struck 1838, and then
     restruck 1839.

     C. RAWSON.--The 3c. U. S. Revenue "Telegraph" stamp, unperforated,
     is worth 75c.; perforated, 15c. The 3c. "Playing Cards,"
     unperforated, $15; perforated, $4. The 3c. "Proprietary" and
     "Foreign Exchange" are not known unperforated; perforated they are
     worth from 5c. to 10c. each. The other stamps mentioned are worth
     1c. each.

     OLE C. OLSEN, 2912 Quinn Street, Chicago, would like to exchange
     stamps, both common and rare, and U. S. adhesive and revenues.

     K. H. TRUAX.--The 1882 Nicaragua is worth 2c.; the 1/8 Philippine
     Islands, 1886, is worth 5c. The dealers named are responsible men.

     H. M. ORMISTON.--The 20 para, Turkey, 1865, is yellow, and worth
     6c. The 1869 issue is green; worth 3c. The 40 para, pink and black,
     is a local stamp worth 30c.

     J. GORDON.--The English compound envelopes are good for postage,
     but the fact that they were made for anybody who was willing to pay
     the cost, on any kind of paper, of almost any size, and almost any
     combination of stamps, leads collectors to disregard them, as a
     rule.

     A. BULL.--Do not hoard any Columbian stamps. They keep turning up
     in quantities, and are offered at a discount of five or ten per
     cent. on values 1c. to 50c.; twenty-five per cent. on values $2,
     $3, $4, and $5. I know of one lot offered which contained 12,000
     6c. Columbians in complete sheets.

     C. B. VINER.--I recommend applying to some dealer. There are three
     1798 dollars, worth $2, $3, and $6 respectively. See answer to
     George Jay.

     GEORGE JAY.--There are three 1799 dollars--the five star, worth $4;
     the six star, worth $2; the 1799 over 1798, worth $3. The old
     German and Spanish coins are worth bullion only.

  PHILATUS.




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[Illustration: STAMPS]

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[Illustration: THE LATEST THING IN NECK-TIES.]

       *       *       *       *       *

There are not many people who would recognize in the name Samuel Wheeler
a person who did valuable service for our country in the war of the
Revolution. It was he who made the famous chain that was stretched
across the Hudson River to stop the British war-ships from ascending the
stream. At the time General Washington was puzzled about defending the
river.

"I wish I could get a chain made; but that is impossible," he said; and
General Mifflin, overhearing the remark, exclaimed:

"Not so. We have a man in the army, a townsman of mine, one Wheeler, who
can make you such a chain."

General Washington had Wheeler brought to him, and said:

"I want a chain to put across the North River to stop the British ships.
Can you make it?"

"I can," replied Wheeler, "but I cannot do it here."

"Then," said Washington, "I will cheerfully give you dismission from the
army to do so, for badly as we want such men as you, I cannot afford to
keep you."

Mr. Wheeler made the chain, and its links were hauled across New Jersey,
to be finally strung across the river, where it did good service. By
building a fire under one of the links and then using a sledge-hammer
and a chisel, it was ultimately cut apart.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Colonel was a bluff old fellow, and all the officers liked him
except for one thing, and that was his jealousy of the commanding
officer of a neighboring post. He would grow irritable whenever this
officer's name was mentioned, although he invariably brought the name up
himself. One evening some of the mess determined to have some fun with
the Colonel, and possibly put a stop to his pettishness.

"Colonel," said one of the officers, "it's queer, but you'd think Major
D ---- [the neighboring commander] had studied spelling. I got a letter
from him to-day, and how do you think he spells 'here'?"

"He doesn't know much," growled the Colonel. "I suppose he spells it,
h-e-a-r."

"No."

"Well, h-e-e-r."

"No, that's not it."

"H-i-e-r," ventured the Colonel once more.

"Guess again."

"Well, I'd have to be as stupid as he is to guess any other way of
spelling it. Wait a moment. Does he spell it h-u-e-r?"

"No, Colonel."

"Well, then, how does the man spell it, anyhow?"

"Why, h-e-r-e, as it should be."

The Colonel rose with wrath in his eyes, and snapped out:

"Gentlemen, I'm too old for such joking," and then left the room and
slammed the door after him.

       *       *       *       *       *

Doubtless few know that the New York _Journal of Commerce_ originated
what is popularly known as a newspaper extra. When this occurred times
were troublesome in Europe, and the great revolution of 1830 was
approaching. Naturally America was anxious for early news, and all the
newspapers of New York equipped small boats that cruised about the
harbor, waylaying the large packet vessels arriving from abroad to get
the tidings.

The _Journal of Commerce_ conceived the plan of sending out a small
schooner to intercept the packets two or three days ahead of their
arrival. The originators of the plan were laughed at, and told that it
would in the end ruin them. Results proved otherwise, however, and when
the semaphoric telegraph announced their schooner in the offing, and
later, coming up the bay, the crowd would gather around the office of
the paper. They had to wait until the extra evening edition was ready,
and then one of the partners would sometimes read the news aloud to
hundreds of citizens, while thousands of copies were sold. This schooner
was the first American news-boat of any size.

       *       *       *       *       *

There is a small town in one of the Eastern States, not far from Boston,
whose inhabitants take great pride in excelling every other town in
their vicinity. They try every new invention, and if it has any sort of
merit it is sure to be assigned to duty in some part of the place. Two
portly gentlemen, one a sea-captain and the other a lawyer, both retired
from active life, were the prime movers in the experiments and
adoptions, and, naturally, in the course of time they failed to agree.
Extreme jealousy then prevailed, and a bitter animosity sprang up
between them.

Unfortunately these two gentlemen lived next door to each other--in
fact, so close were their houses that the side walls almost adjoined.
One very windy night the lawyer was reading a book in his study when a
terrific crash upstairs startled him. Upon investigating he found that
an unruly chimney had ruthlessly hurled itself through his roof, doing
considerable damage. That in itself was a matter of great annoyance, but
when he discovered it was the sea-captain's chimney that was
responsible, his wrath knew no bounds. Hastening down to his library, he
pulled out his law-books and hunted up similar cases, devising and
scheming how he could secure satisfaction from the detestable captain.
While thus engaged a note arrived from his enemy that read as follows,

     "SIR,--If you don't return those bricks _at once_, I will put the
     matter in the hands of the law."





End of Project Gutenberg's Harper's Round Table, January 19, 1897, by Various