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, MARCH 9, 1897. FIVE CENTS A COPY.

VOL. XVIII.--NO. 906. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.

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[Illustration]

HOW TOM RODMAN JOINED THE GERMAN ARMY.

BY POULTNEY BIGELOW.


"Thomas," said Professor Schinkel, as they were in the midst of supper,
"run down and see what all the noise is about."

Tom Rodman was only fifteen years old; but like most Yankee boys of his
age, he was pretty quick at getting news. He knew that the French
Emperor had declared war against the Germans; he knew that soldiers were
being marched from every village of the father-land, and he knew also
that the Rhine was near to the frontier of France. He was just
then--this was in 1870--living in the family of Professor Schinkel, at
Slaugenstein on the Rhine, and quickly made up his mind that the noise
he heard in the street was made by troops marching to the war. So, with
a big piece of brown-bread in his hand and another in his mouth, he
sprang down stairs two steps at a time, and opened the front door. The
street was full of soldiers who wore helmets of black leather on their
heads, and who looked very brown and strong. They all seemed to be
looking for something; they had been marching all day, and each soldier
carried a knapsack that weighed quite as much as a very heavy child.

As Tom Rodman was wondering what these soldiers wanted, a big corporal
with a straw-colored beard and blue eyes came up, measured the house
with his eyes, counted the windows, then pulled out a piece of chalk,
and wrote on the door,

"One corporal and seven men!"

Tom now noticed that other doors in the street were being treated in the
same way, and quickly learned why; the whole town was to become night
quarters for the troops marching to the war.

"Is the Herr Professor at home?" asked the corporal.

"Yes; come this way," said Tom, now very much excited.

The corporal knocked at the professor's door, and walked in with a sharp
military tread. He then stood bolt-upright, put one hand to the side of
his helmet, after the soldier fashion, and said, in a voice that could
be heard all over the house,

"I beg to tell you most respectfully, Herr Professor Schinkel, that it
is my duty to bring here for this night one corporal and seven men!"

"You are heartily welcome, Herr Corporal," said the professor. "I am
glad that I am able to do a little good at this time for the brave men
who are going to war for the sake of our common country."

All was now bustle in the Schinkel family. The seven soldiers came
tramping up stairs, and were made as comfortable as was possible. Tom
ran out to the baker's and the butcher's, and came running back with
bread and meat. The soldiers had laid aside their guns, knapsacks, and
coats, and each did his share in getting supper ready.

Corporal Kutchke was invited to eat at the professor's table; and he
made the evening pass rapidly by telling stories about life in the army.
Tom liked the corporal, for he was a big, healthy, strong man, full of
enterprise. The professor found that Kutchke had been in the same
university as himself, and they had many friends in common. Tom thought
he would give anything if he could only be a soldier like Kutchke, and
go to the war. The corporal noticed Tom's excitement, and said, "Herr
Professor, why don't you send your son there to fight for his country?"

The professor laughed. "My son? Why, he's not my son. He's not German.
Tom is an American boy. His name is Tom Rodman. His mother is the widow
of a distinguished American artillery officer, and she has sent him here
to learn German in my family."

"Well," said Corporal Kutchke, "you do surprise me! The boy speaks such
good German that I never thought he could be a foreigner. But of course
foreigners don't care about fighting for us!"


II.

The door was pushed open with much force, and one of the soldiers
marched into the room, knocked his heels together, stood very stiff and
still, then said, with a very clear but yet rather sad voice,

"Private Rothmann has been taken very ill."

"Hulloo!" thought Tom, "that is a funny name for a German; it sounds
like mine."

Corporal Kutchke ordered the private to run and inform the army surgeon,
while he himself went up stairs to learn what he could. Rothmann was
very pale and weak. The heat of the day had affected him on the march,
and he was now tossing about in a feverish manner. The surgeon came and
said that Rothmann was wholly unfit to march, and must be left behind.
He was at once taken to the hospital. As soon as Rothmann was gone, Tom
Rodman went up to help the corporal about getting bedding for his men.
He found Kutchke seated on a drum rubbing his nose with a drum-stick.

"Million Schock Donnerwetter!" said Kutchke. "What will my Captain say?
I shall be blamed because he fell ill. And it's not my fault. It's the
fault of all the people along the road, who keep giving the soldiers
cigars and sausage, and make them useless for hard work."


III.

When Tom went up to his room that night he felt very sore at not being
allowed to go and fight with Corporal Kutchke, and he feared lest people
might think him a coward. He sat down on the edge of his bed, and began
to make plans for running away and joining the army in spite of the
professor. Just then he noticed the uniform which Rothmann had left
behind when they had so hastily taken him to the hospital. He jumped up,
quickly stripped off his coat and trousers, and dressed himself in the
uniform of a Prussian foot-soldier. The fit was not perfect, but as he
looked at himself in the glass he felt his shoulders straighten up and
his chest swell out with pride, and when he had finally put on the
knapsack and the cartridge-belt, and the warlike helmet with the brass
spike on top, he looked as though he had been made for this particular
uniform. He was just about reaching for Rothmann's gun, which had been
hung against the wall, when the door was thrown open, and Corporal
Kutchke stood facing him, looking as though he had seen a ghost.

"What is it? Who are you? Are you Rothmann?"

Tom burst into a hearty laugh, and the corporal was so delighted at
finding that Tom was not the ghost of Rothmann that he too joined.

Suddenly Corporal Kutchke slapped Tom on the back and said: "I have a
grand idea. Do you want to be a soldier?"

"Yes, indeed," said Tom.

"Will you march with us to-morrow at daybreak?"

"Certainly," said Tom.

"Then," said Kutchke, "I will take good care of you. It is against the
regulations, but in war-time we cannot be so strict. Your name is
Rodman, and you must make believe that you are the man Rothmann whom we
have left behind. You are both about the same size, and the Captain is
not likely to notice anything amiss, for I will drill you so that you
will soon be as good as any of the recruits. You are very big for your
age, and you will have splendid stories to tell when you come back from
the war."

"But what about the professor?" said Tom.

"Oh, that is simple enough," said the corporal. "Just write him a few
lines telling him that you have gone to defend the father-land against
the French, and he will forgive you in the end, even if he is angry for
the moment."


IV.

There was hard marching for poor Tom, and his knapsack weighed very
heavily on his young shoulders, and now and then he would gladly have
gone back to his comfortable bed at the professor's, had he not been
anxious to show his German comrades that an American could make a good
soldier--for Tom was a very patriotic boy. One night, as they were
cooking their supper at the camp-fire, Kutchke whispered in Tom's ear
that some of their scouts had seen French uniforms in the distance, and
that there would soon be a fight.

At about two o'clock in the morning his company was drawn up ready to
march, although it was pitch-dark. The Captain made them a short speech,
telling them they must make no noise, for they hoped to get very near to
the enemy before being seen, and if they fought well, many of them might
hope to get the Iron Cross, which is the most highly prized war medal in
the German army.

Then each soldier held his hand carefully against his side so as to
prevent the rattling of his tin water-bottle against his
bayonet-scabbard, and thus they marched for about an hour in silence,
keeping a sharp lookout to right and left.

Suddenly was heard ping-ping-ping, the sound of rifle-bullets whizzing
over their heads, and soon commenced a clatter of infantry fire, for the
French had discovered the movements of this company in the faint light
of the dawning day. But it was too late for effective resistance on the
part of the enemy, who were taken by surprise, and had to retreat up the
slopes of a gentle hill, on the top of which stood six cannon in a row;
but, curiously enough, they were pointing in the opposite direction from
Tom. As soon as the noise of the firing was heard, Tom heard the bugles
blowing, and knew from this that the French would soon be firing off
their big guns at them. Then the Captain roared out to them to run as
hard as they could and capture these six pieces of cannon before they
could be turned round and fired off; so they all started with a great
hurrah, and arrived at the guns just as the French artillerymen were
trying to move them into proper positions. Tom could not tell exactly
what happened, excepting that there seemed to be hundreds of swords
waving in the air and a constant rattling of infantry fire. Now and then
a man dropped, but Tom was too excited to notice why he dropped. His
blood was aroused, and he thought only of keeping near Kutchke and
winning the Iron Cross. There was one cannon which was just about to be
fired, when Kutchke sprang at the man in charge and knocked him down
with the butt of his rifle; but no sooner was this done than another man
sprang forward to fire the gun, and three Frenchmen attacked Kutchke at
once. Then Tom sprang forward like a wild-cat and smashed the gun of a
Frenchman who was just about sticking his bayonet through Kutchke's
back, and at this the other two ran away. Then the Captain, who was
fighting close to them, shouted out, "Well done, Rodman; you have saved
Kutchke's life!" And the soldiers near by shouted "Hurrah!" still more
vigorously, and looked at Rodman as though they were proud of him.

But now the Captain commenced to be anxious for the safety of his
company, and ordered the men to harness up the horses to the French
cannon so as to get them back as trophies, for there were signs in the
distance that large forces of French were coming up. They had no sooner
brought the horses up to be harnessed, than a regiment of French cavalry
was seen galloping towards them in a cloud of dust. On they came with
loud shouts, and there was no time to waste. Tom's company was ordered
to lie down beneath the guns and not to fire until the horses were close
to them, and then to give them a volley all together. This plan worked
splendidly, for the French were so surprised by this sudden response
that there was much confusion amongst them, and they hesitated. Tom
noticed a French officer carrying a flag, which in war is considered a
very precious trophy. When that Frenchman saw the effect of the first
volley, he looked about him as though ready to run away, and when a
second volley was fired, which killed more Frenchmen, he wheeled round
with the flag in his hand and put spurs to his horse. But Tom did not
wait for orders in the presence of such an opportunity. He seized the
nearest artillery horse, jumped into the saddle in the twinkling of an
eye, and made straight for the flying French officer. The race was an
exciting one, and Tom soon discovered that it was likely to be a
dangerous one; for they soon left the battle-field behind them, and he
had before him the prospect of fighting a desperate man. Tom had no
weapons, for he had thrown away his gun, and at the same time he had
cast off his knapsack and cartridge-belt. Tom shouted to the Frenchman
that he must surrender, but the Frenchman paid no attention to it; so
Tom took off the stirrup leathers from the saddle while his horse kept
up his furious pace. He hung the two stirrups on to one leather, and
joined the two leathers together so that they would stretch a long
distance. Then he swung this around his head as though it had been a
long sling, and waited for a time to use it. The Frenchman was not a
very good rider, and the country over which he rode was rather rough, so
that he did not dare to turn round in the saddle, excepting just enough
to point his pistol at Tom, and fire it off without hitting anything.
Tom was gaining inch by inch, and at last was ready for a blow. A narrow
and rapid river was close ahead of them, and the Frenchman no doubt felt
that escape was hopeless without a struggle; so he drew his sword,
wheeled his horse, and attacked Tom for the purpose of running him
through the body. Tom kept cool, swung his long leather gently around
his head, and just at the moment when the Frenchman was ready to make
his lunge he gave all his strength to a final swing that brought the
stirrups together against the left cheek of the Frenchman, who fell to
the ground stunned and bleeding. One blow was enough, and Tom sprang
from his horse, seized the flag and sword from the enemy and then
fetched water from the river and bandaged up the Frenchman's wound. Tom
would have staid longer with this French officer had it not been that
French troops made their appearance over the tops of the ridges.


V.

With the sabre of a French cavalry officer in one hand, and the standard
of a French cavalry regiment in the other, Tom ran as hard as his legs
could carry him towards the rapid stream which was not more than fifty
yards from where he had had the short fight. It was no use trying to
escape on horseback, for his retreat was cut off by French cavalry;
indeed, it seemed to Tom as though Frenchmen had started up out of the
ground all around him, and he realized that he was now cut off entirely
from his comrades, and must make good use of his wits if he wished to
avoid being killed or made prisoner. Along the edges of this stream were
clumps of overhanging bushes, and into the thickest of them he sprang,
where he lay effectually concealed. Pretty soon a detachment of
Frenchmen passed close to him, and he heard one of them say:

"Oh, that sacré Prussien! How I should like to catch him and get back
the standard of our regiment! But I don't see how he could have knocked
our Captain off his horse; it is most mysterious. However, I suppose he
has drowned himself in the river, and so I ought to be satisfied."

Tom did not know the name of this river, or where it led to, but he knew
enough of geography to know that if he kept on it long enough he should
arrive at the Rhine. He was an expert swimmer, and made up his mind that
the only way open to him was to travel by water and avoid the land. Of
course he did not dare move by daylight, but as soon as the sun was set
he launched himself upon the stream and struck out with the current. The
sabre and standard he had wrapped round and round with small branches
cut from the bushes, and this served him not only as a means of
concealing his trophies, but also as a help, for it supported him when
he was tired. His uniform he had to leave behind, for it would have been
in his way, and he wore nothing but his shirt and a sort of
bathing-drawers, which he made by cutting off the lower part of his
uniform trousers. The water was, fortunately, warm, and Tom was prepared
for a good long swim. He had gone about an hour, and already he had
begun to feel that he could not stand very much more of this kind of
work, when he noticed ahead of him something black. He struck out for
it, and found that it was a massive door, which had been broken off from
some peasant's barn and probably thrown into the river out of mischief
by some prowling band of soldiers. To the great delight of Tom this barn
door was so big that he could lie upon it and find most welcome rest as
he floated on down stream at the rate of five or six miles an hour. Tom
had nothing to eat with him, but he tightened his belt and tried to
think of other things, and soon he fell asleep, with his head resting in
the water on one side of the raft, and his legs in the water on the
other side.

As he lay sweetly dreaming, he was suddenly awakened by a sound of
voices and by the fierce light of a huge camp-fire on the bank. The
voices were French, and Tom could understand this much.

