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 26, 1897. FIVE CENTS A
COPY.

VOL. XVIII.--NO. 900. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.

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[Illustration]

BOYS AT SEA.

BY W. CLARK RUSSELL.


Everybody will remember the exciting story of the ship _Aberfoyle_: how
her Captain drank himself into delirium-tremens and then poisoned
himself, how the crew mutinied, how the mate was washed overboard, and
how this ship was eventually safely navigated to Melbourne by her second
officer, who was little more than a boy. But perhaps the most memorable
example of a boy's heroism is that of young Shotten. He was an
apprentice on board a vessel called _Trafalgar_, which left Batavia
fever-stricken, with the result that the superior officers perished, and
young Shotten was left alone with the remains of a wicked ship's company
to navigate the vessel. He carried her to Sydney in safety. His story is
a true romance of the deep. This fine young fellow had not only to fight
the ocean and its tremendous perils, he had also to handle a set of
desperate, reckless men who refused to recognize his authority, and,
charged with the dreadful spirit of mutiny and murder, scarcely suffered
the boy commander to save their lives. Stories of this sort need the
pen of a Defoe; they should be submitted to the world by the hand of
genius, that, being in all senses things of beauty, they might be
immortal as inspirations in such hours of conflict as young Shotten
passed through. It is to be regretted that writers for boys do not
uniformly invent with some perception of the good taste, sound judgment,
and high aspirations and feelings of the young public they address. The
typical boy hero of the boy's book is, for the most part, impossible;
the lad as he reads grows disdainful, he may even detect blunders in
seamanship or in the employment of nautical words, and his confidence is
gravely shaken. No impression is left, no animating and lofty influence
exerted, because the tale is trash; it is not true; the boy knows it
never could have been true. I was once a boy myself, though I find this
hard to believe, and I remember that the sea-stories which influenced me
and which did me most good were tales founded on the facts of the ocean,
plain and sincere narratives of the stern realities of the deep, such as
this of Shotten. A young apprentice in Shotten's situation might, after
reading his story, take courage from it, find an example in it, and
achieve an end not less heroic than the model he imitated.

Can it be imagined that any one of M. Jules Verne's boy heroes could
animate a lad by his impossible, albeit ingenious adventures, into the
rendering of such splendid services as the whole English-speaking world
was praising in young Shotten in 1895? It is a truth that boys at sea
have done daring and glorious things, and their stories should be told
by able hands for boys to read, because there is no calling that makes,
in times of disaster, such demands upon the stout heart and all that is
manly in the human qualities as the ocean life. One of the pluckiest
boys that ever rose to rank in the British royal navy, and to the
achievement of a great reputation for prudence, foresight, and gallantry
scarcely inferior to Nelson's, was Admiral Hopson, who was born in the
Isle of Wight, left an orphan when a child, and apprenticed by the
parish to a tailor. The tailor's board, however, soon grew hateful to
the little fellow; he yearned for quite another sort of board--I mean
shipboard. And being one day alone in the shop, looking across the sea,
he spied a squadron of men-of-war floating slowly around Dunnose.

Acting upon the impulse of the instant, he rushed from the shop, sprang
into a boat, cast her painter loose, and contrived, by sculling with all
his might, to reach the Admiral's ship. He was received and entered as a
volunteer. Early next morning the British squadron fell in with a number
of Frenchmen, and a hot action began. Little Hopson obeyed orders with
wonderful alacrity and fearlessness; but when the fight had proceeded
for two hours he grew impatient, and, turning to a seaman, asked why the
ships were firing at one another. Jack answered that the action must
continue till the white rag at the enemy's mast-head was struck. The
ships were then engaged yard-arm to yard-arm. The air was thick with
smoke of gunpowder. Hopson sprang into the shrouds, ran out to the
main-yard-arm, gained the French Admiral's yard-arm, and running aloft,
cut away the French flag, and brought it safely on board his own ship.
The effect was amazing. The British yelled "Victory!" believing the
French had struck; and the Frenchmen fled below, not doubting, now that
their Admiral's flag had disappeared, that the battle was lost. For this
surprising act of heroism young Hopson was promoted to the quarter-deck.

Every one must regret that more is not known of these gallant worthies
of past times. Why is not the story of their services written for boys?
Who amongst living authors who produce literature for the rising
generation could invent a more thrilling, romantic, and exciting tale
than this which I have only glanced at? Here is another example of the
courage of a boy and what the spirit of a lad may achieve in an hour of
grievous peril at sea: A famous frigate, _La Tribune_, was lost on the
Halifax coast one November towards the close of the last century. Four
men escaped in the jolly-boat, eight others clung to the main and fore
tops; the remainder of the large ship's company perished. The
inhabitants approached so close to the wreck as to be able to shout to
and hear the shouts of the poor fellows upon the masts.

One of the first to attempt to succor them was a boy thirteen years old
belonging to Herring Cove; he jumped in a little skiff at about eleven
o'clock in the day, and with extraordinary labor and skill so
manoeuvred his tiny ark as to back her under the frigate's foretop,
and two of the shipwrecked men dropped into her. The boat was too small
to carry more. The boy conveyed them in safety ashore, and the record of
this inimitable piece of youthful heroism affirms that he "had them
instantly conveyed to a comfortable habitation." The 'longshore men,
spiritless and afraid, in spite of this glorious example, held back, and
six men remained to be saved. The undaunted boy at once put off again;
but the sea and the boat combined opposed too heavy a task to his
strength exhausted by his previous labors, and he failed to reach the
wreck. But his example was at last an animation; some boats were
launched, and after much trouble and in the face of grave peril, they
brought off in triumph the remaining survivors.

It is a story that should be written in letters of gold. But what will
you think of the enthusiasm of the chroniclers of that lad's deed when I
tell you that I am unable to give his name? I have searched for it--to
no purpose. All we know is he was a Boy. But he was among the very
noblest, and with something of emotion after all these long years I
salute the darling little chap's memory.

At the battle of Copenhagen a lad so distinguished himself as to excite
the admiration of the great Nelson. He was a Danish boy, about sixteen
years of age, by some called Welmoes, but others have given him a
different name. Be that as it may, this young fellow was in command of a
praam, a sort of raft armed with small cannon and manned by a company of
some twenty-four men. Nelson's flag was flying aboard the _Elephant_;
the heroic young Dane resolved to attack the famous Admiral, whose name
was a terror, and he forthwith shoved off in his raft from the shore,
and gained the stern of the line-of-battle ship, then thundering in
broadsides. The marines of the flag-ship promptly discharged their
muskets at the gallant little band, and the praam was rapidly converted
into a shambles. Twenty fine fellows lay dead and dying, but their boy
commander, who stood up to his waist amongst the bodies, stuck to his
post until the truce was proclaimed. Nelson had observed the splendid
behavior of this lad. He held him in memory, and when he was banqueted
at the palace, he begged the Prince to introduce young Welmoes to him.
When the boy was presented, the most famous of all sea chieftains put
his arm round his neck and kissed him, and, addressing the Prince,
exclaimed that the young fellow deserved to be made an Admiral.

"If, my lord," was the answer, "I were to make all my brave officers
admirals, I should have no captains or lieutenants in my service."

Twice were the wonderful battles in which Lord Nelson fought associated
with the heroism of boys. One of the French ships at the battle of the
Nile was _L'Orient_. She took fire, and hundreds of her people sprang
overboard. Amongst those who perished in her was Commander Casabianca.
All will remember Mrs. Hemans's moving verses beginning,

  The boy stood on the burning deck,
  Whence all but him had fled.

This boy was the Commodore's son; he was but ten years of age, yet
behaved with amazing intrepidity whilst the battle raged. When the ship
took fire his father bade him remain on deck, and he stuck to his post
until the huge ship blew up. Memories of this sort should stir the blood
of the young. They cannot be too often recited. They quicken the higher
impulse, shape fancies into ardent resolution, and all will believe that
they must be infinitely more valuable, even in an educational sense,
than narratives of impossible adventure and of fictitious achievements
which cannot serve as encouragements, because even the smallest boy
will perceive that they are impracticable.

I have spoken of Lord Nelson, and of this great sailor many stories of
his spirit when a boy are told. Some of these tales must be viewed with
suspicion; one or two, perhaps, are worth recalling. The lad joined an
expedition to the frozen sea under the command of Captain Phipps,
afterwards Lord Musgrave. One night, when it was as bright as daylight,
the ship lying hard and fast amid the ice, young Nelson took his gun and
left the ship to shoot a bear which he had seen a long way off.
Something went wrong with the lock of his musket, whereupon he grasped
the weapon by the barrel, and gave chase to the beast, which went off on
a trot. Having killed the bear, the boy returned to his ship, the
Captain of which reprimanded him for going upon the ice without leave,
and with a stern countenance asked what motive could have induced him to
attack with a useless gun so formidable a beast as a polar-bear. The
young hero's reply was to the point. "I wished, sir," he said, "to get
the skin for my father."

All boys who are acquainted with the life of Lord Nelson--and every boy,
be he American or English, who speaks the language in which this article
is written, ought to read it and gather the meaning of that wonderful
career--must have heard of Captain Trowbridge, one of the Admiral's
favorite officers. He was the son of a baker, and rose by his splendid
gallantry to be an Admiral and a baronet. One story of his fearlessness
when a lad recalls Hopson's feat. He was midshipman aboard the
_Seahorse_ when she chased and captured the French ship _Sartine_. Much
of the glory of that day was owing to young Trowbridge, who, watching
his chance and shouting for followers, boarded the enemy from the
forecastle, and with his own hands hauled down the French colors.
Perhaps not every commander of a victorious ship would have proved so
frankly honorable as was Captain Farmer of the _Seahorse_, for
afterwards, whilst dining with the commander-in-chief, Sir Edward
Hughes, he checked the congratulations he was being overwhelmed with by
saying that the victory was entirely owing to the heroism of a boy, a
midshipman named Trowbridge. Sir Edward was so struck and delighted that
he became the boy's fast friend, and was of signal help to him in the
earlier stages of his splendid career. These and the like are stories
which are true, and they should be made known to boys. My instances are
British; but scores of inspiriting examples may be culled from the
American records.




OWNEY, THE MAIL-DOG.


[Illustration: OWNEY.]

Had that extremely humorous cur Crab, the property of one Launce, in
Shakespeare's _Two Gentlemen of Verona_, met with an accident
terminating his career, his master could have found a successor in
Owney, the railway mail-dog, a product of our own time, who would be
fully qualified to fill the shoes, or rather the place of the other.

Owney is a terrier, now ten years old, and weighs about thirty-five
pounds. By his own exertions he has achieved a fame of which to be
proud, and as a traveller a distinction that few men can boast of. When
a pup he decided upon his vocation, and in accordance with his views he
entered the basement of the post-office at Albany and attached himself
to the regular mail service. His devotion to the self-appointed duty of
guarding mail-sacks interested the clerks, and as a reward he was
permitted to accompany them on trips in the mail-cars.

Owney recognized this as an upward step in his career, and permitting
his independence to assert itself, he would disappear for weeks at a
time, returning at last to his adopted home at Albany. The numerous
railway tags attached to his collar upon his return showed that he had
been travelling with the mails. The route his dogship selected sometimes
embraced the four extreme points of the United States, and it was, and
is, no uncommon thing to find him wearing such tags as Seattle,
Washington, Galveston, Texas, and Tampa, Florida, after one of these
trips.

One day, thinking that some mail-pouches for Washington from Albany
might contain state secrets to be zealously guarded, he assumed the
duty, and thus received his introduction to John Wanamaker, then
Postmaster-General. Mr. Wanamaker presented Owney with an elaborate
harness, and, proud of his present, the dog made an extended tour. The
weight of the tags gathered on this trip at last equalled his own, and,
unable to stand the strain, he was compelled to return home and be
relieved of his honors.

There are few post-offices and railway lines in the United States and
Canada that have not entertained Owney. His Canadian experience was,
however, a lamentable one, as a railway collision deprived him of an eye
and part of one ear. The North German Lloyd steamers have carried him as
passenger a number of times, and the P. and O. steamers took him to the
far East during the Chino-Japanese war. During this trip he inspected
the mail service of India.

Nothing will induce him to ride in any but the mail-cars, where, curled
up on the pouches, he will permit none but the mail-clerks to touch
them. These men are very fond of him, and he never lacks for attention.
He treats them all impartially, and comes and goes as he wills. As
another dog knows a bone, so Owney does a mail-sack, and he will leap
aboard the trains with them in the most unexpected places, to be always
received with delight. Duly recorded in the history of the United States
Post-office, he has its great army of employees, from the highest to the
lowest, for his firm friends.




THE CHILDREN'S HOUR.

BY EMMA J. GRAY.


"Isn't it blind-man's holiday?" was John's question, as, "betwixt the
dark and the daylight," he put his head in his mother's lap, stretching
the rest of his long body meanwhile on the tiger-skin rug which lay at
her feet.

"Yes;" and immediately Mrs. Colfax laid aside her mending-basket,
touching the top pair of socks as she did so, and then followed the
words: "I've been busy with those for the last hour. Do you know you are
more destructive on socks than your father and three brothers put
together?"

"Am I, mother?" and the boy took one of her hands between his own, while
she at once ran the fingers of her other hand through his short thick
hair, remarking, "that she didn't know where it got its curly tendency
from, as none of her family could lay any claim to curls, nor the
Colfaxes either."

But John had not come to discuss his kinky locks, nor to talk about his
school affairs; on the contrary, he had something peculiarly strange to
tell to-night. In fact, nothing less than that his great chum, Hiram
Scott, was to have an "out-and-out boss party to celebrate his sixteenth
birthday."

"That means, my son would like a party on his sixteenth birthday."

"That's about the size of it, mother."

"All right. You may have one."

"Hurrah!" and John sat upright, while he eagerly explained, "But,
mother, Hiram's going to have a regular gilt-edged affair. One of the
kind you read about."

"And you wouldn't wish to be outdone by him; is that it?"

"Well--no, I wouldn't."

"Is his birthday before yours?"

"Yes; ten days."

"Has Hiram told you any particular plans about his party?"

"Why, all there are to tell, I suppose. They are to have the biggest
orchestra--harp, horn, and all that sort of thing." Then, shaking his
head impressively: "And the supper will cost one hundred dollars--maybe
two hundred. And Hiram is to have a new pair of black silk socks and
patent-leather pumps, and an elegant new dinner jacket, for the
occasion; he's to be brand-new all over, indeed, for, with a real
whipper-snapper air, he informed me he was to have awfully swell black
trousers and waistcoat, and a new black satin tie. The whole thing is to
be mighty fine, I can tell you."

"Well, it's quite impossible for you to give as costly a party as
Hiram's, for your father is a poor man in comparison to his, my son."

"I know it," and John once more threw himself forward and laid his head
on his mother's lap.

"So we must think of something fantastic and fanciful," Mrs. Colfax
resumed, "and hope that the unusualness of your party will compensate
for the expensive supper and orchestra of Hiram's."

"What would you give, mother? For you know right off I could never plan
a new party any more than if I was a--"

"A what, my son?"

"A--barber's pole--or a wax figure, or any other know-nothing thing."

"You're interested in Indians, aren't you?"

"_Indians!_" and jumping to his feet John trod forcibly across the
floor, as if he was on his way to encounter a whole tribe of them. Then
he slowly stated: "I should remark that I am. But what have Indians to
do with my party?"

"You'll see," and Mrs. Colfax, leaning back in her chair, inquired: "How
would you like to play that you are Hiawatha just for a night? In fact,
the invitations might read:

"Hiawatha

"Requests the pleasure of

"Miss B---- B----'s

"company on Monday evening,

"March nineteenth, at eight o'clock.

"Dancing, Games. Address."