"Look out there! I see something suspicious on the river."

"It is a corpse," said another Frenchman, and then Tom heard a laugh.

"Be careful there," cried another, "or he will float down upon us and
poison our soup;" and then Tom heard foot-steps coming down to the
water's edge; then he felt a push against his raft and the scraping of a
bayonet-point against one of his legs. So near was he that he could
smell the fragrant supper--the onions, the beef, and the smoke of the
wood fire.

About half an hour from where he had left the Frenchmen cooking their
soup he rounded a bend in the river, and saw ahead of him another
camp-fire, with soldiers about it wearing German forage-caps. He
recognized the big straw-colored beard of Kutchke, and knew at once that
he was amongst friends. He floated close to the bank where the corporal
stood, and pretended to be a corpse. No one noticed him until he was at
their very feet, and then he heard some one say: "Ach, there is a
corpse! Push it away quickly!" And then he heard Kutchke call out: "No;
wait until I see it. Perhaps it is Tom Rodman." Then he heard the heavy
tread of Kutchke, and presently the corporal's voice could be heard
breaking out into loud lamentation.

"Ah, yes," said he, "it is poor Rodman who saved my life from the
Frenchmen! How dreadful that I should have brought him to the war! What
can I do?"

"Why, you can give me something to eat!" came from the raft; and with
these words Tom Rodman sat bolt-upright and laughed in Kutchke's face.
Then there was a loud hurrah in the camp, and all the soldiers flocked
down to see the miracle of Rodman coming to life and asking for
something to eat. Kutchke embraced him, and kissed him several times,
and called him his savior. All the men shook hands with him, and he was
at once put into a good warm uniform, and given the most comfortable
seat by the fire, where he was provided with a big tin full of
well-cooked cabbage, sausage, and bread, which tasted exceedingly well
after the hardships of the last twenty-four hours.

In the midst of it arrived the Captain, who wanted also to hear the
story of Tom's escape, and why he had chased after the French officer.
Tom told his adventures, and then produced the French cavalry standard,
and the sabre of the officer whom he had knocked from his horse with the
pair of stirrups.

All were delighted at the result of Tom's courage, and Kutchke said that
Tom deserved three Iron Crosses--one for saving his life, another for
capturing the standard, and another for bringing home the sabre. Tom was
very popular with his comrades, and the news of his adventures soon
reached the ears of the Colonel of his regiment, and he was soon
afterwards informed that he was to receive the Iron Cross. The whole
regiment was formed into three sides of a square, and the Colonel called
out the name of Tom Rodman, who stepped forward, and stood very stiff
while the Colonel asked after him and his family. Tom could not any
longer conceal the fact that he was not a German, but an American boy,
and the Colonel promised to say nothing about it, in order that Kutchke
should not be punished. So this is how Tom Rodman joined the German
army, and was the first American to wear the famous Iron Cross. The
Colonel cabled to his mother in America, so that she might not be
alarmed, and the Professor easily forgave his pupil for all the anxiety
that Tom had caused him.




A JAPANESE PICTURE-STORY.

BY BARNET PHILLIPS.


The stories that have been written about pictures are to be divided into
two general categories--those indicating the skill of the artist, and
those relating to the performances of the pictures themselves. Both of
these merge, since they attest the ability of the artist. There is a
third kind of story, dwelling on the mishaps of painters, which
accidents, however, in the long-run, invariably aid the artist.

The supernatural must have been called into play at the dawn of
civilization, when the first artist scratched with splinter of flint an
animal form on a bone. Pygmalion, who carved a woman so lifelike that he
prayed to Venus to give Galatea flesh, blood, and a soul, must in an
earlier form have been a story of the most remote antiquity. We find
traces of this myth in Egyptian worship. To a South Sea Islander carved
idols are not stocks nor stones, but living gods. The most acute
Hindostanee does not separate his brazen images from the personalities
of his deities.

Nothing is older than the stories of the supreme skill of the artist
which the old Greek repeated. The common type of this legend is the
picture with the figs painted on it, which were so natural that the
birds pecked at them. The modern Orientals have embellished this story
in many ways. The Persians will tell you that the birds actually carried
a pomegranate out of a picture and fought over the fruit. One of the
pomegranates slipped from the beak of a bird and tumbled down to a
garden below. The over-ripe fruit broke, the seeds were scattered, and
where they fell a pomegranate-tree grew, which will be shown you to-day
in a court-yard in Ispahan.

We have the very old joke about the slab of stone painted so exactly
like a log of wood that it floated. The Japanese have worked up the idea
in many ingenious ways. They had a painter of the tenth century who drew
a crystal ball so perfectly that when the sun shone on it, it behaved as
would a lens, and would light tinder.

The Greeks tell of an artist who was dissatisfied with the flecks of
foam in the mouth of the dog he was painting, and in anger threw a
sponge at his picture, and, lo! where the sponge had struck the painting
there was the froth required.

[Illustration: THE BRONZE WAS HURLED TO THE GROUND.]

This is told of a bronze artificer who never could be satisfied with the
ocean he was making up, into which his hero was wading. He set his work
on a window. A storm arose, there was a blinding flash of lightning, and
the bronze was hurled to the ground. When the artist picked up the
bronze a portion of the metal representing the water had been fused, and
there was the rolling, undulating sea, such as no mortal hand could ever
have produced.

Another story is about a second bronze-worker, who was a great artist,
but an intemperate one, for he drank too much saki. The man had
fashioned a deity in bronze which did not satisfy him, though he had
worked on it for ten years. Do what he would, the figure showed traces
of the long toil he had lavished on it. Though given to his cups, he was
apparently a conscientious artist. Putting his bronze in his pocket or
up his sleeve, the artist determined to commit suicide, and so plunged
into a great tub of fermenting rice, from which saki is distilled. When
the saki-maker emptied his tubs there was the artist dead, and his
bronze, but the work had been perfected. The fermenting rice had
smoothed down the hard lines. The bronze was admirable, and so the
artist's death conferred on him a certain amount of heroism--that is,
according to Japanese ideas of heroism.

The neatest story of artistic performance and of higher criticism is
Japanese, and for the lesson it conveys has its value. There was a
Shogun of the fourteenth century who was the art critic of his time,
because he never saw a screen or a bronze or a china decoration without
finding some fault. In his court all his retainers followed the Shogun
in deprecating whatsoever was shown to them.

In the court of the great man was a painter, the most distinguished of
his time, and this artist became very tired of the adverse criticisms
passed on his work. The Shogun ordered a screen, leaving the choice of
the subject to the artist.

"As you are very slow," said the Shogun, "you may take a year to paint
your screen. Time enough, I think, to assure us that there will be
nothing careless in your work."

The artist accepted the commission, and asked for leave of absence,
which was granted to him. He was away for eleven months, and it was
within three days of the end of the year when he paid his respects to
the Shogun.

"Exhibit at once your so-called work of art," said the Shogun.

"I have not yet commenced it, may it please your Dignity," answered the
artist.

"And in three days do you expect to show me a picture worth my looking
at?" inquired the Shogun.

"I have travelled all over the country for that work which it has
pleased you to commit to my care, and it will be ready on time," replied
the artist, humbly.

When the last day had come the artist said his screen was ready, and
that it was hanging in a particular room in the Shogun's palace. The
high dignitary and his court were present, and examined the picture.

What was painted was simplicity itself. There was a river, and in the
stream a boat was moored, with a furled sail. The banks of the river
were lined with rushes. There were a few trees, with a bird here and
there perched on the boughs. A rabbit was nibbling the grass. In the
distance was a high mountain.

"That is supposably water, if I am not mistaken," said the Shogun.

"It's very sluggish," remarked the pipe-bearer.

"Those rushes--ahem!" interposed a courtier--"are they not absurdly
stiff?"

"And, dear me," chimed in the secretary, "what birds! Stuffed birds on
boughs are too preposterous!"

"The boat--such a boat as that never could float! Is it meant for a boat
or a rock?" inquired the master of the robes.

"The fact is," said the Shogun, "it is an idiotic performance. It wants
life, go, dash, imagination. It is dulness personified. It is nothing
but 'prentice work, and entirely unfitted to grace our elegant abode.
Treasurer, pay this man for his trouble. A full year's wages, such as
you would give to a weeder of rice."

"Your Highness always was a liberal patron of the arts," said the
treasurer.

"And though generous, most discriminating, for really the picture is
overpaid," said the courtiers.

[Illustration: THE ARTIST PLUNGED HEAD FOREMOST INTO HIS WORK.]

The painter smiled, slowly walked to where the screen was hung, and
plunged head foremost into his work. Then, to the great amazement of the
Shogun and his court, a splash was heard. Now the water rippled and the
boat began to rock. The rushes on the bank of the stream nodded and bent
and swayed, as if with a passing breeze. The birds flew from bough to
bough. The rabbit scampered away. There was a figure in the boat, and
presently the anchor was hauled up and the sail was set, and the little
craft, heeling over with the wind, sped up the stream, and now a landing
was made at the foot of the mountain.

Next a little man was seen slowly climbing up the mountain, and when the
mountain-top was reached the figure bowed respectfully to the Shogun and
the court and disappeared, as if descending on the other side of the
mountain.

Then a loon came to the immediate foreground of the screen, and flapped
his wings, and said, in very courtly Japanese, these words, which may be
rather carelessly translated into English in this way:

"You are all a set of ninnies, for you don't know a good thing when you
see it. Ta, ta!"

The courtiers were so enraged that they drew their two swords and wanted
to hack the loon and the screen to pieces. But when they looked at the
screen, they saw a big tear in it, with falling flaps of silk, on which
the work had been painted. It was where the artist had made his exit.
This is the Japanese fable for critics.




A LOYAL TRAITOR.[1]

[1] Begun in HARPER'S ROUND TABLE No. 888.

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

BY JAMES BARNES.


CHAPTER XX.

AN EXCHANGE AND A ROBBERY.

"Come, lads," I said at last, "don't give up. Give way together. We'll
make for that old castle rock, and go ashore."

In a few minutes we had beached both boats in a little cove hardly
twenty feet across. I had an idea in my mind of leading the crew to the
top of the rock, for it appeared to me that five or six men from the
summit could hold a score or more at bay with nothing but stones for
weapons.

But to my astonishment I saw that the spit of land which ran out to the
tall rock was not more than thirty feet in width, and that it was
rounded, as if at some time the sea washed over it. Dugan and Chips had
followed me up the slope. When we reached the top, which was not more
than ten feet above the beach, we could see the cutter plainly. Through
the glass I made out she had come to anchor, and that they were loading
some casks into a boat alongside of her:

I handed the glass to the carpenter, who was next to me, and asked him
to take a look through it.

"Halloa!" cried Dugan, suddenly, "there are the prisoners on the beach.
Now let's see what they're going to do. I wonder if they'll think it is
a Yankee trick," he added, with a half chuckle, "scuttling that rotten
old junk?"

I took the glass from him without answering, for I saw no humor in the
situation. A boat put off from the cutter and brought back two of the
men from shore, and now, hidden behind a rock, we watched the
proceedings in turn. The idea of getting water was apparently abandoned.

The boat rowed to shore again, picked up the rest of the Englishmen, and
then I saw that they were getting out the quarter-boat from the other
side.

In a few minutes both were loaded. I caught the glint of steel as they
handed muskets and cutlasses into them, and then they pulled off to the
northward to go around the farther end of the island.

But an idea had seized me that set my blood tingling!

"How many men does such a craft as that carry?" I croaked, hoarsely.

"Twenty-five to thirty," responded Chips, sullenly.

I had counted twenty men besides the prisoners in the two boats that had
put off from the cutter. It would take probably two hours to row around
to the north shore of the island.

It would do no harm to broach the subject in my mind to the others, and
I did so in a few short words, speaking in hoarse whispers.

"Why not roll one of our boats across the neck of land, and then row
down and take the cutter by surprise?"

I did not know how this plan would be received by the others, but when I
finished they were looking at me eagerly.

"Captain, I admire ye!" said Dugan, with a trace of Irish in his tone.

Chips grasped my hand.

"By Solomon! we can do it, sir!" he said, and we hurried across to where
the men were seated, a dejected-looking group, on the sand.

In twenty minutes the boats from the cutter were out of sight around the
north shore cape, and we set to work getting the largest of our own over
the barrier.

We broke the oars from the boat we had discarded into rollers, and in
five minutes, or a little over, we had made a launching on the western
shore.

The men muffled their oars with their shirts, and with a sensation of
hunters stalking some dangerous animal, we rowed slowly along against
the tide. Truly it was as if the quarry were asleep, and we feared
awakening it before we got within striking distance.

Now we were right under her stern, and I read the name, _Bat_, in gold
letters.

She was a tidy little craft, more like a gentleman's yacht than a vessel
of war, and from two small ports on her sides poked the muzzles of brass
six-pounders.

It was but the hoist of a foot to get on board; and, behold! there was
no one there to receive us! But we had no arms; and, picking up a
hand-spike and handing it to the carpenter, I led the way down the
little hatch, followed by the other eight men, with their closed fists
for weapons.

Now if any two people were surprised it was the two Irish sailors who
sat there eating with their knives from tin plates they held on their
knees.

[Illustration: "SURRENDER!" I CRIED, POINTING THE TELESCOPE AT THEM.]

"Surrender!" I cried, pointing the telescope at them as if I had but to
touch a trigger to blow out their brains. Before they knew what had
happened, or could raise their voices, two of the privateersmen had them
pinioned by their wrists.

"Cut that cable; make all sail and get out of this!" I roared, pushing
up again.

The jib and foresail went chock-a-block with one heave. Never did men
leap to their work so quickly.

Now as it was but a stone's-throw to the shore, I ordered the two
sailors overboard into the water, and gave them one of the empty casks
to help them make it safely. They were glad of the chance to go.

The mainsail was up by this time, the rope hawser had been severed by
the blow of an axe, and we were making out to sea. The crew, all on
deck, burst into three hearty cheers, and I led them.

But if they were surprised, and truly they must have been, a greater
surprise was in store for me, and I would that I could dwell on my
sensations, which I shall but outline. I did not leave the deck to make
any investigations of the little sloop until we had covered some five
miles, and I had found out that she sailed like a witch, and that there
was no sail after us.

The cabin was very handsomely furnished, with a long couch down one
side, a handsome table under a fine swinging lamp in the centre, and a
desk with many drawers off in a corner, lighted by a handsome sconce. A
number of books were thrown about on the couch, and suspended from hooks
against the white panels were a half-dozen beautifully executed
miniatures; the door to a little cupboard was open, and I saw, hanging
up inside, a number of uniforms.

I walked over to the desk and picked up a leather-covered volume that
had "Log-book of the _Bat_" on the cover in red letters, very
beautifully done. I turned to the first page, and here is where I got my
surprise.

"A journal kept on board H. M. Revenue Cutter _Bat_, of four guns,
commanded by Lieutenant _John Hurdis_, R.N."

There was my own name staring me in the face. I did not know that
Hurdiss was a name well known in the English navy. But I recovered my
wits at last, and regarded the coincidence of names as a very lucky
omen. I had to take but one step up the little ladder to have my head
above the level of the deck. Standing there I called Chips to me, and
showed him the entry in the book.

"It's witchcraft," he said, "and nothing less."

The cutter was a little bit larger than our single-gun boats, and
perfectly able to go across the Atlantic, or to sail anywhere, provided
her provisions held out. We found by an inspection of the hold that
there was more than enough to last ten men for a month and a few days
over, although we would have to go light in the drinking line.

At once Chips and I set about preparing a routine. The crew were divided
into three watches, and I laid out a course that would fetch us
somewhere in the vicinity of Boston. On we sailed; everything was fine.
For three days I had a most delightful experience, reading the
well-chosen books in the cabin, and seeing that the men were kept
employed polishing the brass-work and overhauling the forward hold, and
so forth.

On the fourth day the fine breeze, that had held from the same direction
almost continually, stopped as suddenly as if it had been shut off by
the intervention of a great wall.

Before dawn a slight wind came out of the west, dead against us; and at
five bells a large ship was seen coming down before the wind with all
sail set. I got upon the opposite tack to that I had been holding, and
at this the large vessel changed her course, evidently intending to
speak me. There was no way of my escaping, for if I had started to run
she would soon have overhauled us in two hours. I could see her ports
and make out she was a 44-gun frigate, and was not surprised when she
displayed the English flag.

I answered in the same manner, and at Chips's suggestion I got out the
signal-book that I had found, and the little flags also, hoping that
this would be all that it would amount to.

But she did not signalize us, and in a quarter of an hour we were near
enough to see the faces of a group of officers leaning over the rail,
and to notice that one of them held a trumpet in his hand.

Soon the hail came, "What cutter is that?"

I answered.

"What are you doing out here?"

For an instant I was nonplussed. "Chasing a Yankee privateer," I
answered, with an air of bravado.

"Where is she?"

"Got away to the south'ard."

"I'll send a boat on board of you."

This was exactly what I did not wish to happen. "Don't trouble, sir.
I'll come on board of you myself," I replied, at the same time ordering
out the only boat we had left, a little dingy swung over the stern.

"Now, Chips," said I, "this is a case of must obey. We are edging up to
windward, and it's going to thicken. If you can get away, do so; but be
cautious. You know the cost. I leave it all to you. Get up to windward
without exciting suspicion, and if you don't hear from me in two hours,
clear away for home."

This conversation was held under the lee of the frigate; in fact we were
so close to her that she shadowed us completely, and although we were
both hove to, I knew that we could swing off before she could get the
weather-gage. I feared doing this myself, but I knew that my coming on
board would disarm all suspicion, and that Chips might be able to carry
out the plan.

From the southwest a fog-bank was approaching--I had made note of
it--and the air was filled already with fine particles of moisture. It
was no easy job to bring the little dingy alongside. But at last we were
able to do so, thanks to the good oarsmanship of Caldwell, and at last I
grasped the rope-ladder that had been lowered from the gangway, and came
on deck. The boatswain shrilled his whistle, and the side-boys touched
their caps. A fine-looking officer stepped forward to meet me, saluting
and extending his hand.

"Your name, sir?" he inquired.

It would not do to hesitate. I was running risks, of course, but no
half-way measures would suffice.

"John Hurdiss, Lieutenant, commanding the cutter _Bat_," I replied.

"Will you come with me to my cabin, Mr. Hurdiss? I'm Mallet, of the
_Cæsar_."

I followed him at once.

"Isn't it rather a strange thing for you to be in this latitude and
longitude, when your station is on the coast?" he continued, severely.

"Not when you understand the circumstances, Captain Mallet," I replied.
And forthwith I began a story of how I had chased a small Yankee
privateer for the last three days, and that she had given me the slip
but the night before.

"I shall make a report of this affair, and it shall be looked into," he
said. "Go back on board your vessel, and return to your
cruising-grounds."

I was sorely tempted to ask what business all this was of his, but I
held my tongue, and we went on deck together. The fog-bank was all about
us. The _Bat_ was nowhere to be seen. I could not help showing my
impatience. A gun was fired, and then another, and a third, but there
was no response.

All eyes were upon me, and in the group of officers I noticed an old man
in civilian's dress. He was a distinguished-looking figure, and I
overheard some one address him as Mr. Middleton.

"Middleton?" I repeated to myself. "Where have I heard that name
before?" I could not place it, but somehow it had staid in my
recollection.

"What's the explanation of this, Mr. Hurdiss?" asked Captain Mallet,
folding his arms and stepping in front of me.

"That's more than I can tell you," I replied.

As I spoke there came the sound of a shot off to windward.

"There's my vessel," I replied. "Might I ask you to set me on board of
her, or shall I consider myself under arrest, sir?"

"You shall consider yourself ordered on board your vessel, with
instructions to report to your superior at Dublin at once, to whom you
will give this letter."

Scarcely had the boatswain finished shrilling the call for the cutter
when the old gentleman in citizen's dress spoke up.

"As Dublin is my destination, Sir John, would it be possible for us to
be transferred to this young gentleman's vessel? It would save us much
time and trouble."

"I cannot order him to take you," replied the Captain, "but if he
chooses--"

The old man looked at me.

"My granddaughter and I," he began, "are very anxious to reach Ireland.
If you would do us the favor--"

I was anxious to get away without more parleying, as the boat was now
rocking at the foot of the ladder.

"Our quarters are not so large as those of the frigate," I began.

"I hope that this is not asking too much," went on Mr. Middleton,
earnestly, interrupting before I had finished.

I glanced over my shoulder, and I saw standing there the figure of a
tall young girl dressed in deep mourning.

I went hot and cold from my heart to my finger-tips. The shock came near
to paralyzing me.

"I think I can make you comfortable," I said, "if you will allow me to
row off and bring my vessel up while you are getting your luggage."

"Thank you very much," said Mr. Middleton; "we'll set about it."

I descended the ladder, jumped into the boat, and gave the orders to
pull out into the fog. When we had gone some four or five hundred yards,
I made a trumpet of my hands, and shouted:

"Oh, Mr. Chips! Where are you?"

"Here we are, sir!" came the reply close to us.

In another moment we were alongside, and the carpenter, in the uniform
of a British quartermaster, helped me on board.

"Mr. Chips," I said, hurriedly, "there will soon be some passengers come
off from the frigate. It is supposed that we are bound for Dublin."

"It is a roundabout way we'll take to get there, sir," he said,
grinning. "Who are they?"

"Never mind as to that," I answered. "Treat them with all courtesy, and
show them to my cabin."

When Mr. Middleton and his granddaughter, whose name the reader has
guessed by this time, were put on board of us, I made myself very
scarce, hiding in the fore-castle luckily, I thought it better to start
to the eastward and sail down to the frigate to allay any suspicion that
might still linger in Captain Mallet's mind. It was the best thing I
could have done, for we came up to her, finding her yet hove-to.

"Follow in our wake," came the order through the trumpet, as she rounded
off on the same course we were holding.

"Ay, ay, sir," I replied; and as soon as she had passed us and was out
of sight, I came about and headed to the west through the rain, with the
wind bearing the little cutter on, with (to me) the most precious cargo
in the world.

The passengers did not come on deck that afternoon; but late in the
evening the fog cleared away, and so far as we could see by searching
the horizon with a glass not a sail was in sight. I was leaning with my
back to the companionway, talking to Mr. Chips, who was at the tiller
(the _Bat_ had no wheel), when I heard the sound of a voice that
thrilled me through and through. My own talking apparatus was almost
normal by this time, I should have stated, although I now could sing
bass instead of tenor.

"Give the order to haul up that flag," I said to the carpenter, in an
undertone.

It was still bright light, and the sun had not dipped full below the
edge of the sea, and clear and bright in all its beautiful colors up
went to the peak the stars and stripes.

Mary had seen it first. "What does this mean, grandfather?" she said.

The old man could not reply.

"It means," said I, turning, "that Captain John Hurdiss has come in his
own vessel to get you, Mistress Tanner."

I did not know exactly what would be the result of this speech, but if I
had had any idea that it was to produce a sensation, the result
certainly proved the correctness of my surmisings. Mary gave a gasp and
stamped her foot upon the deck. The flash of her eye had more kinds of
feeling in it than one can describe.

"Traitor and coward!" she hissed, extending her clinched hands at her
sides with the knuckles upward in a rigid gesture. Then she gave a
half-inarticulate cry of rage, and turning, stepped down the
companionway into the cabin.

Before me was standing Mr. Middleton; his arms were folded, and his
fingers clasping and unclasping nervously.

"What in the name of Satan have we here?" he said. "What does this mean?
Who are you, and what are you?"

"I am John Hurdiss, the commander of this vessel," I answered in return,
folding my arms also, but keeping as quiet as I could. "I am a plain
American seaman. You are my guest, sir, and believe me that no harm will
come to you."

"You addressed my granddaughter just now as though you had some claim on
her. We are in your power, but--"

"Stay," I cried, lifting my hand. "My words may have been ill chosen,
but mark this--I would put a pistol to the man's head whose touch might
look to harm her, as I would to my own if my thoughts could threaten
treachery. Both you and she are safe, I pledge my honor!"

This speech, which really came from the depths of my heart, had the
effect of causing the old gentleman to relax his features somewhat.

"Thank you for this assurance," he said. "Will you tell me whither we
are bound, and why you inveigled us, pray, to come on board this
skipjack? What plot is this?"

"Oh, pardon me," I laughed; "it was your suggestion, and not mine. Every
moment that I spent on board that frigate I was in great danger, and not
only I, but these brave fellows who have stood by me so nobly. Besides I
had hoped, or at least supposed, that affairs might have turned out
differently."

"How so?" inquired Mr. Middleton, raising his eyebrows.

"The necessity for explaining my thoughts, sir, has passed," I answered,
tersely. "I was mistaken."

[TO BE CONTINUED.]




THE PAINTED DESERT.

A STORY OF NORTHERN ARIZONA.

BY KIRK MUNROE,

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


CHAPTER V.

A ROBINSON CRUSOE SITUATION.

When Todd reached the curtained doorway of the hut and looked out, he
could not have told whether he was more disappointed or relieved by the
sight that greeted him. He had fully expected to see human beings who
would either prove friends or foes. He hoped they would give him
something to eat, and at the same time feared they might kill him. But a
single glance showed him that for the moment both his fears and his
hopes were groundless. Instead of people he saw half a dozen goats
grouped in front of the doorway, and gazing at him expectantly. A little
kid among them bleated plaintively, and Todd knew in a moment that its
voice was the one he had mistaken for that of a child.

He looked eagerly about for a herdsman or a shepherd boy, for even the
tiniest Indian lad would have been welcomed just then; but none was to
be seen. In his keen disappointment he became filled with wrath at the
unoffending goats, and stepping forward with an angry gesture he bade
them begone. For an instant they seemed bewildered at such unaccustomed
treatment, and stood irresolute; but as Todd took another step towards
them they recognized him for an enemy; and scampering away, were quickly
lost to sight amid the surrounding trees.

Even before they disappeared the hungry boy regretted his hasty action.
"For," he said to himself, "I might have captured one of them, and so
have laid in a supply of food; or I might have milked the mother of that
kid. What a chump I am, anyway. Seems to me I am always acting first and
reflecting afterwards. I wonder if I can't overtake and make friends
with them even now?"

Thus thinking, he started in pursuit of the goats; but though he saw
them several times as they skipped among the trees, they easily eluded
his feeble efforts to catch them, for he was too weak to run, and they
were too well assured of his unfriendly intentions to allow him to
approach them.

"If I only had my rifle," sighed the lad. "Though what would be the good
of it anyway, for I haven't a fire nor any means of making one, and
hungry as I am I don't believe I could eat raw-goat. How do people
obtain fire under such circumstances anyhow? Matches? I haven't any. A
burning-glass? I don't suppose there is such a thing within five hundred
miles of this place. Rubbing two dry sticks together? That's all
nonsense, and I don't believe it can be done, for I've tried it, and
never succeeded in getting so much as a curl of smoke, let alone fire. I
remember reading about some fellow up in Alaska doing it. Serge
Belcofsky--yes, that was his name; but I don't believe he ever really
did. That same Serge made a fire another time with brimstone and
feathers, or at least the book said so; but as I haven't either of those
things, I don't see that it does me any good to remember it.