[Illustration]

"Oh, go on, mother," were John's impatient words, as Mrs. Colfax
hesitated a second; "I can hardly wait," and giving a low whistle, he
shouted: "Excellent, fine, clever! Hiram is welcome to his new toggery
for aught I care; I'll appear in Indian array--eagle feathers, bead
necklaces, bracelets, moccasins, and all. What a jolly scheme!" and John
stood as erect as though his eagle plumes were already waving above his
head.

"And perhaps, since Hiram is your most intimate friend, he would take
the character of Chibiabos, for

  "Very dear to Hiawatha
  Was the gentle Chibiabos.

"And then another of your friends should be the very strong man Kwasind,
and then, of course, there must be Laughing Water, Minnehaha, and the
old arrow-maker, her father."

"Would it be a Hiawatha party or an Indian party?"

"Neither, John, because all of Longfellow's people should come. The only
reason I have been talking about Hiawatha was because we might as well
fix your character at once."

"Oh, that's the how of things. Are you sure there would be enough
characters to go around?"

"Without a doubt, John;" and then, with an affectionate gesture on her
big boy, Mrs. Colfax added, "I guess somebody that I know would better
read Longfellow's poems over again."

"I _am_ sort o' rusty. I suppose, too, that would be the only way to
advise a fellow as to his get-up."

"It would be the best way; for example, in the _Tales of the Wayside
Inn_ we read

  "But first the Landlord will I trace;
  Grave in his aspect and attire;

"and

  "A youth was there of quiet ways,
  A student of old books and days;

"and a

  "Theologian from the school
  Of Cambridge on the Charles was there.

"And a Poet, and a Spanish Jew, a young Sicilian, and a Musician, all are
minutely described."

"Will Minnehaha be the only girl, mother?"

[Illustration]

"Why, what a nonsensical question! Perhaps somebody would personate
Margaret, the Blind Girl of Castèl-Cuillè, only it would be pleasanter
to personate her before

  "The dread disease that none can stay,
    The pestilence that walks by night,
  Took the young bride's sight away.

"And surely some mischievous girl would delight to make believe she was

  "A woman bent and gray with years,

"and be the village seer. And I've just had an idea, John, that your
father can be the Master who builds the ship. You remember the way the
poem commences,

  "Build me straight, O worthy Master.

[Illustration]

"And I'll dress like a young girl and be the promised bride

  "Standing before
  Her father's door."

"Oh, capital! What fun!" and John excitedly once more jumped to his
feet, adding, "What a jolly mother I have!"

"And, of course," Mrs. Colfax continued, "there will be a Priscilla and
an Evangeline. Indeed, you need not trouble about there not being enough
characters to go around."

"Well, granted that they all come, mother, what then?"

"Then we will give a tableau vivant, called The Children's Hour. Our
house is just the place for it."

"In what way? I don't understand."

[Illustration]

"The library can be seen from any part of the parlors. And grandpa, who
bears such a close resemblance to Longfellow, can act his character. The
library must be dimly lighted, because

  "The night is beginning to lower,

"and the parlors will have to be almost dark while the tableau is shown,
otherwise we cannot see into the library. There grandpa will sit in his
favorite high chair, in the attitude of listening to the patter of
little feet above him. Some unseen person, perhaps I, will read the poem
which describes the scene, and after a while three young girls,

  "Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra,
  And Edith with golden hair,

[Illustration]

"will be heard descending our long stairs, and they will make a rush from
the stairway through the hall and climb over the arms and back of his
chair. Trust me, John, the tableau will be very pretty. I know exactly
how to arrange it, and if I did not, there is a fine illustration in the
edition that your father gave me last Christmas. Besides, grandpa will
enjoy it so much. Indeed, it was only the other day that he told me that
his party days were over."

"I'm so glad you thought of putting grandpa in, mother. But after the
tableau?"

"After the tableau it will be a Children's Hour in very truth--games,
songs, dances, and supper. During the dance immediately preceding the
supper, paper hats will be given as favors, which everybody will don,
excepting when, like yourself, their eagle plumes would interfere. In
that case they can suspend them from the arm. The girls will wear
broad-brimmed hats, and the boys, turbans; and the boy must invite the
girl who has the same colored hat as himself to go to supper."

"But where are all these hats to come from? I guess you're the one
that's forgetting that papa isn't rich."

And Mrs. Colfax, throwing back her head, laughed merrily. When she
recovered herself she exclaimed: "Why, John, I'll make the hats. It will
only be a little bit of fun for me, and all the paper put together
wouldn't cost a dollar."

"I know the fellows will just think you're a beaut--y." For it was very
difficult for John not to use slang.

But Mrs. Colfax talked on regardless of her son's interruptions, and
therefore it was that John learned that both the Longfellow and birthday
schemes should unite in the supper-room.

"For example, The Children's Hour would appear in large letters over the
mantel-piece. The letters could be cut out of card-board and covered
with asparagus, which should be tacked on with green silk. Then candy
could be twisted to represent a coil of rope, and a candy man to
represent the Skipper. Another candy man would be called the Village
Blacksmith, and a chocolate man the Black Knight, and so on. Tiny
papers, similar in size to motto papers, should be glued at one end to
these figures, thus introducing them. The large cakes should be iced
around with flowers, for Longfellow wrote, 'Everywhere about us are they
glowing,' and the ice-cream models should be as appropriate as the
caterer could arrange. A ship would be a fine example; so would a bell,
the Curfew Bell; an arrow, The Arrow and the Song; and a clock, The Old
Clock on the Stairs.

"And the birthday feature, John, should be indicated by the flower for
your month; you were born in March, therefore your birthday flower is
violet. Violet-colored satin ribbon might be used to decorate the table,
and potted palms, etc., could stand in violet crépon paper pots, but,
nevertheless, real violets must show themselves as freely as we can
afford them." And Mrs. Colfax smoothed back the hair from her son's
forehead.

"I never knew that before."

"Never knew what?"

"That everybody had a birthday flower. What are the flowers for the
other months?"

"April, daisies; May, hawthorn; June, roses; August, poppies; September,
convolvulus; October, hops; November, chrysanthemums; December, holly;
January, snow-drops; February, primroses."

"I like my flower best, don't you."

"Yes, I think I do. But I must talk more about the party. At the supper
table each one in turn must tell his or her character."

"Cannot people guess before?"

"They can guess all they like, John, if they will whisper. Part of the
amusement at such a party is to discover your friends."

"What about games, mother?"

"Try the Cent Hunt. Say that a cent is wrapped in violet tissue-paper,
and is within sight. The discoverer quietly tells you, and if he is
correct, present him with a boutonnière of violets. Afterwards give a
cent, pencil, and paper to everybody, and state five minutes are allowed
to write what each side of the cent will tell. This game is called A
Penny for your Thoughts.

"Find on one side: A beverage--T. A messenger--one c(s)ent. A piece of
armor--shield. A symbol of victory--wreath. A weapon--arrow. A mode of
punishment--stripes. A gallant--bow. A sheet of water--C.

"Find on the other side: A portion of a hill--brow. A place of
worship--temple. An animal--hare. Youth and old age--18-96. One way of
expressing marriage--U. S. A cultivated flower--tulip. An emblem of
royalty--crown. Fruit--date.

"And afterwards play Stage-Coach, but, John, you know that game."

"Here comes father; shall we tell him?"

"Wait until to-morrow."




THE MIDDLETON BOWL.

BY ELLEN DOUGLAS DELAND.


CHAPTER III.

"What did you tell them anything for? I knew you would. A girl can't
keep anything dark."

"I didn't tell. They found it out themselves."

"How could they? They would never have known it was broken if you hadn't
told, and they would never have known about the currant-bushes."

"They found a little bit of the china that I never saw at all, and I had
to tell about the currant-bushes, because Aunt Tom said that I had
something under my apron, and saw us go to the currant-bushes. They
asked me, and I had to answer. They think I did it. They don't believe
me when I say I didn't. It isn't a bit nice not to be believed."

"Then you didn't say anything about--about anybody else?"

"Of _course_ not!"

Theodora and Arthur were again in the garden. It was afternoon now of
the day upon which the bowl was broken, and Theodora, after spending
several hours in retirement, had been allowed to come out to get the
air.

After their return to the house her aunts had tried in vain to extract
something from her in regard to the accident. "I did not break the
bowl," was all that she could be induced to say. Each aunt tried in turn
to vary this reply, but with no success.

Finally, at the end of three-quarters of an hour, Miss Middleton said:

"I think, sisters, that the best plan will be to send Theodora to her
own room to think over the wicked falsehood which I am afraid she is
telling. You will remember that when we were young our parents were of
the opinion that solitary confinement was the wisest mode of
punishment."

"They occasionally used a slipper," remarked Miss Joanna.

"But I scarcely like to use a slipper with Theodore's child."

"No! no!" cried Miss Dorcas, Miss Melissa, and Miss Thomasine, with one
voice.

"So, Theodora, you may go to your room," continued Miss Middleton. "I
hope that when you come out you will be ready to confess."

Theodora stood for a moment looking from one to the other of the five
faces.

"I sha'n't do any such thing," she said. "I can't confess what I didn't
do. If my mother were here she would believe me. If you were to keep me
shut up in the room for weeks and weeks, when I came out I should say
the same thing. Please excuse me for being disrespectful, but I think,
except Aunt Tom, you are very disagreeable aunts, especially Aunt
Joanna. I think I would rather live with people that were no relation to
me."

So saying, she walked from their presence and went to her own room, and
again shut and bolted the door. At dinner-time a tray containing several
slices of dry bread and a glass of water was placed outside, and Mary
Ann's voice told her that her dinner was waiting. For some time Teddy
refused to open, but finally her hunger overcame her pride, and she took
the tray into her room, and just as she finished Miss Thomasine came to
the door and tapped gently.

"Teddy, my dear," she said, in a low voice, at the key-hole, "let me
in--your aunt Tom."

And Teddy again opened the door.

"Oh, my dear, how you have been crying!" said gentle little Miss
Thomasine. "I am so grieved about it all. Teddy, if you will only tell
us the truth, even now we will forgive you. Tell me quietly how it
happened."

"Aunt Tom, I can't make up a story. I didn't break the bowl. Why don't
you believe me? There are other people in the world besides me! Why
don't you think that some one else did it? Why am I the only person that
could have broken it?"

"My dear, you forget that the evidence against you is very strong. When
I came down stairs to go with you to the garden you came out of the
parlor with the pieces of china in your hand, hidden under your apron.
Why did you take the trouble to hide them, or to touch them at all, if
you were not the one who broke the bowl?"

Theodora was silent for a few minutes. She stood gazing at her aunt,
looking straight from her fearless brown eyes into Miss Thomasine's
gentle blue ones.

"That is true," she said at last. "It does seem queer. But, for all
that, I didn't break the bowl, Aunt Tom."

"Then can you not tell me who did?"

"No, I can't tell you who did," she said. "But do you believe me now,
Aunt Tom?"

"Yes, my dear, I do."

And then Theodora burst into tears, and hid her face in her aunt's lap.

[Illustration: "IT WAS SO TERRIBLE TO FEEL THAT NO ONE BELIEVED ME," SHE
SOBBED.]

"Oh, I am so glad!" she sobbed. "It was so terrible to feel that no one
believed me in this whole house."

After a while Miss Thomasine returned to her sisters, and told them of
her change of opinion. Needless to say no one agreed with her, and it
required some determination on her part to remain firm in her
conviction. It was not so easy to believe her niece guiltless when she
was confronted by four somewhat obstinate ladies, as it had been when
she was looking into Theodora's fearlessly truthful eyes.

But Miss Thomasine did not falter, and she finally succeeded in
obtaining her sisters' consent to the proposition that their niece
should be released from solitary confinement, and allowed to go out into
the fresh air.

"For she is not accustomed to it, and I am afraid it will make her ill,"
urged Miss Thomasine, "and then what would Theodore and sister Gertrude
say?"

At hearing which the others relented.

Theodora, upon being liberated, went at once to the garden, and here she
found Arthur Hoyt awaiting her. He was leaning over the wall, looking
sullenly toward Teddy as she approached.

"I thought you were never coming," he said. "What made you so long?"

"I've been shut up," returned Teddy. "They won't believe I didn't do
it--except Aunt Tom. She believes me, but no one else will."

"What did you tell them?"

"That I didn't do it."

"Nothing else?"

"Of _course_ not."

And then ensued the conversation with which this chapter opens.

Arthur Hoyt was eleven years old. He was the fifth member of this large
family, Paul, Charlie, Clement, and Raymond being older than he. Paul
was nearly eighteen, and it had been an act of great condescension on
his part to join in the funeral festivities of the morning; but, in
spite of the fact that he was to enter Harvard this fall, he secretly
loved an old-fashioned romp with his four brethren, though he would not
have confessed it for the world.

The boys were all lions of health and strength, with the exception of
Arthur. He had always been delicate, and in consequence had been greatly
indulged by his parents. His brothers were in the habit of treating him
with more consideration than they showed to one another, looking upon
him perhaps as they would have looked upon a sister. When Teddy came to
Alden and they first made her acquaintance, they fancied that "all she
would be good for," as they expressed it, would be to play quiet games
with Arthur, but they soon found out their mistake.

Teddy was as much of a "jolly good fellow" as her name implied. She
could run, she could row, she could play ball with the best of them, and
the boys had not recovered even yet from their astonishment at this
state of affairs. The Misses Middletons' niece as much of a fellow as
any of them! And they accordingly received her into their midst on terms
of absolute equality.

"I'm glad you didn't say anything about any one else," said Arthur, when
he had heard Teddy's assurance that she had told nothing. He looked
about apprehensively, as if he feared some one might be hidden in the
same currant-bushes which had sheltered the broken bowl. "I'll do
something nice for you, Teddy. Would you like to ride my wheel?"

"Arthur! Do you really mean it?"

"Of course I do," said he, magnanimously. "I've never let you before,
because I was afraid you'd bang it over the first thing and smash it;
but I guess you'll be careful."

It was the dearest wish of Theodora's heart to learn to ride. She had
intended to ask her aunts' permission that very day; in fact, she had
gone back to the house with Miss Thomasine for that especial purpose;
and then had come the fatal discovery about the bowl, and everything
else had been forgotten.

This was a fine opportunity to try it, for Arthur was not always in such
an amiable mood. Perhaps he never again would offer to lend her his
wheel and to teach her. The other boys owned bicycles, to be sure, but
it was always hard to find them at liberty. There was usually something
of importance to be done, and Theodora had noticed that neither of them
seemed anxious to lend his wheel to a beginner. Charlie had offered,
though, that morning, and she had lost the rare chance by going into the
house to ask permission. She concluded not to let another opportunity
slip; so, after giving the matter brief consideration, she joyfully
accepted Arthur's overture, with or without her aunts' approval.

"Come over the wall, then," said he. "The best place for you to learn is
on our drive. I'll try and find one of the other fellows to help teach
you; for of course you'll go tumbling all over everywhere, and we might
as well try to save the wheel."

Teddy wondered if no effort was to be made to save her as well as the
wheel; but she said nothing, and quickly climbed the wall.

The Misses Middleton meanwhile were discussing the situation.

"I know the child is speaking the truth," said Miss Thomasine, again and
again. "Some one else is responsible for the accident. Now let us
consider who it can have been."

"Not one of the servants, I am sure," said Miss Middleton. "They have
lived with us too long for us not to know that they would confess if
they were guilty; and who else has been in the house to-day?"

Miss Melissa suddenly started forward.

"Sister Adaline, you forget! Some one--there have been others! Do you
not remember?"

"Others? What others?"

"Surely you remember!"

"Melissa, do be more explicit, I beg of you!" cried Miss Joanna. "It is
so easy to say what you mean, if you would only try it. Who else has
been in the house?"

"Dear Joanna, you are so abrupt! Dorcas, you remember?"

But Miss Dorcas had discovered a mistake in her knitting, and was busy
counting.

"Four, five, six, seven," she said aloud, to show them that she could
not speak.

"I am astonished that you have the heart to knit, when the Middleton
bowl is broken, Dorcas!" exclaimed Miss Joanna. "Melissa, kindly tell us
what you mean."

But her sister's manner was apt to frighten the faltering Melissa, and
she was now looking for her salts.

"I think I know whom Melissa means," said Miss Thomasine, suddenly. "Two
or three of the Hoyt boys accompanied Theodora when she came with the
cat."

Miss Melissa nodded. There was not a sound for a moment, the new idea
presented by this recollection was so astounding.

"Do you think--" began Miss Joanna, and then stopped, for once unable to
finish her speech.

"It might be," whispered Miss Middleton.

"It seems really--but then--perhaps--" murmured Miss Melissa.

"Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. I should not be surprised," said Miss
Dorcas, laying down her needles at last.

"I am sure that it was not Theodora," repeated Miss Thomasine, more
earnestly than ever.

"There were several boys in the house," continued Miss Joanna, "and I
should not be at all surprised. Adaline, suppose we order the carriage
at once and drive to Mrs. Hoyt's. What do you think of it?"

"Quite right, Joanna. You and I will go, and Thomasine."

And they at once made ready for the call.

Although it was but a short distance to their neighbor's house, it did
not occur to the ladies to walk. They took a certain amount of exercise
on their own place every morning and afternoon, but a call would have
been shorn of half of its formality did they not go in their carriage,
and the Misses Middleton were nothing if not formal.

They had left their own domain, and were being driven slowly along the
bit of road which lay between their gates and those of their neighbor,
when, with a rapid whiz, a bicycle flew past them, followed by another
and another.

"It is a custom which is very alarming," remarked Miss Middleton.

"There seemed to be a girl on one of them," said Miss Joanna. "So very
unladylike!"

Miss Thomasine said nothing, but she leaned out of the carriage and
looked after the rapidly receding figures. She was quite certain that
she recognized that short scarlet skirt and that flying brown hair, but
she dared not name her fears.

Presently the carriage drew up at Mrs. Hoyt's front steps. There were no
boys to be seen but Arthur, who disconsolately leaned over the piazza
railing. Teddy had ridden away on his wheel, accompanied by two of his
brothers, and there was nothing for him to do but to await their return.
When he saw the approach of the Misses Middleton he turned and fled.

"I wonder where Theodora is?" remarked Miss Middleton. "I hoped to find
her with Arthur--such a nice, quiet little boy. Where can she be?"

And still Miss Thomasine held her peace.

Mrs. Hoyt was at home, and the ladies were ushered into the parlor.

"Sister, you must be the one to speak," said Miss Joanna to Miss
Middleton, "and I will help you when it is necessary." And neither of
her hearers doubted that she would.

It was difficult to open the subject; for Mrs. Hoyt, filled with
trepidation at being caught unawares by her stately neighbors, talked
with nervous haste. The parlor was in sad confusion, having lately been
the scene of a bear-fight, carried on by several of her boys. She
herself had not yet dressed for the afternoon, and she was wondering if
the Misses Middleton would discover the fact. Fortunately her gingham
gown was well made and clean; still, it was a gingham, and it was
afternoon, and Mrs. Hoyt had lived long enough in Alden to know Alden
ideas.

But the Misses Middleton did not notice. They were trying to find a
means of stemming the tide of Mrs. Hoyt's conversation.

"We have come on a matter of importance," said Miss Middleton at last.
"I think, Joanna, we may call it important?" looking at her sister.

"Very important," said she, with emphasis.

"Very important," echoed Miss Thomasine, more mildly, plucking nervously
at the folds of her camel's-hair shawl.

"Indeed!" said Mrs. Hoyt. "Is there anything I can do for you? You seem
troubled about something. I hope nothing has happened?"

There was a slight noise at the back of the room at this juncture, and
Miss Middleton, who was about to speak, stopped abruptly.

"It is only Arthur, probably," said his mother. "Arthur dear, come speak
to the Miss Middletons."

But no Arthur was forth-coming, so Miss Middleton began again.

"We have met with a great loss. You have heard of--in fact, I know you
have seen--the Middleton bowl."

"I should think so! My dear Miss Middleton, you don't mean to say that
anything has happened to that? Oh, how shocking! Is it broken, or has it
been stolen?"

"It is broken. It would almost have been better had it been stolen. Do
you not agree with me, Joanna?"

"I do," said Miss Joanna. Miss Thomasine did not speak.

"For there is a great mystery connected with it," continued the speaker.
"We cannot discover who broke it."

"Could it have been one of the servants?" asked Mrs. Hoyt, eagerly. "Oh,
that beautiful bowl! so valuable! so exquisite! It must have been one of
the servants."

"It was not," snapped Miss Joanna. "They have lived with us from fifteen
to thirty years, and they were all in another part of the house when it
happened. It was some one else."

"We thought at first that it must have been our niece, Theodora,"
continued Miss Middleton. "There were certain circumstances which led us
to suspect her very strongly; but she declares that she did not do it,
and our sister Thomasine is inclined to believe her."

"I am quite sure that Theodora did not break the bowl," said Miss
Thomasine, quietly but firmly.

"Then who could have done it?" asked Mrs. Hoyt.

There was a profound silence in the room, while the three sisters looked
at one another. Twice Miss Middleton essayed to speak, but her voice
failed her, and she coughed instead. Miss Thomasine pulled off her
gloves, quite unconscious that she was committing such a breach of
etiquette. Miss Joanna at length recovered her usual courage.

"We think, Mrs. Hoyt," said she, clearly, and with emphasis, nodding her
head in time to her words, and causing her spectacles to flash
ominously--"we think that it may have been one of your sons."

Mrs. Hoyt was speechless, and she grew very pale.

"What makes you think so?" she asked at length. Even Miss Joanna quailed
before the light that was in her eyes.

"Because," she faltered--"because some of them were in our house this
morning."

"Miss Middleton, I think I can safely say that if one of my boys were
responsible for such a misfortune, he would be enough of a gentleman to
acknowledge it and to apologize. However, I will question them in your
presence--that is, if they can be found. Ah, there they come now, up the
drive, and Teddy is with them. They have been teaching her to ride the
bicycle."

She left the room as she spoke. The Misses Middleton looked at one
another.

"Our niece on a bicycle!" murmured Miss Middleton.

"I believe it was she whom we met," exclaimed Miss Joanna. "I believe
also that she, and she alone, broke the bowl. This only goes to prove
it."

"How does it prove it, Joanna?" asked Miss Thomasine; but Miss Joanna
merely glared at her through the gleaming spectacles.

Clement and Raymond came quickly into the house in response to their
mother's call, followed closely by Theodora, who was fully prepared to
find her aunts in the parlor, for she had seen the waiting carriage. The
boys took off their caps, and politely shook hands with each of the
ladies. Their manners were good, as even their natural enemies, the
Misses Middleton, had always been forced to admit.

"Which of you were at Miss Middleton's house to-day?" asked Mrs. Hoyt.

"Clem, and I, and Arthur," said Raymond.

"Where is Arthur now?"

"He's round here somewhere. We left him here when we went off with Ted.
She was on his wheel; and, mother, she rides as well as a fellow. She
went right straight off instanter."

The three Misses Middleton groaned audibly, while their niece flushed
with pleasure at this hearty praise. Mrs. Hoyt did not pause, however.

"I am afraid Arthur is hiding somewhere. I am quite sure he is in the
room. Please look for him, as he has not the civility to come when his
mother calls him."

Raymond and Clem made a dash for the back of the room, where they at
once discovered the missing Arthur, and dragged him from his retreat. He
came forward, banging his head and looking the picture of misery. His
mother glanced at him reproachfully, upon seeing which Arthur looked
more miserable still.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]




A LOYAL TRAITOR.

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

BY JAMES BARNES.


CHAPTER XIV.

A BEGGAR A-HORSEBACK.

I knew, however, that I was in Gloucestershire; and from a sign-post,
pointing the way I came the night gone, I learned that I had passed the
towns of Thornbery and Slimbridge. I was cogitating over how to get a
bit to eat when something happened that put even hunger out of my
head--I heard the tooting of a horn! Turning about, I saw the coach
coming up a little hill, swinging along at a good pace, with the leaders
in a gallop.

The boldest course was the best, so I leaned against a stone post that
had cut in it "Eight miles to Hardwick," and waited for the mail to come
up. The driver, a ruddy-faced individual in a multitude of cloaks and a
wide beaver, caught my intention.

"Are ye off to Gloucester, lad?" he cried, drawing up.

"Ay," I answered. "Hold up there, and I'll take a passage."

There were but three beside the guard on top, and I clambered over the
wheel up to the front seat before the coach had lost its headway. I
feared most dreadfully that the driver would begin to question me at
once, but, thank the powers, he did not. Keeping up a continuous
clicking sound against his teeth, and gracefully flourishing the
long-lashed whip, and catching the leaders now and again with the end of
it most cleverly, he drove ahead without speaking.

Now all the time I was wondering how I was going to pay the fare, when
the red-faced man made this matter smooth sailing.

"'E better get off before we get into the town, laad," he said, "then we
won't ask noo fare o' ye."

"Thanks, very much," I said.

"Not a bit, not a bit," he returned. "A soldier on a spree wants all 'e
can spend, eh?"

I nodded, and for an hour we drove on in silence. For a long time there
had been visible a great square tower rising above the stretches of
vineyards, corn-lands, and gardens. The country was interspersed with
rich pastures in which fat, broad-backed sheep were grazing. How I drank
in all the sights and sounds, craning my neck and straining my eyes and
ears! Beautiful residences of the aristocracy, with wide-spreading
parks, were frequent on each side of the highway, and soon scattered
houses overgrowing with vines proclaimed that we were on the outskirts
of the town. That the tower that was in sight belonged to some great
church was very plain, but I feared to ask about it. The driver pulled
up his horses, and understanding him to mean that my ride was over, I
descended, after an expression of my gratitude.

The coach was barely out of sight when I saw ahead of me the swinging
sign-board of an inn. My desire to feed was so strong that I fished out
the gold piece from my catch-all, and determined to purchase a breakfast
if it took the last penny.

Walking up to the entrance to the "Moon and Starfish," I went inside the
tap-room, and found that the people of the inn were up and stirring.
Calling for the landlord, I seated myself at a table by the window, and
a flood of self-conceit came over me so that I almost gibbered with
delight.

In a few minutes a bowl of coffee was at my elbow, a thick fat chop
decked in greens was putting strength into my blood and spirits as it
disappeared, my jaws worked to a little tune of my own composing, and I
cared little for the future--the present was good and given to enjoy!
But soon I was to be on a very different tack, for with a clatter and
clanking I recognized the approach of the people I most dreaded to
meet--the men who fight his Majesty's wars and eat his victuals. Five
soldiers entered from outside. They were petty officers, with stripes on
their arms, bright red coats with puffs at their shoulders, strings of
bright buttons, pipe-clayed cross-belts, and black gaiters.

They may have been handsome to look at, but to me they were five living
horrors. With a chill feeling coming over my chest and shoulders, I
pretended closer attention to my meal. I knew they were looking at me,
but they entered the next compartment and called for ale and spirits.
When the landlord came I overheard the conversation.

"I don't know who the young man is," said the host of the inn, as if in
reply to a question. "He came off the coach, I take it."

"He's an officer," observed another.

"You're wrong," said a third. "Where are his shoulder-knots?"

"I observed him close," put in the second speaker, "and, ecod! it
strikes me he is part officer and part private. It's the uniform of the
Somersetshire Foot-guard. I know it."

I was almost choking in my efforts to bolt a great bit of mutton, but
from the tail of my eye I saw that two heads were thrust about the
corner, and they were piping me off. So I turned my back and looked out
of the window. There came a laugh in a minute, and some whispering in
which I caught the words "curling-tongs and the barber," probably in
allusion to my great need of both.

       *       *       *       *       *

Now I am honestly very sorry that I never paid the landlord for that
good meal of his, but I acted on an impulse that more than like saved me
from total discomforture. I was taken aback fore and aft, completely
staggered with the idea that their curiosity would pass bounds, and they
would begin to sift me. The window was wide open, and the sward on the
outside came to within two feet of the sill. Making no noise, I crawled
out of it headforemost, and walking quickly across the court-yard, I
dodged behind a row of stables, and crept along beneath a line of hedge;
and this time I did not take the big hat with me, but left it mounting
guard over the remains of my meal.

Now I really should like to have heard what the redcoats said, and I
fear that the landlord could not have been complimentary.

The hedge that I was following ran up to a high wall, on the other side
of which was evidently one of the parks of a nobleman or an aristocrat.
By dint of scratching and hauling and sheer strength, I struggled over
the top and came down on a level stretch of lawn, dotted about with
handsome beech-trees, and farther on edged by a noble line of oaks. No
one was in sight, and driven by a nameless dread, I started running. A
great pheasant scurried across my path and tore up into the air with a
whir, making me shy to one side, like a runaway horse. I kept up my
speed but a few hundred yards, however, when the idea came to me that
this would never do at all. So I threw myself down at the foot of a tree
and tried to compose my ideas.

Off to the right, beyond a low hedge covered with wall-flowers, was a
field of springing corn (wheat we call it in our country), and lording
it over this green domain, with its arms outstretched, was a ragged
scarecrow. I think my next move was something that proves me far from
imbecile. Leaping the hedge, I tore off my bright red coat and white
breeches (the cloak, I had forgotten to say, I had left at the hedge
early in the morning), and then, with mighty little on, I crawled,
Indian fashion, towards the silent guardian of the fields.

Oh, they were very ragged indeed were his majesty's habiliments, but
there were enough of them to cover me, even if I did show bare at the
knees and elbows, and hurriedly I hung them on, and taking the flapping
hat from off the straw-stuffed head, I was the scarecrow come to life! I
had hidden the uniform under some handfuls of leaves and grass; and now
to get out of the park and reach the road, where, by my appearance, I
rightfully belonged.

The wall on the inside was so high and so well built that I could not
reach the top, but as I went along I came to a little gate that unlocked
by thrusting back a bolt. I opened it, and found myself in the
kitchen-garden of a neat white cottage. Disdaining to make reply to the
hail of a buxom young woman who thrust her head out of the window, and
who inquired my business in a peremptory tone, I hobbled out into the
road.

I did not stop at the inn this time, but slid past it on the opposite
side, and five minutes' walk brought me nearer to the heart of the town.
Passing a number of people, who gave me a wide berth, and keeping
straight ahead, I came to a square, or better, the meeting-place of four
thoroughfares crossing at right angles.

Not far away rose the great square tower that I had noticed early in the
morning. It was so high and so massive that I walked toward it to obtain
a better view, and stopped in astonishment before one of the greatest
cathedrals in England.

There was a service of some kind going on, and the sound of a great
organ wafted out on the air. I stood there listening for some moments,
leaning against the iron railing. As the door was open, I was tempted to
go in and pass the gates, but here I halted in fear. A slight tall man,
with his white hair trimmed in a bygone fashion, and a black coat
buttoned up to his white stock, was walking up a side path; he raised
his eyes from the ground, and bending forward, stood there in an
expectant attitude looking at me. Whatever he took me for I do not know.

"Repent, son, and return," he said, in a soothing tone. I had feared
that he was going to upbraid me for my presence, but his next movement
deprived me of that idea entirely. "Here, take this," he said; "and God
bless you and direct you."

As he spoke he extended his hand, with a piece of silver in it, toward
me. A sense of pride in that, so far in my life, I had asked alms of no
one almost tempted me to refuse it, but fearing that he might put me to
questions, I took it, mumbled some thanks, and hurried out into the
sunshine.

I am sure that if he had been an American I should never have escaped
without telling a story of some sort, but the English are of a less
curious temper than we are, and if they interfere in other people's
business on the outside world, they have a talent for minding their own
at home, and to this I testify readily.