"Then there was Phil Ryder, who made a fire by cutting open one of his
cartridges, rubbing powder on his handkerchief, and shooting into it
with his rifle. I have plenty of cartridges, and so could get the
powder, but haven't any rifle--so that plan won't work. Flint and
steel? That's a way you hear a good deal about, though I never saw any
one really try it. Still, I suppose it can be done, and my knife will
furnish the steel if I can only find a flint. I wonder what a flint
looks like, anyway?"

By this time Todd had returned wearily to the hut and was sitting on the
stone that formed its doorstep. Now he began striking at this with the
back of his sheath-knife, and finally thought he saw a spark fly from
the point of contact; but it was such a fleeting thing, and disappeared
so instantly, that he could not be certain.

"Even if it was a spark," he said to himself, "how could anybody make a
fire from it? I should want one as big as those that fly from red-hot
horseshoes when the blacksmith pounds them, though I doubt if I could
get a blaze even then, they go out so quickly. So, Todd Chalmers, you
might as well make up your mind to go without a fire, and eat your food
raw--that is, if you get any at all, which looks very doubtful just now.

"Oh dear! What do people do when they are cast away on desert islands?
Not that this is one, but it's a desert valley, which is a great deal
worse, for the others are always in the tropics, and have bread-fruit
and things. And then the people always have wrecks to get supplies from,
the same as Robinson Crusoe did. If I only had such a snap as he had I
wouldn't say a word. Plenty of provisions, muskets, cutlasses, clothing,
turtles, grapes, and pieces of eight, besides the knowledge of how to
start a fire and make all sorts of things. No wonder he was grateful and
contented. He ought to have been. And the Swiss Family Robinson. There's
another cheerful crowd who had everything they wanted, and more than
they knew what to do with. I just wish I knew what any of those chaps
would do right here in my place at this very minute. I guess they'd find
out what soft times they had in being wrecked where they were and as
they were instead of the way I am. I suppose, though, they would start
right off into the woods, where they would run across all sorts of
fruits to eat and animals waiting to be cooked, besides everything they
needed to make houses and clothing of, so that inside of two weeks
they'd be living as comfortably and happily as though they were right
alongside a Baltimore market. They'd know how to make a fire without
matches too in at least a dozen different ways. That's what would happen
if they were book people; but if they were real live folks like I am I
don't believe they'd know any more how to get a square meal than I do at
this minute.

"Going into the woods, though, and hunting for something to eat isn't a
bad idea. There must be nuts or berries, or at least roots that would
keep a fellow from starving. I suppose some of them will be poisonous
and others won't, and the only way to find out which is which will be to
eat them. The poisonous ones will kill you and the others won't. At the
same time I shall surely die of hunger if I stay here doing nothing, and
so here goes for a breakfast."

Up to this time Todd had been so certain of finding people who would
supply him with food, that while fully realizing how faint and weak he
was growing for want of it, he had not regarded his situation as
perilous. From the moment of discovering the beautiful valley with its
abundant water, he had felt that all real danger was over. He had
imagined that the natives, after feeding him and allowing him a day's
rest in which to regain strength, would willingly guide him to the river
in return for the handsome reward that he knew he could safely promise
them in his brother's name. Now that there did not appear to be any
natives nor any food, it suddenly dawned upon our lad that he was very
little better off in this beautiful place than he had been amid all the
horrors of the Painted Desert, and it was with a decided feeling of
uneasiness that he set forth on his search for food.

He first examined two small structures that he discovered back of the
hut. One of these was evidently a fowl-house, and as soon as Todd
recognized its character he had visions of fresh eggs. "They will be
fine," he said to himself, "even if I can't cook them; for eggs are
almost as good raw as cooked, anyway." So, though he had not as yet seen
nor heard any hens, he entered the place hopefully. Yes, there were
several nests, and an egg in each one. But, alas! they were only nest
eggs that had done duty as such for so long a time that after breaking a
couple of them poor Todd was glad to make a speedy escape from their
vicinity. He was bitterly disappointed, and began to think that the
inhabitants of the valley had recently emigrated from it, taking
everything eatable, including their fowls, with them.

The other structure proved to be a corral or pen in which goats had been
confined, but now it was empty and its gate stood wide open.

Continuing his search for food wearily and despondently, our lad soon
came to several small fields, all showing traces of careful cultivation,
and all enclosed by stout fences of wattle. In these he found oats,
beans, squashes, and corn, of which the last named was the only one that
seemed edible in its raw state. So Todd began to gnaw hungrily at an ear
that had long since passed its green stage without becoming quite ripe
enough to be hard. It was merely tough and toothless. Still it could be
eaten, and served to fill, after a fashion, the aching void of which he
had long been painfully conscious.

Beyond the fields he found a small grove of peach-trees; but they had
been stripped of their fruit some time since, and what of it had fallen
to the ground had evidently been devoured by goats, so that not a single
peach rewarded his careful search.

By this time the sun stood directly overhead, and was pouring down a
heat so intense as to make him feel giddy. So the boy gathered up his
spoils, consisting of a sheaf of ripened oats, a dozen pods of beans, a
green squash, and two ears of tough corn, with which he returned to the
hut. There, after refreshing himself with a copious drink of water, he
attempted to eat in turn each of the things he had brought with him. The
green squash and raw beans were so unpalatable that he threw them out of
the door in disgust. The oats were fairly good; but extracting the
kernel from each separate grain was such slow work that he decided the
attempt to sustain life in that manner would prove only another form of
starvation.

"Oh, for a big dish of oatmeal and cream!" he exclaimed. "But I don't
suppose I shall ever see one again."

He also thought of squash pies and baked beans with regretful longings,
while the tough corn at which he gnawed with aching jaws suggested
muffins, hot cakes, corn bread, hominy, and all the other attractive
forms in which maize can be prepared, until he groaned aloud to think
how very far beyond his present reach all such things were.


CHAPTER VI.

TODD'S FAILURE AS A HUNTER AND A FIRE-MAKER.

"If this wretched corn was only hard enough to pound into meal,"
reflected Todd, "I might mix it with water and make a sort of chicken
feed that would at least keep me alive until I could find something
better. As it is, I believe I am using up more strength in eating it
than it will ever pay back. Oh, if I only had a fire in which to roast
it, what a difference it would make!

"Hello! what's that? A rabbit, sure's I'm sitting here. And there's
another! Why, the woods are full of them! I don't wonder the natives
have to protect their fields with tight fences. If I could catch one,
what a fine stew he'd make! I wonder how other fellows catch rabbits?
They are all the time doing it in books. Seems to me trapping is one of
the things that ought to be taught in school. My! how saucy these chaps
are!"

One of the rabbits had indeed ventured to within a dozen feet of where
the boy stood, attracted by the bits of green squash that he had thrown
from the door a few minutes earlier. Instinctively Todd picked up a
stone, while the rabbit, alarmed by the movement, ran off a short
distance and looked at him inquiringly. As no further movement was made
he presently returned to the bits of squash, where he was quickly joined
by a companion.

Trembling with eagerness, Todd let drive his missile. To his
astonishment it reached its destined mark, and one of the little
creatures rolled over with a sharp squeak, kicked convulsively, and
then lay quiet, while its companion scampered to a place of hiding.

"I hit him!" cried the young stone-thrower in a tone of mingled
amazement and delight, as he hastened to pick up his prize. "Who would
have thought that killing rabbits was so easy!"

No hunter of big game was ever prouder or more excited over his first
trophy than was our city-bred lad over this proof of his skill. "I
certainly can't starve," he said to himself, "so long as the supply of
rabbits and rocks holds out, and there seems to be plenty of both. Isn't
he fat, though!"

He had already carried his rabbit to the hut, stroking and admiring it
as he went. From the job of skinning and cleaning it he shrank with
repugnance, nor had he an idea of how to set to work. Still he knew
these things must be done, and drawing his hunting-knife from its sheath
he prepared to make a beginning. With the very first touch of the knife
the rabbit drew a gasping breath, and began to struggle so violently
that Todd dropped it in horror. In another moment the little creature,
which had only been stunned, had darted away and vanished, leaving one
of the most amazed boys in the world to gaze after it with an air of
utter bewilderment.

"If that don't beat anything I ever heard of!" he muttered. "I wonder if
they always have to be killed twice? That fellow would have jumped out
of his skin if I'd only held on tight enough. Never mind; it's a lesson
I won't forget in a hurry, and the next time I'll make sure that my game
is dead before I begin to skin it."

It did not seem, however, that there was to be any next time; for though
Todd filled his pockets with stones and hunted for more than an hour, he
did not see another rabbit until he again returned to the hut, and was
nearly tripped up by one that darted from the open doorway. It had been
attracted by a portion of the squash left on the floor, and noting this,
the lad threw out what remained, with the hope that it might cause
others to come within range of his missiles. Several were thus tempted
during the afternoon, but though the hungry lad threw stones at them
until he was weary, he did not succeed in hitting another. Finally,
pretty well convinced that the success of his first shot was an accident
not likely to be repeated, he gave up this method of obtaining rabbits,
and began to think of traps. As he had never made nor even seen one, the
only thing in the shape of a trap that suggested itself was a box, one
edge of which should rest on a short stick. He would use green squash
for bait, fasten one end of a long string to the stick, hold the other
in his hand, and when a rabbit was safely under the box jerk away the
support.

"It wouldn't do me any good if I did catch them," he reflected, "since I
have no fire with which to cook them. At the same time I don't see that
I am going to do much with raw vegetables, either, and so a fire does
appear to be one of the most necessary things. Seems to me I ought to
make one with a cartridge, the same as Phil Ryder did, even if I haven't
a rifle."

As a result of much thinking on this subject, Todd finally spread his
pocket-handkerchief on the table, laid one of the brass cartridges that
still filled his belt on it, and after a while succeeded in cutting it
in two close to its rear end. Emptying out the black powder, he threw
away the shell with its bullet still attached, and kept only that
portion containing the percussion-powder. The next thing was to lay the
handkerchief on the stone doorstep, spread the powder over it, and place
the firing portion of the shell in the middle. Then he hunted up a stone
that came to a point, and holding this firmly in his hand, struck the
percussion-shell a violent blow.

The result was instantaneous, and in a certain sense satisfactory. There
were a sharp explosion and a quick flash of flame that burned Todd's
right hand so severely that he ran to plunge it in the cooling waters of
the stream. When he returned to the hut, some five minutes later,
ruefully nursing his wounded hand, the only trace remaining of his
handkerchief was a film of ashes on the doorstep.

"I don't care," he remarked, stoutly. "I did make a fire, anyhow, and I
would do it again if I only had another handkerchief. As I haven't, I
suppose I must give up the idea for the present, and live on that
beastly raw corn until I can find some other kind of tinder. If I only
had some cotton, that would be the very thing. I might as well wish for
matches, though, and done with it, as to hope for cotton in a place like
this. It was a good scheme, all the same; every bit as good as Serge
Belcofsky's brimstone and feathers, and I would have had an elegant fire
by this time if I only hadn't burned my hand."

After Todd had again visited the field and brought back two more ears of
the much-despised corn, from which he expected to make a frugal supper
that night, and an equally unsatisfactory breakfast on the following
morning, the sun was so low in the western sky that the shadows of the
cliffs on that side extended clear across the valley. Night was close at
hand, and the lad dreaded its loneliness in that strange place, without
fire, or means of defence against its unknown dangers. For all that he
knew, both wild men and wild beasts might only be awaiting the coming of
darkness to attack him.

"I wonder if I hadn't better climb a tree," he reflected, "or shut
myself up in that hen-house? It at least has a stout door, which is more
than this hut possesses."

While he sat on the doorstep thinking of these things, and watching the
shadows pursue the waning sunlight up the face of the eastern cliffs,
his eye fell on something that caused him to start to his feet with an
exclamation. From some unseen source high up on the rocky wall a slender
column of blue smoke, curling gracefully towards the summit of the mesa,
was plainly visible. Nor was that all; for even as the lad gazed
wonderingly at it, a human figure clad in white appeared near the place
from which the smoke ascended, and after standing for a moment as though
looking expectantly down the valley, again moved out of sight.

"That explains everything," cried Todd. "The natives are cliff-dwellers,
and live somewhere up there among the rocks. From all accounts of such
people, although they are filthy and degraded, they are not half a bad
lot. So I'm going to hunt them out before it grows dark. Of course they
won't be able to understand a word I say, but I'll make that all right
somehow."

The excited boy had already set off in the direction indicated by the
smoke, and before long he came across a plainly marked trail leading
among the trees directly toward the cliffs. As it reached them it bent
sharply upward, becoming steeper and more rugged with every step.

Until now Todd had not realized how very weak he had grown through long
fasting and from his recent terrible experience on the desert. Every few
steps he was obliged to pause for breath, and several times he was so
overcome by giddiness that he was compelled to sit down. Thus his upward
progress was very slow, and the sun had set before he reached a point at
which the trail ended. Above him was a sheer face of rock some fifteen
feet high, in which were cut rude steps and handholds. It was like a
perpendicular rock ladder, and in his weakness Todd regarded it with
dismay. He was afraid, too, of his wounded hand, and wondered if he
could hold on by it.

"It's got to be tried, though," he said, resolutely, "for it would never
do to spend the night here, and I hate the thought of that lonely hut;
so here goes."