My clothes were so disreputable that I determined to spend part of the
shilling in procuring the means of mending them. So I entered a little
shop down the street, and purchased thread and needles. With these in my
pocket, I set out immediately looking for a place to hide whilst at
work.

Taking the wide road that led to the north, I followed it, and passing
by a common on which some lads were playing cricket, I came to an inn,
much larger than the one I had stopped at in the morning, surrounded by
a court-yard with sheds and stables. A number of large carts and vans
were resting here, and crawling over the tail-board of one that had a
great canvas top, I took off my clothes and began my tailoring.

When it was finished I was in less danger of coming to pieces, and
despite what I had eaten, my stomach told me it was past the midday-meal
hour.

Now where I was to go I did not have the least idea, and my heart went
down like a lead.

But, _en avant!_ There was no sense in tarrying. As I went to go out of
the court-yard to take up my aimless walking, a tall chaise in which
were two finely dressed gentlemen drove in at the entrance. I had to
jump from under the horse's feet. Some of the inn servants, who had paid
no attention to me, ran out from the stables at the sound of the wheels,
and in the doorway of the house appeared a slender man, with powdered
hair, who greeted the other two with a graceful salutation. There was a
trace of courtliness in it that was handsome, but my heart gave a bound
as I turned to watch them curiously. They were speaking French. Not the
French that I had heard lately in the prison, but the French that my
mother had taught me and that my uncle spoke.

"Welcome, Monsieur de Brissac!" exclaimed the tall man in the doorway,
"and welcome, Monsieur le Marquis."

"De Brissac!--Monsieur le Marquis!" How natural this name and the title
seemed to me; and then it all came back--"Gabriel Montclair de Brissac,
Marquis de Neuville, friend of my grandfather, le Marquis de Brienne." I
remembered that my uncle had made me learn this in the long list of
stupid names. There were two sons, Georges Lucien and Guy Léon de
Brissac. The latter and his father had both lost their heads on the
guillotine on the same day that my grandfather had lost his. Somehow
the idea that there might be some help come to me from a man who bore
the name of de Brissac crossed my brain, and I turned back into the
court-yard.

The servants had led away the horse, and seated at a window were the
three fine-looking gentlemen. I watched them for a few minutes, not
knowing what to do. I could not hear the sound of their voices, although
the window was open, so I came nearer. The shortest of the three, who
had been addressed as "Monsieur le Marquis," was talking, and
gesticulating with his jewelled hand.

"Yes, yes. We will see the lilies again, my friends," he said in French.
"Give this usurper time enough and the rope, and he will hang himself--a
trite but true saying, my friends."

All at once one of them looked out of the window and saw me standing
close to. I felt as if I had to do something to account for my presence,
and an idea suggested to me by my meeting a singing beggar-woman on the
streets in the morning was put into immediate practice; why, except for
the connection of thought, I should have chosen the song I did I know
not, but it was a fortunate circumstance. I struck out into a little
chansonnette, something in the nature of a serenade, that I had heard my
uncle trill in his high-pitched voice--a song that may have been a
favorite with the gallants of King Louis's court.

I did not look in at the window as I sang, but cast my eyes upward in
apparent oblivion to my surroundings. As I began the third stanza
(something about roses and hearts, I remember) I was interrupted by
approaching foot-steps.

[Illustration: A COMMANDING VOICE EXCLAIMED FROM THE WINDOW, "BRING THAT
LAD IN HERE, SOME ONE."]

My singing had attracted the attention of several people in the
court-yard, and a hostler was hurrying up with the evident intention of
sending me to the rightabout. But if that was what he meant to do, he
had to give it over, for a commanding voice in English, without the
trace of an accent, exclaimed from the window,

"Bring that lad in here, some one."

Before I knew it, I was following one of the servants through a
passageway, and was ushered into the presence of the three men seated at
the table.

"Where could he have learned that song?" one of them was saying. The
short man was humming the air.

"Who are you and what is your name?" questioned the large gentleman with
the powdered hair, who evidently was in authority, speaking in French.

"Jean Amédée de Brienne," I said, taking the name by which I had been
known for the past few months, only giving it, of course, a
pronunciation somewhat different.

"De Brienne!" exclaimed the youngest gentleman, starting. "Where do you
come from?"

"From America, monsieur; but just now from the prison at Stapleton,
whence I have escaped by a good chance."

I noticed that they were looking at one another in incredulity, so I
spoke on, led by I know not what:

"Have I not the honor of addressing Monsieur George Lucien de Brissac,
son of the Marquis de Neuville?"

"I am the Marquis de Neuville," exclaimed the youngest, starting to his
feet. "My father is dead."

"And my grandfather perished on the scaffold with him and with your
brother Guy," I said, calmly.

The effect of this speech was wonderful. The other two men sprang up,
and the taller shut the window suddenly and drew the curtain.

Monsieur de Brissac was for hurrying toward me with both hands
outstretched, when he was restrained.

"Hold! Hold!" said the eldest. "Let us ask more questions. What was your
grandfather's name, my young friend?"

I gave it, and the whole of my family tree, so far as I could remember
it, on my mother's side. Then in a few words I told of my sailing on a
privateer, my capture and imprisonment. Before I had finished Monsieur
de Brissac had come close to me.

"Embrassez-moi!" he said, and despite my rags he threw his arms around
my neck.

In turn the other two did likewise, and the elder man kissed me on the
forehead, after the manner of my uncle. Tears were in his eyes, and
relieved from the great strain under which I had been laboring, I broke
down altogether, and sinking into a chair, I wept, rocking myself to and
fro. "Oh, God be thanked!" I cried over and over.

As soon as I recovered myself I saw that they had placed before me wine
and meat, and were refraining from asking further questions until I
should have refreshed myself. But the words which were whispered in my
ear seemed to shut all fear behind me. "Courage; you are with friends.
We will not desert you," told me to trust.

I looked up from my plate (truly I had been well fed for a vagabond this
day), and found my new friends in consultation. I caught the word
"clothes," and looking down at myself, I reddened. I was mad to tear the
horrid rags from me. Monsieur de Brissac, as I shall call him, as it was
he that afterwards became my patron, saw that I had finished the meal,
and giving me a smile and a bow, came nearer. He was a very handsome
man, of about seven-and-thirty, with a fine figure, and a well-turned
leg that showed to the best advantage in his black small-clothes, for he
also followed a fashion a little different from the English of that
time. But of this I shall speak at greater length farther on.

"Monsieur de Brienne," he said, "I would like to ask you something of
your father."

"He is dead," I answered.

And at this, God forgive me, I saw that I had deceived them all into
thinking that I was my uncle's son, instead of his nephew. Now I
reasoned if I should tell them my remarkable story, and proclaim that I
did not know my father's name, and was all in a fog in regard to that of
my mother, even although I knew so much about the past family history, I
would put a sorry climax to a very good beginning. I regretted deeply
that I should have to let them keep on in the error; but I spoke the
truth, and I did not know it at the time.

"Monsieur de Brienne is dead?" repeated Monsieur de Brissac.

I sighed. "Alas!"

"He was a strange man, and they say the best swordsman at court--_un
vrai galant_."

"There could be no better," I answered. "He taught me all I know."

The gentlemen smiled at this, but the next question that was asked me by
the Marquis de Senez caused me to start.

"Your mother was--"

"Named Hurdiss," I put in. "She was very beautiful, but died in America,
in the city of Baltimore, when I was but a child."

"Did your uncle leave no property? They say he took with him to America
a large amount."

"I have this," I replied, producing the last of the buttons that had
adorned the homespun coat that I wore at Marshwood. "All of my property
was consumed at a fire--everything," I concluded. "I am left without a
son, a relative, or a friend."

The gentlemen handed the button around.

"It is true. I remember that crest well," said the tall man. "And I
remember well, also, your grandfather's beautiful daughters--twins, they
were, and great favorites, as children, with the King."

"Yes," put in M. de Brissac; "and they married, after taking refuge here
in England, one the Duke de B---- and the other the Comte de B----."[1]

[1] I have purposely left out mentioning these names in this story for
reasons.--J. H.

The short nobleman here spoke, musingly:

"After their husbands' deaths they went to America, to seek their
brother, probably, but they met with sad misfortune. Now I remember
hearing something--"

My heart gave a great bound! Was I on the point of finding out my real
name, and who I was by right and law?

"Yes," I said, quickly; "tell me."

"One of them was drowned in a shipwreck," Monsieur le Marquis continued.
"Sad, sad, alas! and the other married some nobody, and went to reside
in the wilderness."

I rather resented this, for I yet cherished the memory of him who had
carried me on his shoulder, but I said nothing.

"Hortense and Hélène, those were the names," said the tall man.

"It was la belle Hélène who lost her life by drowning," said Monsieur le
Marquis.

"Pardon me," put in Monsieur de Brissac; "it was Hortense, I am quite
certain."

Here again arose the uncertainty.

"Who was it, monsieur, that married the English sea-captain?" I asked.

"Ah, was that it?" returned the tall man. "I did not know, nor have I
any recollection of having heard which one of the ladies made this
mésalliance."

The other gentlemen had come to no conclusion, and thus I found out
nothing, after all. This was about the sum total of the talking we did
at our first meeting, although it gives no idea of the time we were at
it, and I was soon led away by the tall man, whose name, like the
others, had the "de" of nobility, and was called de la Remy. I had
caught the idea already that he was the landlord of the inn, and such
was the fact. Indeed, a great many of the _émigrés_ in England at this
time were engaged in far less remunerative employments, and some had all
they could do to put food into their mouths. Well, when I had taken a
bath I was much refreshed; indeed, I could scarcely imagine that I was
the same youth who had been halting along the road-side, ignorant of his
whereabouts and careless as to his destination a few hours before.

As may be perceived (at least I should think the fact was evident
enough), I had ceased to think of myself as a boy. It was only at times
that my age would assert itself in a manner that led me to indulge in
prankishness and skylarking. Thus when the hair-dresser came to my room,
shown up by one of the inn servants, I pretended not to understand
English, and, in consequence, they spoke openly before me. So I found
out not a little. In the first place, I learned that Monsieur de Brissac
and the Marquis de Senez (a Spanish title, I judge), were supposed to be
very wealthy, and that I had been taken by the inn people for the
private servant of the former, who had lost his way when ill some time
previously, and had but now found his master. But of the more important
thing, that I learned more by guesswork than from what was told me, I
shall devote some space, but not now.

That night as I lay in a comfortable bed, after bidding my friends a
good-night, I reasoned over the situation. I had been engaged as private
secretary to the Marquis de Neuville (M. de Brissac), and would start
for London with him on the morrow. There was but one regret, and that
was the deception in regard to my name.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]




THE FIGHTING SAVAGE.

BY CYRUS C. ADAMS.


Within two years we have seen great nations waging four wars with
peoples who are above the savage state, though not fully civilized
according to our ideas. Two of these wars are now ended, and the results
in both have been surprising.

It was thought that the Hova people of Madagascar would at least make an
effort, when a French army invaded their great island in 1895, to repel
the foreigners. They made a great show of resistance when the French
landed their troops. They had cannon, powder, and thousands of rifles,
collected an army of 30,000 men at their inland capital, and the Queen
said she would lead them to battle if they needed her in the field. A
nation of orators, they indulged in much brave and eloquent talk; but
when it came to the pinch, they did not fight. The French marched into
Antananarivo without any opposition worth mentioning, and are now the
masters of Madagascar.

The brave mountaineers of Abyssinia have a different story to tell. For
the first time a native African state has beaten a European power in a
hard-fought war, driven the enemy out of her territory, and imposed her
own terms of peace, including reimbursement for the board of about 2500
prisoners, at so much per week, during last summer. King Menelek has not
lost a foot of territory; and Italy, which sent her army among those
highlands to prove that the King was her vassal and his country her
protectorate, has acknowledged the complete independence of Abyssinia.
How did Menelek and his army win so signal a triumph?

[Illustration: THE MAHDISTS FIGHTING THE ENGLISH IN EGYPT.]

In the first place, no other half-civilized nation to-day is so well
armed as the Abyssinians. They fought the British once, and later, the
Mahdists, with spears and a few muzzle-loading rifles. None of the
soldiers now carries a spear or a muzzle-loading gun. All the small arms
are breech-loaders. King Menelek came to the throne nearly eight years
ago, and being an enterprising and an intelligent ruler, he has made
great changes. He imported, through French territory, large quantities
of excellent rifles. He induced French and Russian experts to come to
his court, and they taught him many things, such as how to make
gunpowder, and to build small bridges and frame houses. In fact, for
years he had been preparing for the possibility of a big war. His army
outnumbered the Italians four to one. He had 60,000 fairly well drilled
soldiers--all brave and hardy men, and he could depend upon their
fealty, and knew they would fight as unflinchingly as any men.

[Illustration: THE WARRIORS OF KING MENELEK FIGHTING THE ITALIANS AT
ADUA.]

When the Italians moved into Abyssinia, Menelek and two-thirds of his
army were in the southern province. The result was that the Italians
pushed south to the very heart of the country before Menelek was able to
confront them. After that, the Italians did not win a fight. In every
battle, except the last one, the natives were the aggressors. Menelek's
aim, with his larger force, was always to surround the enemy. He
completely succeeded only once, and then the Italian detachment, 1000
strong, was killed almost to a man. Usually the Italians and their
native allies broke and fled before Menelek had them penned inside his
lines. The Abyssinians always tried to fight at close range, and were
perfectly reckless in their daring. Their officers invariably led the
charges and fought in the front rank, with the result that more of them
were killed in proportion than of the common soldiers. The King had
several thousand cavalry, but he made little use of them. Most of them
were kept in the rear with instructions, if the infantry were compelled
to retire, to impede the enemy's pursuit and guard the retreat. Under
the circumstances the cavalry had little to do, except in the last great
battle at Adua, where they pursued the routed Italians, and captured
many of the 2500 prisoners.

While Menelek was forcing his enemies back north, the Italians paused
from time to time in places they had previously fortified. Menelek had
thirty cannon, but in no instance succeeded in destroying the walls. The
courage with which the Abyssinians charged up to the fortifications won
the admiration of their enemies, under whose galling fire many hundreds
of natives were killed. Menelek could not capture the strongholds, and
the Italians could not shake him off. In every case, till Adigrat was
reached, hostilities were suspended by mutual consent; the Italians
withdrew nearer to the northern boundary-line, and Menelek would then
advance and attack them again.

Finally the Italians made a last desperate sally to retrieve their
fortunes; and their fate was sealed in the all-day battle of Adua, where
about 5000 of them were killed, wounded, or captured, and the rest fled
pell-mell out of Abyssinia. At all times the Italian troops and most of
their native allies fought well, but their leadership was shamefully
incompetent. Even with good generals, they could not have whipped the
Abyssinians without doubling or trebling their armed force.

Spain's present trouble in the Philippines extends to several islands,
and includes the savages of Mindanao as well as the half-castes and
creoles who live in Luzon. The latter island is the scene of the
hostilities which are reported nearly every day. In a word, the trouble
is that there are in the colony, according to Spanish statistics, 3000
Spanish priests and 5000 civil servants, and the people assert that they
have been bled for the church, for the state, and for private
peculators, until they can stand it no longer. In Luzon the inception
and the progress of the rebellion have been marked by wonderful skill.
Plans for the uprising, including the collection of arms and ammunition,
were so quietly carried out that Marshal Blanco did not know what was
going on until the very eve of the outbreak. In less than a week he was
confronted by thousands of well-armed men, who dared to attack even the
outskirts of Manila. At first they met the Spanish regulars in the open,
but the insurgents had few if any cannon, and were at a disadvantage. A
fortnight later they changed their tactics.

It is now their general policy to fortify strong positions and await the
attacks of the enemy. When, however, they can bring against a Spanish
force a much superior number of fighters, they attack with the greatest
vigor. This plan of action seems wise, for the insurgents must bear in
mind that they have only a fixed number of fighters, while the Spanish
may fill up the gaps in their ranks with recruits from home. The
insurgents have occupied many towns in several provinces, and while they
show no mercy to Spanish priests and officials, they respect the lives
and property of other foreigners. Spain has sent about 15,000 soldiers
to the island, and the end is not yet in sight.

A leading event this year is expected to be the reconquest of the
Egyptian Sudan by the British and Egyptian forces, which was really
begun in 1896. The step has been decided upon, and it is believed the
undertaking will not be extremely difficult; and yet if there is any
fighting the British will meet the very men who in 1885 showed that
half-civilized peoples can do all that any men can do on a battle-field.
Fiercer fighting was never seen than that the Mahdi's Arabs gave General
Wolseley's forces on those desert battle-fields; and no men could fight
as those Arabs did, with nothing but spears in their hands against
trained soldiers with the best of modern fire-arms, if they had not been
consumed with fanatical zeal.

Their leaders had no guns to give them, and so the orders were; "You are
not to fight the enemies of God with ammunition, but with spears and
swords." The Mahdi sent them word that Mohammed had proclaimed to him
that on the day of battle thousands of angels would be with them to help
them vanquish the unbelievers. Wild with religious zeal these hordes
would rush across the sands, poising their spears, and fall upon the
square in which the British army was formed. They were not checked for
an instant by the withering fire or the wall of bayonets, and the very
force and fury of their onslaught at Abu-Klea, the greatest of these
battles, carried them through the line; and soldiers on the opposite
side, firing at the Arabs in the square, killed their own comrades on
the broken line. There are few things finer in the history of warfare
than the story of the old sheikh on horseback at Abu-Klea, his banner
aloft in one hand, his book of prayers in the other, advancing with his
men and chanting his prayers till he had planted his banner in the
centre of the British square, where he fell pierced with bullets.

The Mahdi is gone. The Sudan has been half depopulated and ruined by his
successor. The people hate the Khalifa Abdullah, who has ground them to
earth. Fanaticism is dead. But if the flame the Mahdi kindled, which
consumed Hicks's large army, killed Gordon, and turned Wolseley's forces
back down the Nile, were burning yet, the British would think long and
seriously before undertaking the reconquest of the Sudan.




BRONISLAU HUBERMANN AND LEONORA JACKSON.

BY W. J. HENDERSON.


Bronislau Hubermann is a boy who plays the violin very much like a grown
man. Now that means something more than merely sounding the tones
correctly and smoothly. It means to show an understanding of the music
and an artistic taste in its performance--two things which many adult
players fail to do. Young Hubermann is therefore a remarkable boy, and
it is not surprising that thousands of persons go to his concerts and
sit as if spellbound while the youngster plays, for amazement joins with
admiration to deepen the emotions caused by his fine performances. Just
how old Hubermann is it is difficult to tell. He looks like a lad of
sixteen; but his parents say that he was born in 1883 in Warsaw. They
ought to know; but sometimes people like to make a gifted child appear
younger than he really is, so as to increase the public wonder at his
achievements. It really is not necessary in the case of Hubermann,
because his playing would be sufficiently astonishing in a boy of
sixteen.

He showed his musical ear when a mere child by singing the melodies
which he heard. When he was six years of age he began the serious study
of the violin, and in three months he had made such marvellous progress
that he was able to play Rode's Seventh Concerto, a very difficult
composition. This story sounds incredible, but we must remember that
Mozart actually played the second violin part in a quartet when he had
never had any instruction at all. He told his father it was not
necessary to study in order to play the violin. After his childish
appearances in public little Hubermann devoted a few years to further
study, and then left his native land to seek glory in the most musical
of all countries--Germany. He was enthusiastically praised there by the
critics, while the public applauded him wildly. He made his first
appearance in America at a concert in Carnegie Hall, New York, early in
November, and achieved an immediate success.

He is a tall and rather awkward boy, but all his awkwardness disappears
as soon as he begins to play. He produces from his instrument a very
beautiful tone, and he always plays in tune, which shows that his ear is
correct, and that his left hand has been trained carefully. But what is
of more importance is that he plays with a great deal of feeling, and
with an insight into the emotional meaning of the music which is
altogether uncommon in so young a person. It is an interesting fact that
Hubermann comes from Poland, which has produced so many admirable
musicians. Among those who are familiar to living music-lovers are
Paderewski, the great pianist, Jean and Edouard de Reszké, the famous
singers, and young Josef Hofmann, who created so great a sensation when
he gave his piano concerts at the age of ten.

Perhaps, however, we would do well to remember that all the musical
genius of the world does not belong to those who are born on the other
side of the Atlantic. To be sure, we are likely to incline to the
opinion that it does, when we read about Mozart and Hofmann and other
"wonderful children," as the Germans call them. But American boys and
girls are just as full of artistic possibilities as those born abroad.
And sometimes intelligence and hard work accomplish wonders even in
music. Pasta, the famous soprano, had a very poor voice to begin with,
and in our own time Lillian Norton, a Maine farmer's daughter, has made
herself one of the foremost singers of the world just by study, and she
is now famous everywhere as Madame Nordica. Now comes the story of
Leonora Jackson, a California girl, who has carried off one of the great
musical prizes of Germany.

She is the daughter of a merchant and banker, Charles P. Jackson, who
lives in a very modest town with the unpoetic name of Mud Springs. When
the Californians dislike that name they call it El Dorado; but Mud
Springs is its real name. Miss Jackson's parents settled in this town in
1852, and she was born there in 1878, so that she is now eighteen years
old. Mrs. Jackson was an amateur musician of real ability, and early in
life Leonora showed that she had inherited her mother's inclinations.
After her birth her parents moved to Chicago, where Mrs. Jackson became
a successful music-teacher. The little girl began to study
violin-playing, and she soon showed such gifts that her parents decided
to place her under the most famous of teachers. At the age of fourteen
she was sent to Berlin, where she became a pupil in the great
Conservatorium.

The world-renowned violinist Dr. Joseph Joachim, who is regarded as the
finest living player in the classic style, became her teacher, and took
the deepest interest in her progress. She was afforded opportunities to
appear in public, in order that she might acquire confidence in herself,
and everything was done to enable her to make progress in her art. About
two months ago she entered the competition for the Mendelssohn prize
medal, for which she had as rivals players from various parts of Europe.
It was a tremendous undertaking for a girl of eighteen, but Leonora won.
Dr. Joachim embraced her with tears in his eyes, and the Berlin
newspapers described her as a "girl wonder." It will be gratifying to
all patriotic boys and girls to know that this girl's greatest pride in
her triumph was that America had conquered. "I have held up the stars
and stripes," she wrote home, "and I am satisfied."

After a time Leonora will undoubtedly set out as a concert performer,
and of course that means that she will come to America to play. Then
her countrymen will have an opportunity to enjoy the exhibition of her
gifts and accomplishments, and to applaud her not only for her
violin-playing, but for her courage, her perseverance, and her
patriotism. She will hardly be a great violinist at eighteen, but she is
young and talented, and the future is full of promise for her, while her
example ought to be an inspiration to all her young compatriots.




THE "WARSPITE'S" CAPTAIN.


In the old days captains of the English ships of the line were not
over-kind to their crews, but it is a well-established fact that shortly
before a battle their geniality uncovered, and poor Jack was in the
seventh heaven of delight. But, alas! if defeated, or through some order
the ship would not be in the engagement, poor Jack felt the woes of his
position more severely than ever. An example of this can be found in the
following historical story:

The British seventy-four _Warspite_, in 1827, was sent from England to
re-enforce the fleet under Sir Edward Codrington, then acting in concert
with Russia and France to restrain the Turks in their brutalities
against the Greeks, who were fighting for independence. The _Warspite_
was in command of a Captain who had seen service under Nelson. The
discipline under her previous Captain had been almost savage. The new
Captain, by his mildness, soon won the hearts of his men; they almost
worshipped him. One night in November, while carrying a press of sail,
she crossed the stern of the American clipper-bark _Rosiland_, bound
from Smyrna for Boston. "I suppose," hailed the Captain of the American,
"you have not heard the glorious news. Codrington has blown the Turks
and Egyptians sky-high!" The _Warspite_'s studding-sails vanished like a
dream, and she was rounded to, while her Captain hailed the _Rosiland_
that he wished to board her. She at once hauled her mainsail up and
backed her main-topsail. The Captain of the _Warspite_ came on board
from his barge, and remained nearly an hour. The details of the great
battle of Navarino had reached Smyrna, and Captain Alden Gifford, who
commanded the _Rosiland_, showed that it had been fought October 20,
1827, and that the entire Turkish and Egyptian fleets had been destroyed
in a four hours' fight by the allied fleets, and that the independence
of Greece was sure to follow. The Captain of the _Warspite_ was
satisfied with the truth of the report, and thanked Captain Gifford for
heaving to and giving him the news. At parting he gave a deep sigh, and
said, gravely, "Captain, I have but one eye, and I would rather have
lost that than been out of it!" The next day, on board of the
_Warspite_, a lot of offenders were brought before her Captain, who
roared out in wrath, "Rig the gratings, call the boatswain and his
mates, and all hands witness punishment!" Some eight men received two
dozen lashes each, and from that day until the ship was paid off no
guilty man escaped the cat. The tyrant knew the power of kindness to
make men do their duty in battle, but when there was no prospect of
fighting, his savage nature asserted itself. There was a report current
in Portsmouth that when he commanded a frigate, his barge's crew dragged
him out of a carriage, from alongside of his wife and daughter, and
flogged him until he fainted from loss of blood.




STREET SOUNDS.


  What curious sounds come from the street,
    How many kinds of noise!
  There's the tramp, tramp, tramp of busy feet,
    And the shouts of girls and boys;

  The rambling of the wagon wheels,
    The strolling peddler's cries,
  And very often music steals
    From the pavement toward the skies.

  ALBERT LEE.




THE REMARKABLE ADVENTURES OF SANDBOYS.

BY JOHN KENDRICK BANGS.


THE LOST RING.

The boys had been discussing with Sandboys on the subject of fish and
their habits, and, as usual, the bell-boy was full of information in
that connection which he was willing to impart to his happy listeners.
They found it hard to believe that sometimes, at the breaking up of
winter, Sandboys had with his own eyes seen trout flop out of the lake
and climb the bank after a worm that had come out of winter-quarters to
rest for a little in the sun, but they did believe it, because he said
it was so.

"I don't say that it's a reg'lar fixed habit of theirs, mind you," he
added, as if he had no wish to deceive the boys into thinking that trout
always behaved this way. "It's only occasionally you'll find a trout
that'll do it, and then it's because he's so fearful hungry that he
takes a risk. If it was a reg'lar fixed habit, catchin' trout'd be easy
work. With a few decoy worms set around the banks o' the lake you could
just sit down and wait till they came floppin' out after 'em, and then
club 'em over the head with a tennis-racket or a cane. But it ain't, and
you might wait a thousand years and never have the luck to see it."

"I'm rather surprised to hear that even one of them has ever done it,"
said Jack. "I always had an idea trout were shy, timid creatures."

[Illustration]

"That's all Tommy-moonshine," said Sandboys, scornfully. That's the sort
of stuff poets tell you about trout. Poetry trout are always shy and
timid. They are allers lurkin' in the cool blue depths of purkling
nooks. They spring past ye like a flash o' sunlight, an' are gone--the
poetry trout do; but real trout's different. The trouble ain't the
shyness of the trout, but the fact that the general run o' poets don't
know how to fish for 'em. Why, there was a poet up here last summer--a
feller with three names to his autygraph--and he got me to take him out
fishin' one mornin', and I said all right, bait or fly? 'I'll fish with
a fly, of course,' says he. 'I hate impalin' worms on hooks. Besides,'
says he, 'fly-fishin's more sportsmanlike.' So I got him a dandy pole,
lines, and some of the finest yeller sallies ye ever see. Down we went
to the lake, and the first thing he did was to ask for an anchor.
'Thought you was goin' to fish with flies?' says I. 'I be,' says he.
'Hurry up and get the anchor aboard and we'll start in.' I thought he
was crazy, but it ain't my place to tell guests they're crazy, so I got
him the anchor, and out we went. 'Where's a good place?' says he. I
showed him, and plump he let the anchor flop into the water with noise
enough to scare a whale, not to mention a trout. Well, thinks I, this is
goin' to be the fliest fly-fishin' I ever see. I never let on, though.
It was his picnic, not mine. I just watched to see what he was agoin' to
do next. He picked up the pole, an' let out about fifteen feet o' line,
an' then he looked at the fly. 'Where's the sinkers?' says he, lookin'
up, after a minute. 'The what?' says I. 'The sinkers,' says he,
impatient like. 'Seems to me you're a very careless boy to forget the
sinkers.' 'What do you want sinkers for?' says I. He looked at me for a
second, an' then he asked: 'What kind of a boy are you, anyhow? What do
I want with sinkers? Why, to sink the fly down to where the fish be, of
course.'

"That," sniffed Sandboys, contemptuously, "is the kind of feller that
says trout is shy. I guess they be shy when a feller tries fly-fishin'
with sinkers."

"Then," said Bob, "trout aren't shy?"

"Not so shy as they try to make 'em out," said Sandboys. "Of course they
don't come walkin' up around the corridors of the hotel; an' you don't
often find 'em makin' themselves conspicuous in the ballroom; nor they
ain't bold like college boys, runnin' all around chuckin' their college
yells at the echo--in comparison with some folks we know they be shy;
but, judgin' 'em from the stand-point of plain fish, they're as
ordacious as any. They'd swim up to a shark if they met one, and sass
him right to his face if they wanted to, without any fear of
consequences or any idee of bashfulness. _Shy!_ Poh! It's all nonsense.
Why, the only bit of highway robbery that's ever been known outside of
the reg'lar business channels here was done by a trout--right down on
Mirror Lake, too. Takes nerve to steal a ring right off a young lady's
finger, I guess."

"Stole a ring off a young lady's finger!" cried Bob. "A trout?"

"Hyops!" assented Sandboys. "A trout, and right down there in the shadow
of the Old Man too. It came near breakin' the young lady's heart. The
ring didn't amount to much as a ring, but it had a lot o' sentimentals
connected with it because it had been given to her by the young man she
was engaged to, and she'd swore she'd never take it off. It was a little
gold band with blue 'namel letters in it. The letters spelt MIZPAH. I
don't know what Mizpah means, but I think it's Greek for George, because
that was the young man's name.

"She'd only been here a week, and he was comin' up to spend Sunday. It
was a Saturday afternoon it happened, and he was expected to arrive on
the train that evening, and she was happy as could be over it. That
afternoon she went out rowin' on the lake with another young man she'd
met up here, and while they was out George arrived. He'd come up on an
earlier train, just to surprise her, and I tell you what he didn't like
it much when her ma said: 'Why, how do you do, George? This is
delightful. Emily will be so pleased. We didn't expect you until
to-night.' 'Well, I'm here,' said George. 'I thought I'd come some o'
the way by boat, and get here three or four hours earlier. Started last
night. Where is Emily?' 'She's down on the lake with Mr. Begum,' said
the young lady's ma. 'Oh, is she?' said George. 'I'm glad she's havin'
such a good time.' But he wasn't. You'd ought to seen his face fall when
he heard she was out rowin', and not pinin' away because he wasn't
there.