With this the boy began to climb slowly and unsteadily. If he had had
two sound hands and his normal strength, it would have been easy enough;
but weak, giddy, and wounded as he was, it seemed very doubtful if he
could gain the top. Now, too, he began to fear concerning the reception
that he might meet even if he succeeded. Suppose the natives should take
him for an enemy, how easy it would be for them to push him from his
precarious footing?

[Illustration:HE MADE A MISSTEP AND FELL HEAVILY.]

Filled with such thoughts, he had only ascended a few feet when suddenly
there came a loud shout from close behind him. So startling was it that
he made a misstep, clutched vainly at the smooth rock to save himself,
and with a despairing cry, fell heavily to the steep pathway, where he
lay stunned and motionless.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]




[Illustration: "The Little Portergee"

by Sophie Swett]


"Times bein' so hard, I can't see my way clear to keep that little
Portergee through the winter," said Cap'n 'Siah Doane, with a solemn
shake of his gray head.

And three hearts seemed to stand still; they were sixteen-year-old
Caddy's, who was the Hausmutter, and had knit the little "Portergee's"
winter supply of stockings and mittens as carefully as she had knit her
own boys', and young Josiah's and little Israel's, who had only truly
enjoyed life since they had had a companion who knew as much of the
great world as the geography and a fairy-book put together. For the
little "Portergee," Manuel Silva, had been tossed upon the Cape Cod
sands by a wreck, after cruising about in all the seas, and picking up
sixteen years' worth of knowledge in many lands.

It was almost into the door-yard of Cap'n 'Siah Doane's weather-beaten
cottage at the Point that he had been carried by a discriminating wave;
and with a dislocated shoulder, and a wound on the head which, as Cap'n
'Siah declared, would have killed anything but a "pesky little
Portergee," he staid.

There were summer visitors to Tooraloo, and he had done errands for
them, and shared young Josiah's jobs of fishing and clamming for the
boarding-houses, and generally been "worth his keep," as Cap'n 'Siah
carefully figured out, being a thrifty and prudent soul. In fact,
Tooraloo people generally thought that Cap'n 'Siah would have been
better off if he had been less prudent and cautious. He wouldn't take
the least risk for fear of losing; he would scarcely go fishing with a
fair wind lest it should become a foul one before he came back, and he
wouldn't raise cranberries lest the market should be over-supplied when
he came to sell.

"Now God made things chancy to develop folks, and he made 'em chancier
than common on Cape Cod," Uncle Saul Nickerson, of Tooraloo, was always
saying as a hint to Cap'n 'Siah. And little Israel had heard so much
about his grandfather's bump of caution that he thought it must mean the
wen on the top of his bald head.

In the winter there were no jobs in Tooraloo. Manuel had talked of going
to Kingstown, where there were many of his race, to try to get a chance
to sail with a Portuguese captain; but they had all protested earnestly
against his leaving, and little Israel had raised a mighty wail. Manuel
said he never had struck a home port before, and it was evident that he
longed with all his heart to stay. But with a hard winter before them
Cap'n 'Siah's bump of caution had got into working order, and he had
made the dreadful announcement with which this story begins.

They all looked at each other in consternation; and even Caddy, who had
grown very sensible by having to look out for them all, felt a rush of
tears to her eyes.

At that very moment the little "Portergee" was digging his heels into
the sand--which he did when he had on his thinking-cap as naturally as a
Yankee boy whistles--and saying to himself that he should immediately go
away, it was so dull, if he didn't feel as if he must stay and take care
of these people who had been so kind to him. He meditatively tapped the
top of his own thickly thatched head where the wen was on the Cap'n's,
and shook his head with sad significance. He, like little Israel,
thought that wen was the bump of caution which kept Cap'n 'Siah from
everything that was enterprising.

"If I do not stay and take care of them they are los'!" said the little
"Portergee" to himself.

But how? For a brave and enterprising spirit what opportunities had
Tooraloo? There was a shadow of discouragement upon even Manuel's stout
heart; but just then Hiram Tinker called to him from the dory in which
he was putting in to shore.

"Seen the herrin'? Kingstown Harbor is chockfull of 'em! Greatest sight
anybody ever see! All the traps and seines and nets are full a'ready,
and they're gettin' the cold-storage plants ready to take 'em in. Seems
as if all the herrin' in creation had drifted into Kingstown Harbor!"

Manuel didn't hear the last words; he was running around to the cove
where Michael Fretas lived. Michael was Portuguese. He owned a small
fishing-boat, and Manuel had helped him to paint and letter her in the
summer. Manuel could paint straight letters--that is, nearly straight.
Michael's daughter, who taught school farther up the cape, had wished to
name the vessel the _Daylight_; but Manuel's spelling of English was a
little uncertain, and he made her the _Delight_ instead. And Michael
said he would not have it changed because Manuel was his friend and
countryman.

Michael was an old man, and his daughters sent him money, and he now
never used his fishing-boat in the winter, but no one had ever been able
to hire it, and Manuel's eager face was clouded with doubt as he ran
around to Michael's house in the Cove.

They were still talking about sending him away, Cap'n 'Siah insisting,
and Caddy and the others remonstrating with tears, when Manuel burst
into the living-room and poured out the story of the great catch of
herring in Kingstown Harbor. The doubt was all gone from his face now,
and the eagerness was like a flame.

"You don't say! Seems as if we'd ought to get a couple of barrels to
salt; or, if they're so plenty as you say, some to manure the garden.
But there! we hain't got anything but a row-boat, and we can't. Such
chances ain't for poor folks," and Cap'n 'Siah sighed heavily.

"I am going--in the _Delight_. We want barrels, empty barrels, and all
must go--all!" cried Manuel, breathlessly.

"The _Delight_! How come he to let you have her?" demanded Cap'n 'Siah;
but Manuel and young Josiah were already rolling empty barrels down to
the slip, and Caddy was putting up a basket of provisions, and essaying
at the same time the difficult task of buttoning little Israel into his
thick jacket while he turned a somersault.

They were on board the _Delight_, with nets and barrels, and Jo Fretas,
Michael's nephew, slightly infirm of wit but strong of body, to help,
and the sails were spread to a favoring breeze, when Cap'n 'Siah was
discovered, hurrying as fast as he could, and shouting to them to wait.

"I expect it won't cost me nothin' to see what's goin' on. Anyhow, I
sha'n't pay for the boat!" he said, as he came on board. "How come he to
let you have her?"

But now Manuel was running back to the house. When he returned he
offered no explanation, but Caddy caught sight of the rough little
checker-board that he had made tucked under his pea-jacket, and heard
the rattle of the wooden checker-men in his pocket.

Cap'n 'Siah was extremely fond of a game of checkers; but it was only a
short sail to Kingstown, and there was no danger of being becalmed, and
on a trip that promised so much excitement who would think of checkers?

Caddy even remembered the blow on the head which it had once been feared
would injure Manuel's reasoning faculties. If Manuel should prove to be
foolish, her grandfather must not send him away! They would take care of
him always! So thought Caddy, with a dry sob in her throat.

[Illustration: THE HARBOR HAD NEVER BEEN PACKED WITH FISH LIKE THIS.]

Not the half had been told about the herring. Since the world began
Kingstown had never seen her harbor packed with fish like this. The
waves tossed them upon the wharves into the baskets and barrels of those
who had no nets, at the very feet of the vagrant Kingstown cats, who,
for lack of rod and line, had been forced to haunt the fish-houses.

The herring had only just appeared, but it was estimated that when all
appliances were ready a thousand barrels a day could be taken.

They worked with a will, all the little party from Tooraloo Point, even
Cap'n 'Siah, although he grumbled that herring wouldn't be worth
nothing, there were so many, and that the _Delight_ would surely sink if
they loaded her so heavily, and that they could never get salt enough to
salt so many herring, and if they ate so many they should be like
pin-cushions before spring.

There had been a fair wind to carry them down to Kingstown, and in
returning they were forced to beat.

"But there's going to be a change," said Manuel, surveying the heavens
with a sailor's practised eye, "and after we get round the Point 'twill
be all right."

That was when they were making their way out of Kingstown Harbor, and
little Israel was shouting with wonder at the herring, which sometimes
seemed like a great wall, through which the _Delight_ pushed her bow
slowly.

"Round the Point?" echoed young Josiah and Caddy, wonderingly; and Caddy
thought again of the blow on the head that had been enough to kill
anything but a "Portergee."

And Manuel, growing suddenly pale, and showing new, strong lines in his
sharp little sixteen-year-old face, beckoned them impressively aft--yet
not so far aft as to be overheard by Jo Fretas, who was at the helm.
Cap'n 'Siah was watching the herring with little Israel, and saying, "I
wum! I never see so much of anything in my life, without 'twas sand."

Manuel had to use persuasion when he divulged his plan, chiefly with
Caddy, who had inherited some of her grandfather's caution, and who had
never been to Boston, fifty miles away, in her life.

Young Josiah had demurred but little, and that only--as in a candid
moment he afterwards confessed to Manuel--because he hadn't planned it.
As for young Josiah's being afraid, like Caddy--catch him!

Caddy was afraid little Israel would be seasick, and was sure that her
grandfather would jump overboard, but Manuel tapped the top of his head
significantly, and upon second thoughts Caddy decided that his bump of
caution would be likely to prevent that.

And at last, when the Point was already in sight, Caddy, with her chin
looking pretty square, as young Josiah said, called her grandfather to
come down into the _Delight_'s very small cabin and play checkers.

Cap'n Josiah came with alacrity, for he could never get checker-playing
enough; moreover, the wind was growing fresh, and it was chilly on deck.
He said maybe there would be time for a game before they got home, and
Manuel was a good little "Portergee" to think of the board.

"Let him beat! _Make_ him beat! Play like fox!" whispered Manuel to
Caddy, as she followed her grandfather into the cabin.

And the _Delight_ rounded the Point and found a more favoring wind, as
Manuel had predicted, and the little weather-beaten house on the shore
was left desolate and alone, with the early shadows of the November
afternoon closing in upon it; while Cap'n 'Siah hilariously beat Caddy
at checkers, and quite forgot that it was time they should be at home.
When Caddy was forced to light a lamp in the little cabin, he sprang to
his feet, and demanded, in great excitement, where that "pesky little
Portergee" was letting the vessel drift to.

Manuel appeared in the doorway to explain, with young Josiah looking
over his shoulder--although young Josiah was but thirteen, he was
taller than Manuel--and with little Israel's beaming face thrust forward
between his knees.

"It is not Portuguese like Jo Fretas and me who let the vessel drift. To
navigate is in our blood, like the great Colombo!" Manuel drew his
spiderlike little figure up as tall as he possibly could. "We carry the
first herring to Boston; the very first, because the others have wait to
load more. There is fair wind, and the moon will shine bright; before
morning we shall be there. To carry you off was disrespect, and I lament
him." Manuel removed his small cap and bowed profoundly. "But you are
known there in Boston as great ship-master; you have license to sell
these many years."

Cap'n 'Siah sat down and mopped his brow--and his wen.

"I was consid'able well known up there before things went wrong, and I
got so kind of discouraged," he admitted. "But you--you're a terrible
resky little Portergee!"

Manuel drew a breath that made his small chest heave; it was going to be
all right with Cap'n 'Siah, whom he did not fear, but loved.

"The disrespect I lament him," he repeated, anxiously, "but the wind so
fair, and to be the first in with the herring, and the _Delight_ so
comfortable, with bunks for every one except Jo and me, who have known
life, and are content with coils of rope!"

"How come he to let you have the vessel?" asked Cap'n 'Siah, abruptly.

"Michael Fretas he is my friend and countryman," answered Manuel,
evasively.

There was all the moonlight that Manuel had promised, and the wind held
instead of going down at night-fall, as it so often does; in fact, it
made the waves so rough that as they drew near Boston Light little
Israel was very seasick, and even Caddy had a qualm. But who remembered
that when the _Delight_ thrust her sharp little nose between the larger
vessels that lay at T wharf, in the murky morning light? Little Israel
felt that life had suddenly turned into a fairy-story, and young Josiah,
and even Caddy, had little doubt that the family fortunes were made.

Alas and alas! T wharf was piled with barrels of herring! On an
adjoining wharf was a small mountain of the fish, as they had been
shovelled from a schooner! The great catch had begun to reach the Boston
market in the steamer that got in the night before, and in two or three
large schooners that could take all the wind out of the little
_Delight_'s sails!

"Why hadn't you listened to me and kept from such foolhardy pranks!"
cried Cap'n 'Siah, in angry despair. "Here we be, likely to be becalmed,
and not get home for a week, with a cargo that's good for nothing but to
heave overboard, and no victuals to eat!"

Little Israel gave way to despair at this dreadful prospect and set up a
mighty roar. Caddy thought it was better, after all, to have a bump of
caution; and young Josiah, with red rims appearing around his eyes, as
they always did when he was frightened, looked inquiringly at the leader
of the enterprise.

"It is so--as I have hardly thought it possible--the market is glut!"
said the leader, calmly, but with a sharp line between his tensely drawn
brows.

"Little mites of herring, too! Look how big them are!" Cap'n 'Siah
pointed to the barrels nearest them on the wharf.

"He told me to pick 'em out small!" said young Josiah, in an aggrieved
tone, for his faith in the leader had begun to waver.

The color leaped suddenly into Manuel's sharp, thin little face.

"It is true they are small; one must provide a little for the evil day,
even when one shall not think the market will be glut! I go, but I will
be back again by-and-by!"

He made his way swiftly through the crowd of clamoring fish-dealers,
with which the wharf was already alive, and in the long avenue that led
to the street he disappeared from their sight.

"That's the last we shall ever see of that tarnal little Portergee!"
said Cap'n 'Siah.