[Illustration]

"Meanwhile the young lady and Mr. Begum was rowin' quietly over the
lake, talkin' about literatoor and art and things like that. He was
doin' the rowin' and she was trailin' her hand in the water--the hand
with the Mizpah ring on it--when all of a sudden a trout gave a dart out
o' the shadder of the rocks, opened his mouth, caught holt of the ring,
pulled it right off, an' retired; an', worst of all, two minutes later
George appeared on the bank o' the lake and called out to her that he
was there. She was awfully cut up. The surprise at seein' him, an' the
grief at losin' his ring she'd said would never be took off her finger,
was a fearful combination, 'specially as George noticed, the minute she
came ashore, that the ring was gone.

"'Where's the ring?' said he. An' she told him how the trout had
behaved, and it seemed to make him awful gloomy. Ye see, he didn't
believe it. He thought it was a fish story, and he said so. He had an'
idee she'd given the ring to Mr. Begum, and he was pretty mad about it."

"It did sound like a fish story," put in Jack. "Seems to me I'd find it
hard to believe myself, if you hadn't told it to me."

Sandboys smiled his appreciation of this compliment to his veracity, and
continued:

"They didn't, either of 'em, say much after that, and all day Sunday
George sat around and read novels in the office, and the young lady
staid with her mother. They'd quarrelled, that was evident, and on
Monday George went back home again, and the young lady said they'd never
been engaged. The fact was they'd broke it off!

[Illustration]

"And now comes the funny part of it. All that summer, and the next, and
three more, went by, and nothin' more was ever heard of the ring. The
young lady kept a comin' back every year, but she didn't seem to care
anything about nobody. She just staid with her ma all the time, and
looked pale and unhappy. She'd never made it up with George, and he
never could be got to believe the story of how that dishonest little
trout had golluped down the ring he'd gave her. The fifth summer after,
he came through the mountains with a bicycle party, and they decided to
rest a couple of days here. She wasn't here that summer, so he could
stay without bein' embarrassed. The mornin' after he got here he asked
me to take him fishin', and we went down to the lake. He was a dandy
castin' a fly, an' I rowed him up and down, and up and down, for a
couple of hours, and he kept a-whippin' and a-whippin' without any luck.
Finally he says to me, 'Sandboys, I'll just try it once more, and if I
don't get nothin' we'll go back to the hotel and order our fish off the
bill of fare, instead of foolin' around here where _I don't believe
there ain't 'never been no trout.'_ I see in a minute what he was
thinkin' about, but I never said a word. 'All right, sir,' says I, and
he flicked the fly once more on the water, and, by hookey, up came a
beauty! It was a reg'lar out-and-out three-pounder. And, I tell you, he
had to work to get him into the boat; but as he wasn't no poet, an' knew
how it was done, he did land him finally.

"'We'll have him for dinner to-night,' says he, with a proud look--and
he did. The fish was fried and served at supper; but when the head
waiter brought him in to the table, he hands George an envellup, with
the remark that it contained somethin' that had been found inside the
trout. George got white as a sheet, opened the envellup, and, by hookey,
there was the Mizpah ring!"

"Goodness!" gasped Jack. "Wasn't that great!"

"What did he do?" queried Bob. "Faint?"

"Not he," said Sandboys. "He wasn't the faintin' kind. He jumped up from
the table, and rushed off to the telegraph office, and sent a telegram
to Miss Emily Harkaway at Narrowgansett Pier, sayin': 'Will arrive
to-morrow. George.' And he went.

"The next summer he came back again, and he brought her with him. She'd
become Mrs. George, and, by hookey, she had the ring with her; but this
time she wore it on her neck, with a row o' diamonds set all about it
that would have made that trout blind just to look at it, it dazzled so.

"So you just remember what I tell ye. When people give you that story
about trout bein' shy, you can contradict 'em, whether it's perlite for
small boys to contradict or not; an' if they take ye up, tell 'em about
the speckled highway robber of Mirror Lake. That'll take the starch
right out of their theories!"




[Illustration: INTERSCHOLASTIC SPORT]


The skating races of the New York Interscholastic League, held a week
ago at the St. Nicholas Rink, proved exceedingly interesting, and all
the events were unexpectedly hotly contested. Morgan of De La Salle had
by no means so easy a time of it as his supporters had believed he
would, and Paulding of Berkeley, who last winter represented Black Hall
School in the pole vault at the Knickerbocker games, proved himself an
important factor in the competition. Last year De La Salle carried off
all the honors, but on this occasion Berkeley and De La Salle finished
with an equal number of points to their credit.

[Illustration: THE DE LA SALLE INSTITUTE SKATING TEAM.]

The only thing that occurred to mar the pleasantness of the proceedings
was the avalanche of protesting. At the time of writing no action has
been taken on these protests, and I doubt if they will affect the
results. The protest against Morgan, that he had worked for his living
at one time, seems to be invalid, for, so far as I am aware, there is
nothing in the constitution of the New York Interscholastic Association
which prevents a boy from earning an honest living. Of course, when it
comes to a question of a foul, that is a different matter; but I have it
on very good authority that Paulding of Berkeley himself denies that he
was in any way fouled by Morgan, and yet a protest against Morgan for
fouling Paulding was entered.

[Illustration: Paulding. McClave. Morgan.

THREE OF THE WINNERS AT THE N.Y.I.S.A.A. SKATING RACES.]

The preliminary heats were held on Friday evening, January 15, and there
seemed to be more enthusiasm among the skaters in the trials than there
was in the finals. There were about seventy-five entries all told. The
events contested were 220-yard dash, 440-yard dash, 880-yard dash, and
one mile. Morgan won his heat in the 220, the 440, and the mile,
Paulding being second to him in the mile, third in the 220, and second
to McClave in the second heat of the 440.

The 880-yard event was for "juniors," and the heats were taken by Inman
of Cutler's, Einstein of Harvard School, and Rock of Condon's. The last
heat would very probably have been won by Eddinger of Columbia
Institute, if he had not had the hard luck to fall on the final lap,
when he had a good lead, and was holding his own with the field.

In the finals on Saturday evening the racers made invariably better time
than they had done in their trial heats. The 440 was won by Paulding,
with Morgan second. Morgan's defeat was undoubtedly due to the fact that
he made a false start, and was penalized three yards by the referee.
There was a pretty good field, and the De La Salle man found it
impossible, in the short distance, to pass through. The 880-yard event
was taken by Inman of Cutler's; Einstein of Harvard gave him a pretty
close race, but fell twice, and did not finish among the leaders.

The 220-yard dash was a victory for Morgan, who jumped to the lead as
soon as the signal to start was given, and was never passed. He also won
the mile in fine fashion, leaving his nearest rival, Paulding, two laps
behind him, and Paulding headed the field by almost another full lap.

The summary of events follows:

  Events.      Winner.    Second.     Third.        Time.

  220 yards.   Morgan.    Paulding.   Proctor.        24-3/5 sec.
  440 yards.   Paulding.  Morgan.     McClave.            52 sec.
  880 yards.   Inman.     Coffin.     Proctor.   1 m. 43-4/5 sec.
  One mile.    Morgan.    Paulding.   Ritman.    3 m.  7-2/5 sec.

SUMMARY OF POINTS BY SCHOOLS.

                 Firsts.   Seconds.   Thirds.   Total.
  De La Salle      2          1          0        13
  Berkeley         1          2          2        13
  Cutler           1          1          0         8
  Trinity          0          0          1         1
  Harvard          0          0          1         1

In-door baseball has not met with very much favor thus far among the
South Side schools of Chicago, and the reason alleged is that Englewood
and Hyde Park, the two schools which are leaders in almost every other
branch of athletics, have not yet succeeded in winning a game this year
at the in-door sport. Austin, the last year's champion, was defeated by
Lake View, 7-3. This victory has led to the opinion that Lake View would
probably take the championship this season.

Hyde Park was badly defeated by North Division in its schedule game. The
score was 26-0. Englewood did better against Evanston, and besides
putting up a better game was only defeated 10-4. Englewood's next game
was lost to Lake View, 8-11. Hyde Park's next defeat was administered by
Austin.

Austin's success is largely due to the excellence of its pitcher,
Pottwin. Decker, the short stop, has also been putting up an excellent
game, and in the match against Hyde Park he knocked out a home run,
besides playing an errorless game in the field. The Hyde Park players
seem to be fairly good at fielding, but they show a great lack of
practice.

The matches in the ice-polo league of the Boston schools have developed
good sport during the recent cold weather, and the schedule has afforded
a number of close games. Dorchester played a tie game with Roxbury Latin
on Franklin Field Friday afternoon, January 15, the score being 1-1.
Only one twenty-minute period was played. Dorchester rather outclassed
Roxbury Latin in passing and driving, but was unable, nevertheless, to
get the ball into Roxbury's cage the second time.

On the same afternoon, at Mystic Lake, Winchester met Cambridge High and
Latin, and was defeated 7-0. The Cambridge men developed some excellent
team-work, and showed some pretty combination plays. In a game between
Medford High and Everett High, Medford won 3-1. Especially good work was
done by Otis, Thompson, and Glidden.

[Illustration: HOCKEY: SHOWING GOAL, CLUBS, AND PUCK.]

A number of communications have been addressed to this Department
requesting that some description be given of the Canadian game of
hockey, of which we have heard more than usual this year. In fact, in
and about New York hockey is fast superseding ice polo; the latter,
purely American game, being played mostly in New England. Hockey is, of
course, akin to ice polo, but it has a number of points of difference,
and is considered by the Canadians a much better game than our ice polo.
Perhaps one of the chief advantages of hockey is that more players can
take part in the sport than in ice polo.

The Yale Hockey Team is one of the few teams in this country, so far as
I know, that plays the straight Canadian game, although this winter
several of the athletic clubs in and about New York have taken up
hockey, and will, no doubt, eventually develop strong teams. The Yale
men have found the Canadian game so interesting, that they have devoted
all their energies to it, and it is said that they will meet some of the
Canadian teams during the winter. Space will not allow of a very
lengthy description of the game, but in a few words a rough idea of the
sport may be given, and a book of the rules with fuller information can
doubtless be obtained of any dealer in sporting goods.

A Canadian Hockey team consists of seven players, who are known as Goal,
Point, Cover Point, Centre Forward, Centre, Left Wing, and Right Wing,
arranged on the field, or rather on the ice, in the following positions:

  L. W.      C.      R. W.
           C. F.
           C. P.
             P.
             G.

Instead of the ball which we use in ice polo, the Canadians play with a
rubber disk about an inch thick and some three inches in diameter. This
is called a "puck." The sticks of the Canadians are also somewhat
differently shaped from those used in ice polo, the main difference
being that they are longer, and wider at the bottom, and usually
constructed of lighter wood. They do not strike the puck as polo-players
strike the ball, but rather aim to shove it along the ice, and more
often than not the Canadians use both hands, instead of wielding their
club with one hand only.

In this way the Canadians are able to make a certain peculiar shove
which enables them to lift the rubber disk over the heads of their
opponents, and some of them become so skilful at this that they can
place the puck so that it will fall on edge and bound into the opposing
goal. Perhaps it is this quality of the disk over the ball which has
made it necessary in the Canadian game to allow the defensive players to
stop the puck in any way they choose, instead of as in ice polo, where
the ball may only be stopped by the sticks, the feet, or the body.

The space demanded for Canadian hockey is 112 feet by 58 feet, although
the game is possible in a more restricted area. The goal is placed at
the middle point of the two shorter lines; it consists of two upright
posts four feet high placed six feet apart, and to score a goal the puck
has to be driven between the posts. The game is played in two halves of
twenty minutes each, and the opposing teams change sides after the
interimission, which is of ten minutes.

The Canadians are very strict about off-side play, and the referees
invariably enforce the rule which declares that when a player hits the
puck any one of the same side who is nearer the opponent's goal-line is
off-side, and may therefore not touch the disk or prevent any other
player from doing so until the puck has been played by an opponent. A
penalty for off-side play is the surrender of the puck to the opposing
side; the other players must then stand at a distance of not less than
five yards from the puck; but if the offence has been committed within
ten yards of either goal the disk is faced in the ordinary way. There
are the usual restrictions against kicking and tripping and charging,
and against carrying the disk in the hand, and the goal-keeper is not
allowed during play to lie or kneel or to sit upon the ice, but must
maintain a standing position.

In the United States the hockey-players have not yet developed the team
play which makes the Canadian game so interesting, our men, having been
brought up on ice polo, relying more on their own quickness and
individual skill. But the advantage of team-work is being more and more
understood by us, and Americans will no doubt soon equal the Canadians
at this feature of the sport.

At the several in-door games of the New York schools this winter we
shall look for the development of much new material in track athletics,
for by graduation and other causes many of the best performers of the
Interscholastic League have made room for other stars. The New York
pole-vaulters will have their hands full to hold their own against
Paulding, the Black Hall vaulter, who is now at Berkeley, and I doubt if
there is any one who can surpass him. The change in the height of the
hurdles, too, will make that event more equal toward new and old
hurdlers, and the chance of the appearance of new material in this event
is excellent.

In Boston the chief in-door event of the winter for the schools is
always the big B.A.A. meeting in March, and then we will get our first
line on the New-Englanders that will come down here to measure skill
with New York in the Madison Square Garden. Judging from the place-men
in the spring events of the New England league, the Boston schools will
turn out some strong performers this season.

In Connecticut there have also been losses; but many of the best
athletes, especially of the Hartford High-School, are on hand, notably
Luce and Sturtevant. The latter will be the most dangerous man in the
high jump. I am told, too, that Hartford has a new man in the weights
who will make Boyce of Boston English High stretch himself to the
utmost.

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

  THE GRADUATE.

       *       *       *       *       *

SALUTING A CAT.

There is at least one place in the world where the cat was until
recently held in high honor, and received the attention due to one of so
high a station in life. That place is India, where in a fortress the
sentries invariably used to present arms to every cat that appeared on
the scene.

The custom is accounted for by this singular anecdote, which comes from
what appears to be good authority.

Some fifty years ago it happened that a very high English official died
in an Indian fortress, at a place that is one of the centres of
Brahminic religion, and at the moment when the news of his death met the
Sepoy guard at the main gate a black cat rushed out of it.

The superstitious guard presented arms to the cat as a salute to the
dying spirit of the powerful Englishman, and the coincidence took a firm
hold upon the locality, that up to a few years ago neither exhortation
nor orders could prevent a Hindu sentry at that gate from presenting
arms to any cat that passed out at night.

       *       *       *       *       *

The train was roaring along about forty miles an hour, and the conductor
was busily punching tickets full of holes, when a little thin old man
who sat in one of the corner seats plucked his sleeve.

"Mister conductor, you be sure and let me off at Speers Station. You
see, this is the first time I ever rode on steam-cars, and I don't know
anything 'bout them. You won't forget it, eh?"

"All right, sir; I won't forget."

The old man brushed back a stray lock of hair and, straightening
himself, gazed with increasing wonder at the flying landscape, every now
and then exclaiming, "Gracious!" "By gum!" etc.

Suddenly there was a crash, and after a number of gymnastic moves that
made him think of his school-days, he found himself sitting on the grass
of the embankment alongside the track.

Seeing another passenger sitting a short distance away, patiently
supporting various parts of the splintered car across his legs, he
inquired,

"Is this Speers Crossing?"

The passenger, who was a drummer, and not altogether new to such
happenings, replied, with a smile, although in considerable pain,

"No; this is catastrophe."

"Is that so," he irritably exclaimed. "Now I knew that conductor would
put me off at the wrong place."




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[Illustration: ROYAL BAKING POWDER]

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[Illustration: PISO'S CURE FOR CONSUMPTION]

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QUESTIONS FOR YOUNG MEN.


ON MONEY.

"What are you going to do when you get through college?" said one
schoolboy to the other a short time ago.

"I'm going to make a lot of money, and then buy a seat in the United
States Senate," was the reply.

"Why don't you go to work to get into the Senate direct?"

"Because it's too hard work; and when you've got money you can get
anything else you want."

That is a popular idea among young men, who have made "American" almost
synonymous with "money-maker." There seems to be an idea among not only
young but old men that if you make money in any way you will be fitted
for anything else. In a certain way this is true. For if you can buy
anything, you can buy men who know what you do not know, and hire them
to do certain things for you that take lifetimes to accomplish. The
truth is that if you start now and make up your mind to make money
first, you will not be able to do anything but money-making business,
and if you fail in this, there will be no other course open to you. This
does not mean that a money-making business is an unworthy one; that idea
is common among certain classes of short-sighted clergymen; but it does
mean that to start out with no idea but choosing a business only with
regard to money is wrong, and is likely to turn out to your
disadvantage. We have all seen in school, and will see in college,
fellows who have large allowances. They certainly can do things which
are beyond us. Such men can have a better time because they have money,
and they can give their friends a better time. But unless they have
other qualities their money is of no advantage; it may quite frequently
be a great disadvantage. The point is that a fellow at school must be a
good chap. He must have a certain amount of chivalry, of self-respect,
of generosity, and good-fellowship. If he has all these, he is a good
chap anyway, and sure to be a leader and a friend of all in the school.
If he has a lot of money also, and knows how to use it, he is all the
better chap. If he has the money and none of the qualities mentioned,
his money does him not the least good, and may very likely do him harm.
You will find the thing just the same at college, for college is only a
little larger school. There are many fellows at college who have money
and use it well, but the mere fact that a man has cash in his pocket
does not get him on to athletic teams, or into college clubs or
societies, or at the head of his class. It helps him on if he's a good
chap; it holds him back if he isn't. Then by-and-by, when you get
through college, you will find it just the same in businesses of all
kinds. Money seems to help a good man along, and seems to be the worst
enemy of a bad man. So that to think only of money first, and then of
doing fine things with it after it is gained, is putting the cart before
the horse. And if you want to be in the Senate, it's the wrong way to go
at it to go down to South America and work in a gold-mine for twenty
years simply and solely to "raise the cash" for the purpose of buying
the votes of a State, even if such a procedure were moral and right,
which is unquestionably not the case. Rather make up your mind what you
want to do, and then try to make a financial success of it, as well as
all other kinds of successes. If it is the hide and leather business,
try to make money each year, but try also to make money fairly, to learn
the trade thoroughly, and to keep pace with the literature, the
politics, the life of your own day. If it is the ministry or law or
literature, try to make both ends meet each year, and to make money just
the same, but don't forget that all these branches of work require
something besides cash to make them successes. In a certain way it is
just as wrong to try to believe that money is an evil as it is to let
yourself believe that money is the only thing worth having. It is a
great and good thing when you have learned how to use it, and a mighty
poor thing when it is abused. Decide therefore on what work you will set
out, without regard to money, and then try to make a financial as well
as an intellectual success of it.

       *       *       *       *       *

SWIFT VESSELS OF PAST DECADES.

There are but few spots of the ocean's surface that are not traversed by
steamships, and possibly no spot into which the tramp steamship has not
poked its nose. Years ago this could be claimed for the famous clippers
of the United States, but steam has crowded them out of use, and to-day
hardly a dozen sail under our flag. The States of Maine and New
Hampshire produced many magnificent clippers. The _Challenge_, the
_Sea-Witch_, the _Young America_, the _Swordfish_, the _Dreadnought_,
_Queen of Clippers_, _Witch of the Wave_, _Spitfire_, _Witchcraft_, and
over one hundred others that might be named, carried the American flag
triumphantly around the world, and obtained the highest rates of freight
even in British ports. The ship _Natchez_, of New York, 523 tons, though
not a clipper, made the passage from Hong-kong (China) to New York in 72
days. She was originally a New Orleans and Havre packet, flat on the
floor, to enable her to cross the bar at the mouth of the Mississippi,
and had sharp ends. Probably one of the most pathetic endings of a
famous clipper-ship is that of the _Great Admiral_, built in 1869, and
owned by the heirs of William F. Weld & Co.; she is now lying idle, and
though in excellent order, will probably be dismantled and converted
into a coal-barge. She is the only famous clipper left of all the fine
fleet of nearly one hundred sail once owned by William T. Weld & Co. The
firm, like its shipping, is a thing of the past. The ship _Charger_, of
1378 tons, built in 1874 by Henry Hastings, though still afloat at last
accounts, was not making money for her owner. The splendid ships _North
American_ and _South American_, built by Mr. Hastings, and once
prominent in the California trade, were wrecked a few years ago.

Since the disappearance of clippers we have built ships of 3000 and 4000
tons for the Pacific grain trade, and though full modelled, they more
than hold their own against all nations. Our Atlantic coasting trade is
carried on in huge schooners, ranging from 500 to 1500 tons, with three,
four, and five masts. Many of these had centre-boards, but most of the
new vessels are built without them.

Although Baltimore has the credit of first applying the term "clippers"
to fast vessels, all maritime nations have aimed to excel on the water.
The French ships were generally better sailers than the English, and
hence, when beaten in naval warfare, often escaped capture. At the
battle of St. Vincent, though they defeated more than twenty sail of
French and Spaniards, they captured only four, and two of these were
taken by Nelson. But whenever the English captured a fast sailing-vessel
they copied her lines. Emerson says, "the Frenchman invented the collar,
but the Englishman added the shirt."

       *       *       *       *       *

THE DISADVANTAGES OF PLAGIARISM.

A rather amusing story is told of a certain so-called "popular
preacher," the Rev. Dr. D----, whose marvellous powers of eloquence
invariably gathered him large audiences. People wondered at his sermons,
and proclaimed him an intellectual genius. Now the doctor was a
plagiarist who patched up his own exceedingly poor sermons by
introducing here and there passages from the sermons of celebrated
divines, but the ingenuous way in which he accomplished this prevented
discovery. Then, too, his audiences, he calculated, were not students of
theology, and therefore not likely to detect his appropriations. But in
this he made his mistake, and his exposure took place as follows:

One day an elderly gentleman entered the church and took a seat in the
first row. As the doctor proceeded with his sermon the gentleman broke
in now and then with such remarks as, "That's Sherlock." "Ah, from
Tillotson." "Now it's Blair," etc.

The doctor stood it for a little while, but at last, full of wrath, he
said:

"My dear sir, if you do not restrain your impertinent remarks and hold
your tongue, I'll have you ejected."

The elderly gentleman, looking the doctor calmly in the face, said,
"That's his own."




[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.


Practically all the 1897 catalogues are now on the market. The best
catalogue, containing a list of all varieties of stamps, envelopes,
postal cards, etc., can be had for 58c., postage prepaid, of any dealer;
but there are a number of smaller catalogues, adapted to the wants of
all except specialists and advanced collectors, which can be bought for
10c. each. These smaller catalogues are having a great sale, as the new
albums omit the scarce varieties in perforations, water-marks, etc.,
which appeal to those specialists who are able to invest large sums in
stamps, all of whom keep their treasures in blank albums. The catalogues
and the albums conform to each other.

     C. E. STEELE.--The rare 6c. Proprietary is the orange. The 1823
     dime is worth 25c.

     S. G. RIPPEY.--You can buy a dime of 1837 for 35c.

     H. C. Z.--Tokens have no value. The coins can be bought for 5c. or
     10c.

     BEVERLEY S. KING, 31 New York Avenue, Brooklyn, N. Y., and W. E.
     SHREVE, Ridley Park, Pa., wish to exchange stamps.

     O. H. PURCELL.--The $1 Columbian is worth $5. The others may be
     worth more in a few years than at present.

     A. KELLOGG.--The U. S. Revenues most in demand are the general
     issues. As yet the private proprietary match and medicine stamps
     can be bought, as a rule, as cheaply to-day as five years ago.
     Probably their turn will come in a year or two. If they should
     become fashionable, there will be some remarkable changes in
     prices.

     F. X. SCHMIDT.--Die A, 1887, usually called the "rejected die," can
     be easily identified. The bust points to the space between the
     third and fourth teeth of the inside row. In the regular issue, Die
     B, the bust points to space between the second and third teeth.

     R. BULKLEY.--You probably have the regular rose 1861 stamp, of
     which there are many shades. The pink is excessively rare. A very
     few copies are known.

     W. LEVERIDGE.--None of the coins are scarce, and several of them
     are now uncurrent, and therefore worth bullion only, but they are
     interesting aside from intrinsic value.

     THOMAS LAURIE.--Many pen and ink cancellations have been removed
     from stamps, but the stamps present a "cleaned" appearance quite
     different from the real unused. Most postage-stamps have been
     printed in oil colors; and most cancellations have been made with
     oily inks. Where this has been the case it is impossible to remove
     cancellation without taking out the ink of the stamp itself. No
     premium on the 1894 dollar. There were few made, but still plenty
     to go around and leave some in dealers' hands.

     M. A. T.--The portraits used in the present U. S. stamps are as
     follows: 1c., Franklin; 2c., Washington; 3c., Jackson; 4c.,
     Lincoln; 5c., Grant; 6c., Garfield; 8c., Sherman; 10c., Webster;
     15c., Taylor; 30c., Jefferson; 90c., Perry.

     C. RAWSON.--I cannot give you values on long lists of common
     stamps. You can get this and much other information from a 10c.
     catalogue. If the catalogue fails, I am glad to do what I can in
     justice to all the readers of the stamp column.

     A. T. G.--Yes! Join the A.P.A. if you want to buy the new issues.
     It will cost $1.80 per year for membership fees.

     JAMES MELLEN.--It is extremely difficult to distinguish originals
     from reprints of the first Samoa issues. Counterfeits also abound,
     but these can be distinguished. The early Heligoland stamps are
     also difficult to identify. The government sold the original dies
     and plates to a German dealer, who reprinted the stamps in the
     correct colors.

     J. P. NELKER.--The early stamps of Lagos and Labnan are very
     scarce, used or unused, although many thousands of the lower values
     were used in making up packets in the '80s. It would not be worth
     your while collecting them unless you are prepared to spend much
     money.

     ALBERT GREEN.--Your plan of collecting one at least of all the
     stamp-issuing countries is very good, as far as it goes, but you
     will make it much better by collecting one stamp of each set where
     the design is different or the color changed. Usually there are
     several cheap stamps in every issue, and they illustrate the set
     quite as well as if they were rare varieties or high values.

  PHILATUS.




[Illustration: IVORY SOAP]

  The price of good things oft is high,
    But wise housekeepers tell
  That Ivory Soap is cheap to buy
    And best to use, as well.

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




POPULAR BOOKS

FOR YOUNG PEOPLE

       *       *       *       *       *

By HOWARD PYLE

_Illustrated by the Author_

=THE WONDER CLOCK.= Large 8vo, Half Leather, Ornamental, $3.00.

=PEPPER AND SALT.= 4to, Cloth, Ornamental, $2.00.

=THE ROSE OF PARADISE.= Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25.

=TWILIGHT LAND.= 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $2.50.

=MEN OF IRON.= 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $2.00.

=A MODERN ALADDIN.= Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25.

       *       *       *       *       *

By THOMAS W. KNOX

The "Boy Travellers" Series

ADVENTURES OF TWO YOUTHS IN

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

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

_OTHER BOOKS BY COLONEL KNOX:_

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *

HARPER & BROTHERS, Publishers, New York




How I "visited" Mashonaland.

Older readers are always glad to hear from our entertaining
correspondent in South Africa, and we are sure that new readers will no
less enjoy her delightful morsels. She tells us this time how she
visited Mashonaland without leaving Cape Colony. She wonders if she is
too old, having just passed her eighteenth birthday. We beg to assure
her she is not, and that the Table will be pleased to hear from her for
many years yet. Here is her morsel. It is written from Roydon,
Queenstown, Cape Colony, South Africa:

     A few months before the rebellion in Mashonaland broke out, a young
     gentleman of my acquaintance made up his mind to have a six months'
     tour through this new country. He went beyond the great Zambesi
     River, and had many strange adventures. I am afraid I will not have
     space to tell you of more than two of them.

     While hunting near the Zambesi, Mr. H---- was told that a lion had
     been creating a great disturbance in the neighborhood. He offered
     to go and hunt it if the chief would lend him some of his men. But
     on no account could they be induced to accompany him. Growing
     impatient at last, he set off with a few of his own servants. They
     followed the spoor of the animal for some little time, until they
     came to a dense bush. Glancing back, Mr. H---- saw that his
     followers were not far behind him, so he went on, looking carefully
     about him. At last he saw before him two large trees; behind one of
     them stood "King Leo." A rapid glance back sufficed to show that
     his cowardly servants had deserted him, and he was quite alone. He
     fired at the lion, which gave a fearful roar and sprang at him.
     Fortunately, however, the shot had disabled it, and it sprang
     short. Mr. H---- gave it another shot and killed it. On going in
     search of his men, the hunter found them hidden among the branches
     of the trees, too much terrified even to answer him. Mr. Selous
     says it is the second largest lion he has seen. The skin is very
     handsome, but as I examined it I felt very thankful that its owner
     was not alive.

     The second adventure was rather a comical one. While camping out
     one day Mr. H---- heard what he thought was the report of a gun.
     Knowing elephants were about, he concluded that some one was
     hunting them. Snatching up his gun, he hastily set off in the
     direction of the sound, without taking a mouthful of food. On and
     on he tramped, but never a sight of either elephants or hunters did
     he catch. Still, every now and then he heard the report of guns,
     sometimes near at hand, sometimes far off. He walked for thirty-six
     hours, hoping to be rewarded by the sight of the elephants. At last
     he saw below him a thickly wooded ravine, in which the animals
     might be hidden. He scrambled down to it, and sat down under a huge
     tree to rest. Suddenly he heard the report just above his head.
     Springing to his feet, he looked up, and--the mystery was
     explained. The tree was full of peculiar-looking pods, which every
     now and then burst with a loud report. It was rather exasperating
     to have walked all that way for nothing, was it not?

     I was very much delighted with his fine collection of horns. They
     were all of different kinds, and of different sizes, some of them
     being exceedingly handsome. Two very large python-skins next
     attracted my attention. Imagine my surprise when Mr. H---- coolly
     told me they were considered quite small in Mashonaland! "I'm never
     going there until it is civilized, then," I said, very decidedly.

     "Did you notice any signs of rebellion during your travels?" I
     asked one day. "No," was the answer. "It struck me that the natives
     were a very subdued race, and I feel sure it is some under-handed
     dealing which has caused the revolt. The natives were exceedingly
     kind to me. As soon as I entered a new territory I would go to the
     chief and say, 'I want to go hunting; can you give me a guide?' The
     chief would answer, 'Yes, I will give you a guide to such and such
     a place. That is as far as my territory extends.' They never asked
     for pay, which was rather refreshing after being used to the
     civilized (?) natives of Cape Colony. _Their_ first question is
     always, 'What will you give me for doing it?'" The Mashonas have no
     idea of money.

     On his return journey he wanted to buy some grain, and sent word to
     the chief. Next day a number of natives came, each carrying a
     basket of grain. "How much do you want for it?" asked Mr. H----.
     They named their price--a high one--which he refused to give. There
     was a big argument, and he was beginning to think he would not be
     able to get the grain, when it struck him to offer salt for it.
     Pulling out a handful of salt from a bag, he asked the natives what
     they would give for it. "So much!" they cried, eagerly, indicating
     the quantity of grain. So, at the end of the day, he got as much
     grain as he wanted for a few handfuls of salt. Time and space fail
     me, or I would tell you about some other curious things I saw--of
     the queer little chair and table, both cut from a single piece of
     wood, and which belonged to Lobenguela's brother, of the
     cream-of-tartar trees, and many other funny things. But--I can
     almost see the frown on Mr. Editor's face as he contemplates the
     length of this so-called "morsel," and I daren't write more.
     However, if he will kindly give me permission I will write again,
     and tell you more of my interesting "visit to Mashonaland." In the
     mean time I will bid you good-by.