But after the Cap'n had threatened to throw the herring overboard, to
sell them for enough to buy a breakfast, and never to pay for the boat,
Caddy had given way to tears in company with little Israel, and young
Josiah had permitted himself to express a preference for Yankees, Manuel
came walking across the plank to the _Delight_, his small brown face
aglow.

A man came with him, well dressed and with a business-like air, but
dark-skinned and with ear-rings. Manuel introduced him proudly as his
friend and countryman, José Macés, foreman of the great canning factory
in ---- Street. He would buy the little herring; it was of them that
sardines were made in his factory.

"It is why I have choose the small ones," Manuel explained, serenely.

But it was not until Cap'n 'Siah saw the barrels loaded upon a great
dray, with the name of José Macés's firm upon it, that he could believe
the good fortune.

They all had to count the money over twice; it seemed too much to be
true; and little Israel bit and rung the silver pieces. Then Manuel made
them go to a restaurant on Atlantic Avenue to breakfast, and although
Cap'n 'Siah thought it was reckless extravagance, he murmured all the
way that Manuel was a "dreadful cute little Portergee." At the
restaurant he met two sea-captains who were old friends, and had so good
a time that he forgot how reckless it all was.

But when the _Delight_ had set sail for her homeward voyage he grew
silent and dejected. He wished he had a vessel he owned; the old
captains had told him that he ought to go sandin'; that there was money
in it.

"But the _Delight_! She will be so good a vessel for that," said Manuel,
calmly. "It is true that I have contracts with the canning factory to
deliver many herring--and mackerel too, in their season; but there will
be times--oh, plenty, until we buy another boat, to use her for the
sanding too!"

"What in nater are you talking about? Don't you know that Michael Fretas
won't lend his boat?" growled Cap'n 'Siah.

"The _Delight_ she begin to-day to be mine. I agree to pay the first
instalment from the herring money; after that it will be easy, and--the
disrespect I lament him--but if you would share in the business--and
afterwards young Josiah--and with Mees Caddy to keep the home port
snug--" Manuel took off his old cap, with one of his beautiful bows.

"And I thought of letting you go away," said Cap'n 'Siah, with something
between a growl and a sob in his throat.

"Oh, but I should not--nevair!" cried Manuel, his little peaked face
alight. "You that have been so good and make true home for me, should I
leave you to take care of yourself?"

Cap'n 'Siah's great grizzly chin actually quivered; he threw back his
head and laughed to hide it. "If you ain't the all-tiredest little
Portergee!" he said.

[Illustration: THE END.]




CRETE, AND HER STRUGGLE FOR FREEDOM.

BY CYRUS C. ADAMS.


A glance at the map on the next page shows a chain of islands stretching
like a bent bow from the southern shore of Greece to the coast of Asia
Minor. These island stepping-stones, bridging more than one-half the way
across the sea, are nothing more nor less than the tops of mountain
ranges with shallow valleys in between, their bases resting on the
sea-floor. The largest of these islands is Crete. It is almost exactly
twice as large as our Long Island, and if we were to stand on the south
coast of Greece on a clear day, we should see the mountains of Crete
looming above the sea. We might call it a Greek island, for nature made
it a part of Greece, just as Long Island is naturally a part of America,
and the people and development of Crete are Grecian to this day. The
limestone mountains that stretch east and west through Crete are a part
of the very ranges that extend through southern Greece and jut out into
the sea as promontories, just as our Aleutian chain of islands is
geologically a part of the Alaskan mountain range. Why is it, then, that
Crete, geographically a part of Greece, and peopled, as it is, by
Greeks, is politically severed from the mother-country? It is simply
because ever since human history was recorded the nations, by their
treaties and wars, have disposed of whole peoples without consulting
them at all. This is the reason why Crete is a Turkish island. This is
why the whole civilized world sympathizes with the Cretans in their
aspirations for good government and their long struggle for freedom.

Numerous revolts against Turkish misrule have made Crete a battle-field
from end to end; and perhaps Crete is the only region in the whole world
where one may stand at a single point, and see spread before him
practically every spot made memorable by the most momentous events in
the nation's history. Snow-crowned Mount Ida is the culminating point of
the island, 8060 feet above the sea. It stands in the centre of Crete,
and tourists, well bundled in woollens even on a summer day, conducted
by a guide to the top of the mountain, find it well worth the labor, for
Europe has no finer view. If the day is clear, the whole of Crete is in
plain view, save some areas of lowland hidden by hills. All the towns
fringing the seaboard are in the panorama. The eye may range far over
the Ægean Sea, resting on one and another of the beautiful islands of
the Cyclades; and then turning from nature's grand and varied aspects,
the guide willingly points out the scenes that human struggle has made
memorable, just as Waterloo is fought over again every day for visitors
who are led to a height overlooking the historic field.

"In that pass," the guide will say, "the Cretans ambushed the Turks, and
killed them to a man. On the west side of that hill yonder are some
ancient quarries, dug deep into the hill, with passages so intricate
that it is called the Labyrinth; and there 500 of our Christian families
took refuge, in the revolt of 1820, and the Turks never found them.
Those women and children went peaceably back to their homes after quiet
came again. Do you see that big oak-tree right down this slope? That
marks the entrance to the cave in which the Turks suffocated 300 of our
women and children and old men in 1822. In that valley yonder the
Cretans made their last bloody stand in 1859; and down that wide slope,
far to the west, the Sfakiotes poured, in 1866, to attack the Turks near
the coast." So he goes on pointing out the battle-fields where Cretan
blood has been given like water in the cause of independence. All parts
of the island have witnessed their sufferings, and particularly that
lying between Mount Ida and the White Mountains. The Cretans are brave
fighters, and they have failed to win simply because, after they were
stripped of resources and nearly dead of exhaustion, the Turks could
still pour fresh troops and munitions into their mountains and plains.

Aristotle said, twenty-two centuries ago, that Crete would become a
great centre of commercial exchange, because it lay midway between
Europe, Asia, and Africa. This is the reason why it has been the prey of
so many nations all through the Christian era. The Greeks who colonized
it, no one knows how long before the dawn of history, were supreme till
Crete was absorbed in the Roman empire. Then Byzantine emperors ruled
it, and later it was captured by the Saracens, recaptured by a Byzantine
general, sold to the Venetian Republic, and while Venice was its master
the island had 400 years of greater prosperity than it has ever known
since. Then the Venetians and the Turks waged a long war in Crete for
possession, a feature of which was the longest siege on record. It was
twenty years after the Turks invested the city of Candia before their
army made its way inside the walls. Then the whole island submitted, and
Crete has been a Turkish province ever since.

Under all her masters Crete has remained Greek. No other people in
eastern Europe use the expression "Motherland," a term the Cretans apply
to Greece. There are about 300,000 Cretans, and nearly all of them are
of Greek descent. Most of the Mohammedans, who number over a quarter of
the population, are of the same blood. Their Cretan forefathers, to save
their lives, embraced Islam, reared their children in that faith, and to
this day the Koran is expounded to them in the Greek language, for very
few understand Turkish. The universal language is Greek--not pure modern
Greek, but a dialect that has often suggested humorous criticism in
Athens; nevertheless, it is as good Greek as Yorkshirese is good
English.

Into this land came the alien Turk, 250 years ago, with his
tax-gatherers, janizaries, and priests. He has done nothing for the
island except to oppress it. His sole purpose was to wring from the
wretched people all the taxes they could pay. Only a few thousand Turks,
besides the officials, soldiers, and priests have ever lived in Crete.
The Turkish outrages in Bulgaria, which caused the Russo-Turkish war of
1877, were long equalled and surpassed in Crete. Travellers and
historians say that up to 1830 Crete was the worst-governed province of
the Turkish empire. At that time, when the Cretans had been at war for
nine years against their oppressors, the intervention of the powers
secured some betterment of their condition, and further privileges were
conferred upon them in 1878 through pressure exerted by the Berlin
Congress. Crete has since been better governed than most Turkish
provinces, but the Sultan's yoke was galling none the less.

Nine revolutions, some lasting for years, have cost the blood of many
thousands of Cretan patriots; and what has Crete gained by the promises
extorted from the Sultan? With a genial sky, a rich soil, and a
commanding commercial position, the Cretans are very poor. They have no
internal improvements, no cheap means of sending their products to the
sea, little commerce, few schools or other advantages of civilization,
and too few farm laborers to gather large crops if they raised them.
Crete is supposed to have now about one-third the population it
supported when the Christian era dawned.

In April last the people revolted again, and the clamors of the powers
made the Sultan promise that definite reforms would be carried out at
once. His pledges were empty words. When a fresh revolt began, a few
weeks ago, the Cretans had no police, nor any other machinery for
preventing or punishing crime. One cause of last year's revolt was that
the Christians could not get justice in the law courts. The Sultan
promised that the judiciary should be reorganized, but three months ago
he decreed that the old courts should be continued.

Crete cannot forgive the Turks for their enormities. The list is very
long, but here is a specimen: In 1822, 300 women, children, and decrepit
old people took refuge in the cave of Melidoni. The Turkish soldiers who
were pursuing them, built a great fire before the narrow opening, and
the wind blew all the smoke into the cavern. The wretched fugitives
retreated to the depths of the cave, but all in vain. They perished of
suffocation, and their bodies were unburied, until drippings from the
roof covered them at last with a calcareous winding-sheet.

[Illustration]

Typical mountaineers live in the White Mountains of the west, in whose
veins there is scarcely any admixture of foreign blood. They have
guarded their valleys with jealous care, to prevent any intimate contact
with foreigners, and whether Romans, Arabs, Venetians, or Turks have
ruled the island, they have preserved the purity of their clans. The
Sfakiotes, as they are called, have always been foremost in the
uprisings against the Sultan.

The Cretans prefer union with Greece to autonomy, and this choice is
probably wise. If left to themselves they and their Mohammedan relations
might find it difficult to allay their long and deep-seated antagonism.
If the island becomes a part of Greece, King George's government will
keep the peace in Crete, and time will heal the wounds that have been
kept open so many years. When the Turkish flag leaves the island forever
a great many of the Mussulmans will doubtless return to the faith of
their Christian fathers. Long ago the powers made the Sultan promise
that persecution on religious grounds should cease in Crete. This
promise has been partly fulfilled, and many Mohammedan families of Greek
origin have returned to the Greek faith.

Why is Greece so eager to help these islanders throw off the Turkish
yoke? It is easy to see the reason, when we think of the ties that bind
these peoples together. When the Greeks won their independence from
Turkey, early in this century, the Cretans fought side by side with
them, and bore as glorious a part in that great struggle as any soldiers
of the Greek mainland. In all the revolts in Crete that have occurred in
nearly every decade of this century tens of thousands of Cretans have
fled to Greece, saving nothing but their lives, and have been supported,
at enormous cost, by the Greek people. We may find Cretans to-day all
over Greece prominent and influential in her army, navy, civil service,
and social life; and it is impossible to draw between the Greeks of the
island and those of the mainland a greater distinction than that between
Englishmen and Scotchmen. Who can wonder, therefore, that bound together
as they are by race, history, and common interests, Greece yearns to
rescue her brethren from further pillage and misery, and at the same
time save herself hereafter from the agitation, unrest, and great
expense which each recurring revolt, at her very doors, inflicts upon
her own people?

These Cretans, among the most patriotic people in the world, have
perhaps atoned in bitterness for the sins of their unpatriotic fathers.
In ancient times it was the reproach of the Cretans that they had no
love for the motherland, and that in the civil wars in Greece their
mercenary troops were sent to support the cause that paid them the most
money. They were themselves divided into petty little states, which made
it all the easier for foreigners to conquer them. The dream of their
sons is to become a part of united and progressive Greece: and if the
shadow of the Orient may be removed from Crete, and she may share
Greece's growing strength, we may expect to hear better things of the
island which nature has so highly favored, and man alone has cursed.




[Illustration: INTERSCHOLASTIC SPORT]


St. Paul's School, Concord, probably has as great a variety of winter
sports as any school in the country, and, as at Lawrenceville, every
student is expected to take his part in some athletic exercise. A few
years ago tobogganing was one of the most popular winter sports, but of
late hockey has rather usurped its prominence.

[Illustration: LOOKING ACROSS THE LOWER POND TOWARDS THE CHAPEL, ST.
PAUL'S SCHOOL.]

St. Paul's has a toboggan slide nearly 1000 feet long, with a fall of
250 feet. Four years ago, before the Canadian game came in vogue, every
boy had a toboggan, or a share in one; now not fifty care for it.
Snow-shoeing and winter trapping, on the other hand, are rapidly growing
in popularity. There are many opportunities for the pursuit of both
these sports, and probably one out of every ten boys in the school has
trophies of his traps upon his walls.

[Illustration: THE UPPER POND, ST. PAUL'S SCHOOL.]

Skating is indulged in by the great majority of the students. There are
two ponds by the school--the Upper and the Lower ponds. These, with the
connecting "strait" and the adjacent "gulfs" (actually large
puddles)--"Mexico" and "Guinea"--offer a skating surface large enough to
accommodate 5000 people.

Every one plays hockey. Each building has a team, each "form" (_i.e._,
class), and often scrub teams representing the various tables play for
the championship of the dining-room. All this is more or less "scrub."
The greater interest centres in the club games. In this sport, as in
every other, except rowing, the school is divided into three clubs--Old
Hundred, Isthmian, and Delphian. _Every_ boy joins some club. In hockey
alone each club has a first, second, and third team.

There is also a school hockey team. Last Easter they played St. Nicholas
at the latter's rink in this city, and were defeated, 10-2. Last
Christmas a second game was played, and the school was again defeated,
5-1. A third game is to be played at Easter this year. The great fault
has been that the boys have not been able to keep up the faster pace set
by their opponents. The first twenty minutes has seen good play; then
the New-Yorkers have done as they chose. The school has a large rink,
which can be flooded at will. It is much used.