  Your friend,
  ISMA FINCHAM, R.T.F.

The Editor gives his permission promptly. Please write again.

       *       *       *       *       *

A Founder's Sad End.

When one tries experiments one should be extremely careful of the tools
employed. The Table has to record a most distressing incident in this
connection. One of the original members of our Order was Vernon S.
White, a son of Mr. F. W. White, of Omaha, Nebraska. He was a Founder,
and preserved his Founder certificate because of the honor it stood for.
He was much given to trying experiments. He had sent some suggestions to
us concerning them, at least one of which we published. The others we
read with interest, but failed to find space for them. A few weeks since
Sir Vernon, while trying an experiment in his room, lost his balance,
fell, and met his death. He was thirteen years old, and an only child.
The Table expresses its deep sympathy, and begs its other friends of a
scientific and experimental mind to be careful.

       *       *       *       *       *

Answers to Kinks.

No. 59.--CIVIC.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 60.--The letter T.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 61.

  G L O B E S
  L E V A N T
  O V E R G O
  B A R B E L
  E N G E D I
  S T O L I D

       *       *       *       *       *

About Slang.

     Why is slang denounced by the best writers? We know that all slang
     is not low, and we further know that slang expressions convey to
     multitudes of people the thought of the speaker more clearly than
     if his sentences were clothed in the finest possible manner. This
     question arises from an argument.

  LESTER W. BELLOWS.
  WATERLOO, N. Y.

We do not quite agree that slang better conveys the thought of the
speaker than do other and more generally recognized words. That depends
upon the speaker and upon what he is trying to say. Slang does not
consist in the words themselves so much as in the way they are spoken,
the frequency of their utterance, etc. Words are harmless in themselves;
the manner of using them may not be equally so. Slang is denounced
because it tends toward the vulgar, the common--not always the words
perhaps, but that which lies beyond them. Some slang terms are very
expressive, and these generally come into reputable use, when needed,
and when the atmosphere surrounding the inception of them has drifted
away.

       *       *       *       *       *

Corresponding Chapter.

In Milwaukee there has always been not a few active and most creditable
members. Not long since some of them organized a Corresponding Chapter.
It wants members everywhere. The membership fee is ten cents; dues,
nothing; and members resident in foreign countries free. The Chapter has
a circulating library. It sends a membership certificate of its own, and
hopes to have some prize contests. The officers are Edward F. Daas,
secretary, 1717 Cherry Street, Milwaukee, Wisconsin. The president is
Edward C. Wood, and vice-president Charles D. Turnbull. The president
lives in Philadelphia, and the Chapter is already organized on the
correspondence plan.

       *       *       *       *       *

Questions and Answers.

A Fort Wayne member asks what is the most expensive product in the
world. We cannot tell surely, but the most expensive one we ever read of
is a charcoal thread employed as filaments for incandescent electric
lamps. Filaments designed for thirty-candle-power lamps are worth
$12,000 a pound. It requires 1,500,000 of these filaments to make a
pound, and their total length would be 187 miles.--Harry M. Jones: The
first United States census was taken in 1790, and the next one will be
taken in June, 1900. The discussion whether the twentieth century begins
January 1, 1900, or January 1, 1901, is idle to enter into.--"Young
Politician": President-elect McKinley is free to select any persons he
pleases for places in his cabinet, the only restriction being that
Secretaries must be American citizens above certain ages. That which
prevents him from selecting unfit men is his desire to make his
administration successful. The President nominates his cabinet officials
to the United States Senate, but that body, while it holds a legal right
to confirm or reject such names, always, as a matter of courtesy,
confirms them, holding that a President ought to be permitted to have
such men in his official family as he desires. The talk in the
newspapers about cabinet-making is mere speculation. The final decision
rests with the President.

John Hamill asks what tundra is. It is a long fibrous white moss
(_Cladonia rangiferina_) which is the natural food of the reindeer. It
grows to its greatest perfection in northern and central Alaska, but is
found in South Greenland and Lapland. In Alaska there is a vast tract of
land--400,000 square miles, it is said--covered with this moss. Why you
see it mentioned just now is because there is a project to grow great
herds of reindeer on this vast tract; it is good for nothing else. The
reindeer, slaughtered, frozen, and shipped to San Francisco and
Liverpool, command high prices as venison. The skins, tanned, are of a
soft texture and serviceable color, admirable for book-bindings and
furniture-covers, and the hair is the best possible filling for buoys to
be used in a life-saving apparatus, as it possesses a wonderful degree
of buoyancy. It is said, you know, of the hog slaughter at Chicago and
Kansas City that there is nothing wasted save the squeal. Everything
else being used to advantage, the horns of the reindeer make the best
glue of commerce. The project is to turn this moss to profit by feeding
it to reindeer, as corn is fed to hogs in the West, and marketed as
pork.

"Liberia." Liberia is a republic modelled after our own. It was founded
by some enthusiastic philanthropists who thought the colored people of
our southern States could be induced to go back to Africa where their
ancestors, as slaves and against their wills, came from. Before our
civil war some went. Since then none have. The experiment was a failure,
and Liberia is not prospering greatly. Have we any readers living on the
Isle of Man? We fear not. Does any reader know any one living there?
Ralph Carr, living at 1041 Santa Fé Street, Atchison, Kansas, says his
father came from there, and he desires to hunt up, if possible, some
facts about the island and his father's birth-place. This is an
interesting and profitable thing to do. If any member can help him,
please do so.




[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.


HANDY APPARATUS FOR THE DARK-ROOM.

One of the latest conveniences for the dark-room is a developing-tray so
arranged that a plate may be examined during development without taking
it from the tray. The tray is made with a solid glass bottom and wooden
sides, with a reservoir at one end for holding the developer while
examining the plate. When the tray is lifted the solution runs down into
this reservoir. Another tray, made on the same principle, is of solid
glass, and a piece of glass extends about a third of the way across the
top of the tray, making a reservoir for the developing solution during
the examination of the plate. There are small knobs on the bottom of the
tray to prevent the plate adhering to the bottom by suction. A 5-by-8
tray with glass bottom and wooden sides costs $1.20. The solid glass,
same size, costs $1.25.

_Rubber Finger-Tips._--Rubber finger-tips are among the "must haves" of
the photographer. They are made specially for use in handling
photographic chemicals, are a perfect protection for the fingers, and
prevent the discoloration of the nails and ends of the fingers from the
various solutions used in photography. They are very thin, and fit
closely to the fingers, and do not impair the sense of touch in any
great degree. A set of three costs 15c., and their use prevents any
danger of poisoning when handling dangerous chemicals.

_A Handy Plate-Lifter._--A most convenient plate-lifter is a metal
finger-shield, very much the shape of an open-top thimble. It has a
sharp piece of steel attached to one side, and extending about half an
inch beyond the end of the shield. To use, the shield is placed on the
first finger, the pointed piece of metal slipped under the negative,
raising it from the solution. It can then be taken out without having
put the fingers in the solution. This little lifter costs 15c.

_Glass Rods._--For stirring solutions one should have a small glass rod,
especially when making solutions for sensitizing paper. The
nitrate-of-silver solution should never come in contact with any metal.
In sensitizing paper, where it is floated on the silver bath, it is
quite necessary to have a glass rod to lay across the top of the tray,
to draw the paper over when turning, or removing from the bath. This
helps to spread the solution evenly and removes the superfluous liquid.
A hollow glass tube designed for this purpose has one end flattened to
prevent its turning when laid on the tray. The price is 25c.; a glass
stirring-rod costs 8c.

_Photographic Chemical Tablets._--One can buy, put up in the form of
compressed tablets, all or nearly all the chemicals used in developing
and printing. These tablets are warranted not to alter or change by age
or climate, all that is necessary to preserve them being to cork the
bottles immediately after taking out what is required for use. Each
bottle of tablets is labelled with full directions for use, and the
photographer who wishes to develop his pictures while away on an outing
will find them very convenient. They take up but little room, and all
that is necessary is the addition of a little water when needed. The
price of a complete outfit for developing and toning a large quantity of
pictures is $3.

     SIR KNIGHT ROBERT GUEST, Yarmouth, Nova Scotia, asks if taking
     money prizes in photographic contests makes one a professional
     photographer, and if one can sell his pictures and still remain an
     amateur. Taking prizes in competitions does not class one with the
     professional photographers, nor does selling prints make one a
     professional. By a professional is understood one who makes a
     business of photography, either in opening a gallery for portraits
     or in devoting himself to making pictures of all sorts of
     commercial articles, photographs of buildings, interiors, etc. An
     amateur is one who does this work for pastime, taking pay
     occasionally for his work, but not making it a business. We should
     like to have Sir Robert send us some views of Yarmouth and vicinity
     for reproduction in our Camera Club column.

     SIR KNIGHT HERBERT H. PEASE asks where bromide and platinum paper
     can be bought, and which is the best; the price, and if it can be
     developed with eikonogen developer, and fixed with hypo the same as
     plates; if it is best to mount damp or dry; if the answer to Sir
     William Merritt that the contest closed December 15 was a mistake;
     and if one stands a better chance of winning a prize if he does not
     use the glossy papers for printing. Bromide or platinum paper may
     be bought of any dealer in photographic supplies; both papers are
     good, the bromide being the easiest for the experimenter; bromide
     may be developed with eikonogen and fixed in the same way as a
     plate, but before the print is fixed it must be flowed with a bath
     made of acetic acid, 1 dr., and water, 32 oz., according to the
     directions which accompany the paper; 4-by-5 bromide paper costs
     25c. a dozen. The date December 15 for close of contest was a
     mistake. There is but one competition, and it closes February 15.
     All pictures are judged according to their merits, without regard
     to printing processes. The platinum and bromide pictures are the
     more artistic, and mechanical finish is one of the points on which
     pictures are marked.




ADVERTISEMENTS.




Postage Stamps, &c.




50% com. STAMPS on APPROVAL. 50% com.

_Best sheets and lowest prices. Send for some at once._

100 varieties, 1c. to 5c., only 15 cts.

40 varieties France, only 20 cts.

1000 mixed stamps, only 15 cts.

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[Illustration: STAMP COLLECTORS]

60 dif. U.S. $1,100 dif. Foreign 8c., 125 dif. Canadian, Natal, etc.
25c., 150 dif. Cape Verde, O. F. States, etc. 50c. Agents wanted. 50
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[Illustration: STAMPS]

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500

Mixed, Australian, etc., 10c.; =105 var.= Zululand, etc., and album, 10c.;
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F. P. VINCENT, Chatham, N.Y.




60%

disc. on sheets. References required. 100 var. 8c.; 150 Hungary, etc.,
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particulars.

L. F. PIERCE, Center Sandwich, N.H.




TRY

our 10-cent stamp packets and 25-cent approval sheets.

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=AGENTS WANTED=--50% com. Send references. Lists free.

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1000

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[Illustration]

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

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[Illustration: MY! OH MY!!]

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HOOPING

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HARPER & BROTHERS'

Descriptive list of their publications, with _portraits of authors_,
will be sent by mail to any address on receipt of ten cents.

HARPER & BROTHERS, Publishers, New York.




CARDS

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[Illustration]

RAPHAEL UP TO DATE.

  "Yo' see dem chilluns a-leanin' on de fence?
  Dey's putty near clean gone los' deir sense.
  Some leddy done tell 'em dey look like cupids,
  But I jes' 'low dey's two little stupids."

       *       *       *       *       *

FOREIGN NEWS.

In foreign lands the doings of royalty, the state of mind and body of
the reigning sovereigns and their families, form always an interesting
feature of the daily news for the public. It is no uncommon thing to see
in an English newspaper that "yesterday her Majesty the Queen walked out
accompanied by Princess This or That"; or that "in the afternoon her
Majesty drove from Windsor to Some-other-Place-on-the-Squeegee, attended
by Lady Somebody and the Duchess of Nothingmuch." All of this forms a
staple of news for the British, and it is a custom which prevails in all
lands where there are royal families. The height of absurdity in this
direction, however, is reached in Turkey, if the subjoined item, taken
from a French journal, is correct. It is as follows: "Turkish papers
take a deeper interest in the health of the Sultan than is to be found
in the periodical press of other countries. Quite recently a Turkish
organ gravely inserted the following lines:

"'His Majesty slightly indisposed, having been bitten last night by a
gnat.'"

       *       *       *       *       *

ONE GOOD REASON.

MRS. WARMHEART. "My good man, why do you let your children go barefoot?"

PAT O'HOOLIHAN. "For de raison, ma'am, dat I have in my family more feet
dan shoes."

       *       *       *       *       *

THE CHILDREN'S MUSICAL.

The children were discussing a possible musical entertainment for
charity.

"We can't make it pay," said Jennie. "Why, I heard mamma say these
singers get five hundred dollars for an afternoon!"

"Bosh! Nonsense!" said Polly. "I know a hand-organ man that'll play for
an hour for twenty-five cents, and _throw in a monkey_!"

       *       *       *       *       *

"Bah!" sneered Willie. "You'll never amount to a hill of beans as a
man."

"I know I won't," said Bobbie, meekly. "I ain't even a bean now; but
I'll tell you what I _am_ going to be."

"What's that?"

"A man," said Bobbie.

       *       *       *       *       *

There are many geniuses and inventors hard at work to-day on devices for
saving time and money, and one might say that daily the product of their
thought is placed before the world in machines that seem almost human in
their workings. The chief essential in saving time is to acquire a
system, and operators placed before a new mechanical invention quickly
establish a systematic method of working it, and eventually find a way
of improving on it. These men seldom profit by such little improvements,
but their adopted systems suggest valuable ideas to the outsider, upon
which he realizes. This is evidenced by the following:

Years ago, in the cotton-mills, the bobbins of the looms used to catch
the filaments of cotton and clog the machinery, necessitating a stoppage
of the works to clean up. This was a loss of both time and money. One
man, however, a seemingly dull fellow, found a way to keep his bobbin
free, and his loom never had to shut down. The owner of the mills, one
Mr. Peel, father of Sir Robert Peel, noticed this, and obtained from the
man his secret for an agreement which financially, amounted to next to
nothing. He simply chalked the bobbin, thus preventing the threads from
sticking. Peel adopted the idea, and invented machinery for the sole
purpose of chalking the bobbins, and patented it. He realized a fortune
from it, and gave the original inventor a handsome pension.

       *       *       *       *       *

A HICKORY CLUB--POSSIBLY.

"We're getting up a club at our school."

"What for?"

"To hit the janitor with!"

       *       *       *       *       *

DONALD'S DRUM.

  The reason I like my small red drum
    In snowy winter and rosy June,
  Is because, no matter how I pound,
    I never can hammer it out of tune.

       *       *       *       *       *

POLLY GETS MAD.

"Your pa don't make any money," said Wilbur, scornfully, to Polly.

"No, he don't; but I tell you one thing, Wilbur Jones, he earns a lot!"

       *       *       *       *       *

WHAT HE GOT.

"What did your papa get on Christmas, Billy?"

"Mad!" said Billy.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE STRANGER'S MISTAKE.

"Well, little chap," said the stranger in the family, picking up one of
the children, "what are you going to be when you're a man?"

"Nuffin'," said the child.

"Nothing? Why so?" asked the stranger.

"Because," said the child, "I'm only a little girl."

       *       *       *       *       *

HOW SHE KNEW.

"Do you think your mamma loves you, Polly?" asked Polly's mother,
hugging the little girl up tight.

"Yeth I do," said Polly. "I knows it."

"I am so glad. And how do you know it, Polly?"

"'Cause I'm your doll," said Polly.

       *       *       *       *       *

HIS EXPLANATION.

"Why do you behave so, Jimmie?"

"It's all pa's fault," said Jimmie. "When I grow up I want to be able to
tell my boys what I did when I was little--the way papa does."





End of Project Gutenberg's Harper's Round Table, January 26, 1897, by Various