Golf has been tried on the snow, but has few followers. Coasting is
fairly popular, and the hills are good, but some serious accidents in
the past have forced the school authorities to certain rules which
materially restrict the sport.

Members of the school hockey team (and one substitute) are allowed to
wear the "S.P.S." sweater, with crossed hockeys behind the letters.
These school sweaters are very highly coveted. They go to the school
football eleven and five substitutes, to the school cricket eleven and
three substitutes, to all who break records on the track, and to the
best eight oarsmen--these last chosen from the first two crews by a jury
composed of two representatives from each rowing club. Football and
cricket and crew sweaters are marked S.P.S. The sweaters given for track
performance bear in addition "A.A."

There was a number of events at the in-door meeting of the First
Regiment Athletic Club (Chicago) in which high-school athletes entered.
In several events they won places. In the 40-yard dash, Powell of Hyde
Park (4 yards) took his heat in 4-3/5 secs., and McKinnen of Oak Park,
with the same handicap, got first in another heat, 4-4/5 secs., but both
were defeated in the semi-finals. The time made in the finals was 4-2/5
secs. In the long runs the track was by far too crowded with contestants
for any successful racing, and one or two men were hurt at the turns.

In the half-mile run, Boyne of Hyde Park, with a handicap of 40 yards,
took second place. Actually he was only third, for the man who took
second was protested for cutting a corner. In the high-school relay race
of one mile, with five starters, there were three schools
entered--English High, Lake View, and Hyde Park. The event was won by
the former with the close margin of six yards only, in the very good
time of 3 min. 19 secs. Their relay team consisted of E. A. Fitch, D. W.
Kelley, W. A. Boley, G. H. Stillman, and L. S. Wells.

The schools of the Inter-preparatory League held a three-quarter-mile
relay race, four men to the team. There were but two contestants in this
event, the University School and the Princeton-Yale School. The former
won easily in 2 min. 47 secs. Their team was made up of G. Henneberry,
Robert Ross, C. W. Popper, and F. Maysenberg. The half-mile walk was a
scratch event, but in spite of this, Dowd, who is the best man at that
event among the Chicago schools, came in a very close second to the
winner, the time for the event being 3 min. 47-3/5 secs.

The University of Chicago in-door meet, which was held February 26, drew
a well-filled house, and plenty of interest was shown in all the events.
The most interesting numbers on the programme were the various team
races, the one for high-schools coming next to last on the programme.
Among the many contestants, some were from Northwestern University, Lake
Forest University, Knox College, University of Wisconsin, and all the
big athletic clubs of the city. The high-school boys showed up
remarkably well; many of their best runners won heats in the 50-yard
dash, but only one secured a place in the finals. D. W. Kelly, of
English High, with a handicap of 10 feet, was beaten by the well-known,
C.A.A. man C. A. Klunder (8 feet).

In the 880-yard run, a scratch event, having many of the University of
Chicago and other university men in it, another English High-School man
brought honor to his school. E. A. Fitch came in second, the time of the
event being 2.14-4/5. Englewood did well in the walking events. In the
half-mile walk, W. O. Dowd (20 yards) won the event in 3.27, A. D.
Brookfield coming in third, having had a 30-yard start. The best amateur
walkers of the city were in the event, including C. O. Berg, who took
second place from scratch.

In the 440-yard run D. Bell, the fastest man for the distance in the
Inter-preparatory League, took second place. In the 1-mile relay race
for high-schools, eight to enter, six to start, Hyde Park repeated her
performance of a year ago, and took the pennant. Her runners were Frank
Linden, Roland Ford, Burt Powell, Paul Chase, Dan Trude, and Ralph
Pingree, each going 1/6 made the mile in 4.59-1/5. English High showed
up well. Englewood also sent a good team.

All in all, the evening was satisfactory for the high-schools. It
brought out some new talent, and showed the schools something of what
might be expected of their men in the spring meets.

LAST YEAR'S RECORDS AT THE MADISON SQUARE GARDEN GAMES.


  Event.                     Performance.

  50-yard dash (Senior)             6     sec.
  50-yard dash (Junior)             5-4/5 sec.
  220-yard dash                     26-1/5 sec.
  Quarter-mile run                  57-4/5 sec.
  Half-mile run               2 m.  12-1/5 sec.
  One-mile run                4 m.  56     sec.
  50-yard hurdle (3 ft.)             7-2/5 sec.
  One-mile walk               7 ft. 59-2/5 sec.
  Running high jump           5 ft.  7-1/2 in.
  Running broad jump         19 ft.  2-1/2 in.
  Pole vault                 10 ft.
  Putting 12-lb. shot        42 ft.  1     in.
  Relay race                  4 m.   2-1/5 sec.

  Event.                     Winner.

  50-yard dash (Senior)      R. W. Moore, Barnard, N.Y.
  50-yard dash (Junior)      W. A. Robinson, St. Paul's, L.I.
  220-yard dash              W. M. Robinson, Worcester Academy, Mass.
  Quarter-mile run           C. R. Irwin-Martin, Berkeley, N.Y.
  Half-mile run              W. S. Hipple, Barnard, N.Y.
  One-mile run               E. W. Mills, Berkeley, Boston.
  50-yard hurdle (3 ft.)     A. F. Beers, De La Salle, N.Y.
  One-mile walk              A. L. O'Toole, English High-School, Boston.
  Running high jump          F. R. Sturtevant, Hartford High-School.
  Running broad jump         A. F. Beers, De La Salle, N.Y.
  Pole vault                 R. G. Paulding, Black Hall, Conn.
  Putting 12-lb. shot        F. C. Ingalls, Hartford High-School.
  Relay race                 St. Paul's School, L.I.

The table at the top of the page gives the figures made at the
Knickerbocker A.C. in-door interscholastic games last year. As there was
never before an interscholastic in-door meet under the auspices of the
New York I.S.A.A., these figures stand therefore as the N.Y.I.S.A.A.
in-door records. If space allows, the New York scholastic in-door
records will be printed in an early issue, for the sake of comparison.

The handball championship of the Long Island Interscholastic League has
been won by Poly. Prep., the record of games being as follows:

  School.              Won.   Lost.

  Poly. Prep.           15      3
  Adelphi                7      5
  Brooklyn High          5      5
  Pratt                  0     14

The man who developed the best playing qualities during the season was
undoubtedly Clark of Poly. Prep., and ranking next to him, I think, are
Frothingham and Robinson.

The feature of the Newton High-School's in-door meeting, held on
Washington's birthday, was the breaking of the record in the 300-yard
run. This was done by H. B. Owens in 40 secs. He also ran from scratch
in the 30-yard dash in 3-4/5 sec. If he comes to the Knickerbocker A.C.
games he will be a hard man to beat.

It is reported from Philadelphia that an interscholastic association of
oarsmen is to be formed, and I believe that active steps toward the
organization have already been made. Rowing is rapidly becoming more
and more popular as an interscholastic sport, and this is the second
rowing association formed by schools this year, the first one being that
of the Milwaukee High-Schools.

The new spirit which is invigorating interscholastic sport in the middle
West has taken the form of a very good set of regulations that have been
adopted by the high-schools of Wisconsin. As I am frequently asked for
similar texts, I print these in full:

ADMINISTRATION.

     1. A committee of three shall be elected annually at the annual
     meeting of the State Teachers' Association by the principals
     subscribing to these rules, whose duty it shall be to have general
     charge of all interscholastic contests under these rules.

     2. The chairman of the Athletic Committee of the University of
     Wisconsin shall be an arbitrator, whose duty it shall be to decide
     upon alleged violations of these rules.

     3. The principal of the school, or persons authorized by him, shall
     be the manager or managers of the teams representing the school.

     4. No game shall be played with any team without the sanction of
     the principal.

     5. No contests shall be arranged with other than school teams
     acting under these rules.

     6. Non-playing captains and managers shall conform to the same
     rules as players, unless they be members of school faculty.

     7. The principal, or his authorized representatives, shall
     accompany his team to all contests.

QUALIFICATIONS OF CONTESTANTS.

     1. To represent a high-school in any athletic contest a person must
     be a _bona fide_ student in regular attendance, taking three full
     studies, and obtaining at least a passing standing in each. He must
     also have obtained a passing standing in two full studies during
     the previous term, or must have obtained credits in three full
     studies during his last term of attendance.

     Exception.--It is agreed, however, that if during the
     above-mentioned term any pupil shall obtain ten per cent. above the
     passing mark in two full studies, and not lower than ten per cent.
     below passing mark in the third, he shall not be excluded because
     of failure to obtain the third passing standing.

     By full study is meant a regular study in the curriculum of the
     school requiring daily class-room work. It is stipulated, however,
     that not less than two periods daily in freehand drawing shall be
     called a full study.

     Standing in each study must be based upon the entire ground covered
     by the class, and must be a record complete from the beginning of a
     term to the time required in Section 6. Any athletic contest is
     understood to mean a contest with any secondary school.

     2. Pupils enrolled for the first time shall not be excluded from
     any contest because of absence during the previous term. But a
     student entering from another secondary school shall not be allowed
     to compete unless he has done the work required in Section 1 as a
     resident student for at least one term. Or he must show as
     satisfactory a record as that required in Section 1 for at least
     two terms' work or their equivalent at some similar school in the
     preceding year. It is stipulated, however, that all candidates
     under Section 2 must have been members of the school as regular
     students, conforming otherwise to Section 1 from the first fifteen
     days of the term in which said contest takes place.

     3. A Senior considered by his faculty as a regular candidate for
     graduation shall not be excluded from any contest because of
     absence or failure during his first Senior year, provided he is
     taking three full studies which he has not before completed. It is
     understood, however, that a Senior who has completed a part of the
     Senior work in previous years shall not be excluded from contests,
     provided he is doing the unfinished work of his course.

     4. No person shall be eligible as a contestant for more than the
     minimum number of years required to complete a four-year course.

     5. Before taking part in any contest a pupil must file with his
     principal the written statement of a parent or guardian that said
     pupil has permission to engage in athletics.

     6. No less than five days before a contest there shall be exchanged
     between the principals of the contesting schools the following
     data: Name of each candidate, the date of his first enrolment, time
     in years he has been a member of a secondary school, his age, and
     studies, with percentage in each for the preceding term, and to the
     first of the month in which these certificates are exchanged. It
     must also be stated over the signature of the principal that the
     candidates are eligible under these rules.

     7. No person shall enter a contest under an assumed name.

     8. The principal shall have power and is advised to exclude any
     contestant who, because of bad habits or improper conduct, would
     not represent the schools in a becoming manner.

     9. Each contestant shall sign a statement that he is an amateur,
     and that he is eligible under these rules. The definitions of
     amateur and professional shall be those of the Western
     Intercollegiate Amateur Athletic Association.

     10. These rules may be amended by a vote of a majority of the
     principals subscribing hereto voting on the subject.

     11. These rules shall go into effect on and after January 1, 1897.

These rules have been adopted by twenty-eight high-schools in Wisconsin.
Madison H.-S. has adopted all the rules with the exception of No. 5
under the administration heading. They obtained permission to do this in
order that they might not be restricted from playing with schools
outside the State.

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

  THE GRADUATE.

       *       *       *       *       *

NANSEN'S ENDURANCE.

Dr. Nansen seems to have been born and bred for arctic exploration. The
strength and hardihood which were his by birth were developed and
confirmed by the robust austerity of his early training. One reads of
his habit of swimming in the evening in the coldest pools of the Frogner
River that ran by the door of his father's house, and is no less
astonished at the story of his plunge in the sea in pursuit of his
kayaks in the extreme north, and of his endurance of the various cold
baths he got in fights with bears and walruses. The man who put his wet
and frozen foot-coverings in his bosom to thaw out and dry at night
while he slept with his companion in a bag was an extraordinarily tough
person, with an astonishing physique hardened by Spartan exercises. In
his teens, he says, he used to go off on lonely expeditions in the great
Frogner woods, and be gone alone for weeks at a time. "I disliked," he
says, "to have any equipment for my expeditions. I managed with a crust
of bread, and broiled my fish on the embers. I loved to live like
Robinson Crusoe there in the wilderness."

       *       *       *       *       *

THE WAY HE TOOK IT.

There is a neat bit of property in a town near New York that is owned by
an Irishman whose nature embraces most of the characteristics of that
nationality. He has for a neighbor a very penurious old gentleman who,
for a long time, had cast covetous eyes upon the land, and daily devised
schemes and propositions for obtaining it. Knowing that the owner,
although reputed to be extravagantly good-natured, was nevertheless not
to be fooled by any ill-concocted proposal, he desisted until he
succeeded in preparing one which he thought would surely be
unobjectionable. Carefully writing it out he delivered it to the owner
of the property, requesting him to look it over. In a few days he
called, and after being jovially greeted, he asked whether his
proposition had been entertained. Much to his astonishment the Irishman
broke into hearty laughter, crying out:

"Entertained! Ha! ha! Why, my dear sir, I haven't entertained the absurd
thing; it's done nothing but entertain me ever since I read it."

       *       *       *       *       *

AN OBSERVATION.

"I don't think pop is very strong," said Tommie. "He can't stand loss
of sleep at night half as well as the baby does."




ADVERTISEMENTS.




[Illustration: ROYAL BAKING POWDER]




MR. JOHN HABBERTON

contributes a short story,

A BOAT

AND A BOY

to the next number of

HARPER'S ROUND TABLE

Five Cents a Copy. Two Dollars a Year.

       *       *       *       *       *

HARPER & BROTHERS, Publishers, N. Y.




HOOPING

COUGH

CROUP

Can Be cured

by using

ROCHE'S HERBAL

EMBROCATION

The celebrated and effectual English cure, without internal medicine. W.
EDWARDS SON, Props., London, Eng. =All Druggists.=

E. FOUGERA & CO., NEW YORK.




A MUSICAL SAILOR.

The Washington correspondent of the New York _Sun_ tells an odd story
about a well-known violinist of that city. He says that the young man
was shipped at Gibraltar by the executive officer of a vessel of our
Mediterranean squadron as a landsman, the vessel having been
short-handed on account of the return to this country of a large number
of short-time men. As a landsman he did his work up to the top notch. He
suffered a good deal of ridicule uncomplainingly. His messmates joked
him because when he shipped his hair was chopped off in the back after
the Russian muzhik fashion, and because he was generally a funny sight
in the bluejacket "government-straight" uniform. Through it all the Pole
was bland and smiling. He kept his bright-work well polished, and it was
not found necessary to hale him to the mast when he returned from shore
liberty.

One Sunday afternoon at Villefranche, when the Pole had been a landsman
for about a month, an Irish marine, lolling below in one of the
berth-deck alcoves, took it into his head to "break out" a really fine
old violin which he possessed, upon which, to the intense misery of the
whole ship's company fore and aft, he was accustomed at long intervals
to saw "The Rose of Kildare," "The Rakes o' Mallow," "Bonnie Lakes o'
Killarney," "Wind that shakes the Bailey," "The Meeting of the Waters,"
etc. These tunes the marine butchered outrageously; but being a mellow,
complaisant Hibernian, he could not see anything wrong with his own
music, and enjoyed it greatly. When he made the first scrape of his bow
on this Sunday afternoon the Pole, who was on the spar-deck, was
observed to cock up his ears and to betray some degree of excitement. He
went below, and for a few minutes he nervously watched the big marine
saw on the fine instrument. Then he impulsively reached out for the
violin. The Irishman was so overcome with astonishment that he gave up
the violin to the Pole without a word. Then followed an hour of music
such as probably had never been heard on a man-of-war in the United
States navy. To the writer it sounded every whit as beautiful as the
performances of Sarasate, Ysaye, Remenyi, Joachim, Wilhelmj, and the
rest of the masters of the bow who have inspired millions. This awkward,
simple-looking Polish landsman was a violin virtuoso. He had not played
two minutes before the officer of the deck had his head poked through a
deck-light listening. There was a general exodus of officers from ward
and mess rooms within five minutes. They all came forward with
astonished expressions, and stood in the alcove taking in the Pole's
music. All of the men who could get anywhere near the alcove crowded
down the ladders. Pretty soon, unheralded even by an "Attention!" so
enwrapped were officers and men, the commanding officer, who had heard
the music from his cabin, tiptoed into the alcove. He remained until the
musician was through. Absolute silence prevailed. There seemed
positively nothing in the way of formidable violin technique that the
Pole could not do. His bowing was dazzling. His chords were wonderful.
His tones were perfect; his pathos so heart-rending that it made tough
old tars gasp. He made it appear that playing triple chords up around
the bridge of a violin was the simplest thing in life. At the conclusion
of a Chopin Nocturne an officer weakly asked him to play the "Rhapsodie
Hongroise." The Pole attacked the composition as Liszt used to attack it
on the piano--with the pure fire and fury of inspiration. When he
finally handed the violin back to the marine, who was in a stupefied
condition, the man went forward and the officers aft without a word.

The Pole polished no more bright-work. A new place, unofficial, but not
the less dignified and important, was created for him aboard the ship.
He became musician to the commanding officer. It was a soft berth, such
as even a haughty admiral's cox'un might have desired. The Pole's sole
duty was to take the marine's violin into the cabin and play for the
solace of the ship's commander. The commanding officer flouted some of
his officers who suggested that so fine a musician as the Pole should be
transferred to the flag-ship's band. He wouldn't hear of such a thing.
He went ashore at Genoa and bought for the Pole a fine violin. When he
had guests of distinction aboard the ship he would send for the Pole to
entertain them, and the visitors went away marvelling. Once in a while,
as a particular favor, the skipper would lend the Pole to his officers
for a ward-room musical. The musician never got a higher rate officially
than that of landsman, for there was nothing aboard the ship that the
commanding officer would let him do, for fear he would injure his hands,
but as a landsman he had absolutely no duties to perform such as fell to
the lot of the other men of his rating. When his time was up, last
August, the ship's Captain tried hard to induce the Pole to ship over,
but he obdurately, and quite sensibly, declined. He was paid off in New
York, and he came straight to Washington, where he has some well-to-do
relatives, and hung out his sign as a violin-teacher. He has more pupils
than he can teach, and more money than he ever dreamed of possessing. He
resolutely refuses to say anything about his record, or to state how and
where he got his musical education.

       *       *       *       *       *

A FAST TRANSPORT-SHIP.

One of the proudest achievements of the American clipper-ships that we
have to look back on is that of the famous _Lightning_, built by Donald
McKay for the English firm of James Bain & Co. The McKay clippers were
known all over the world, and England recognizing their merit, many
orders were sent from that country. The _Lightning_ was employed during
the Sepoy uprising in India to carry troops and stores to Calcutta, and
when she spread her snowy sails in the Downs and fairly had the bone in
her teeth, she showed as neat a pair of heels to the steamer transports
as any captain could wish for. It is on record that she beat the
steamers every passage, and that not a sailing vessel under the British
flag could keep way with her sailing side by side.

       *       *       *       *       *

WORDS THAT TROUBLE THE TONGUE.

Drimtaidhvickhillichattan is the name of a small hamlet in the Isle of
Mull containing not more than a dozen inhabitants. How they pronounce it
is a mystery only to be solved by some one acquainted with Gaelic, but
the fact that the Scots are a nation of few words seems easy to explain,
if they have many such words as the above in their language.

A sample of Welsh nomenclature is Mynyddywllyn, which is the name of a
parish close to Cardiff, whilst another of the same kind is
Llanfairpwllgwngyll.

Perhaps, however, the Germans may be fairly said to carry off the
palm in word-coining. How is this for a specimen--
Constaninopelischerdudlelsackpfeifer? or this one,
Jungfrauenzimmerdurchschwindersuchtoedungs?

The first means a Constantinopolitan bagpipe-player, and the last is the
name of a young ladies' club which adorns the brass plate of the door of
a house in Cologne to this day.

Rabelais gives the following name to a particular book which was
supposed to be in the library of Pantagruel's medical student friend
Victor--"Antipericatametanaparbeugedanptecribrationes Toordicantium";
whilst Anantachaturdasivratakatha is an actual Sanscrit word to be found
in any Sanscrit dictionary, and the word Cluninstaridysarchedes occurs
in the works of Plautus, the Latin comedy writer.

Now, most of the above words can be pronounced by ordinary persons with
a week's training or so; so could this one, Kagwadawwacomergishearg,
which was the Christian name of one of the Indian chiefs who died at
Wisconsin a little while ago; but, studying long and hard as they will,
not one person in a million will ever succeed in correctly pronouncing
the name of Tschlsi, King of Wahuma. The best way to set about it is to
sneeze violently, and to try to work in the _l_ sound towards the end.




[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.


Two things fix the prices of all but the rarest or commonest stamps.
First, the desire of the dealers, who make the catalogues, to obtain as
high a price as possible for scarce stamps of which they have a supply
on hand; and secondly, auction sales, which reflect the actual prices
paid in open competition. During the last four months the new catalogues
have appeared with increased prices for the majority of "medium" stamps,
and during the same period the prices paid in the auction-room have in
many instances been smaller than during the previous year. The result
has been a comparative cessation of business in stamps, which will
continue until the two factors have adjusted themselves. Speculators
will not buy on a falling market, and it has been the speculative
purchases in the past which have advanced the prices of so many stamps.
Of course the real scarcity of unused stamps of most of the early issues
has been demonstrated of late years, and an increase of value was
inevitable, but, pushed too far, it frightens new collectors, and
discourages many of the older ones whose purses are not large.

Each of the Portuguese colonies, Funchal, Horta, Angra, and Punta
Delgado has a complete set of new stamps. The designs of all values and
for all the colonies are the same, with the exception that the stamps
bear the name of the colony in the label under the portrait.

    2-1/2 reis, gray and black.
    5 reis, orange-buff and black.
   10 reis, light green and black.
   15 reis, brown and black.
   20 reis, violet and black.
   25 reis, dark green and black.
   50 reis, blue and black.
   75 reis, rose and black.
   80 reis, lilac and black.
  100 reis, blue and black on blue.
  150 reis, brown and black on buff.
  200 reis, mauve and black on lilac.
  300 reis, blue and black on pink.
  500 reis, black and red on blue.

     GEORGE HALL.--It is a Hungarian revenue stamp.

     L. N. DODD, 2607 Thirty-ninth Street, Chicago, Ill., wishes to
     exchange stamps.

     W. R. WHEELER.--The 3c. "outer line," perforated, is the same stamp
     as the 1851. The common perforated lacks the line at top and
     bottom, as these were cut out of the plate to allow room for the
     perforations. The Department stamps have been advancing in price
     for years. How long they will continue to advance no one knows.
     Some of the "specimen" stamps are rarer than the regular issues.

     D. MCPHERSON, JUN., Cor. Church and Chestnut streets, Santa Cruz,
     Cal., wants to exchange a kodak for stamps.

     E. L. SMITH.--Your Spanish stamp is a revenue. The word "Cave" is
     that of a large mercantile house in the East. It is not a
     governmental surcharge.

     F. O. S.--Your coin with inscription LUD. XV. D. G. FR. ET. N. REX.
     (Louis XV. By the Grace of God King of France and Navarre), and the
     other coin (from Bolivia), are no longer current, and hence are
     worth bullion only.

     D. MCPHERSON.--Your 12c. 1869 U.S. stamp is very badly centred, and
     hence is not worth more than one-half as much as a perfectly
     centred copy. This is true of all scarce stamps.

     A. GREGORY.--An "Albino" envelope is one with the impression of the
     die, but without ink, having been used on the same. It is found in
     U.S. envelopes sometimes.

  PHILATUS.




[Illustration: IVORY SOAP]

  The stores which keep the best that's made
  Secure the highest class of trade;
  The shoppers who are shrewd and wise
  Select such stores to patronize;
  And stores and shoppers all attest
  Pure Ivory Soap is far the best.

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




_NOW READY:_

The Voyage of the Rattletrap

By HAYDEN CARRUTH, Author of "The Adventures of Jones." Illustrated by
H. M. WILDER. 16mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25.

     The story of three boy chums and of their cruise across the Dakotas
     in a "prairie-schooner." The log makes amusing reading, even though
     there are no very exciting adventures to chronicle. Mr. Carruth has
     a genial humor in the telling of ordinary happenings that is
     irresistible, and he even manages to impart a great deal of useful
     information as he goes along. The new Northwest is a great country,
     and the author tells us very pleasantly some things about this big
     slice of Uncle Sam's territory.

       *       *       *       *       *

By KIRK MUNROE

     _The kind of stories that healthy, hearty boys are apt to
     like._--Independent, N. Y.

     _Master of the art which keeps the young reader's interest at a
     tension._--N. Y. Sun.

Rick Dale

A Story of the Northwest Coast. Illustrated by W. A. ROGERS. Post 8vo,
Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25.

     A capital story, brimful of adventures.... It is a good, clean,
     captivating tale.--_Observer_, N. Y.

Snow-Shoes and Sledges

A Sequel to "The Fur-Seal's Tooth."

  The Fur-Seal's Tooth
  Canoemates
  Raftmates
  Campmates
  Dorymates

Each one volume. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, $1.25.

_The "Mates" Series, Four Volumes in a Box, $5.00._

       *       *       *       *       *

Wakulla

A Story of Adventure in Florida.

Derrick Sterling

A Story of the Mines.

The Flamingo Feather

Chrystal, Jack & Co.

And Delta Bixby. Two Stories.

Each one volume. Illustrated. Square 16mo, Cloth, $1.00.

       *       *       *       *       *

HARPER & BROTHERS, Publishers, New York




A Cuban War Story.

The Rev. Dr. Conwell, a well-known Baptist clergyman of Philadelphia,
recently went to Cuba. On his return he related the following incident
to his Sunday-evening congregation:

"A planter, with whom I talked several times, told me that some months
ago, on a very dark and rainy night, a light-house on the south coast of
the island was captured by insurgents, and as the keeper was, of course,
a government official brought from Spain, the insurgents took him
prisoner. Some of his captors urged that the keeper be shot forthwith.
The keeper bravely accepted his fate, and as he was being led out he
requested as his dying petition that his captors would keep the light
burning on that stormy night.

"The insurgent colonel, who since has himself been killed under Maceo,
was so captivated by the brave keeper's thoughtfulness for the unknown
sailors beaten toward shore in the terrible hurricane, that he ordered
the release of the keeper, and presented him with some silver plate,
which the insurgents had confiscated from some wealthy planter. One
touch of nature," added Dr. Conwell, feelingly, "makes all the world
kin."

       *       *       *       *       *

More Signs and Omens.

     I live in the "Sunny South" too, and here are some of the signs
     most often heard here:

     Peacocks' feathers bring bad luck.

     A black cat brings good luck.

     Watch a person out of sight, and you will never see him again.

     If you point at a grave, a member of your family will die.

     Bring a hoe or other garden tool into the house, and it will bring
     bad luck.

     A good fire-maker will always have a smart husband.

     A hard storm is often a sign of the death of some rather unpopular
     man.

     I don't know as these are strictly local, but all of them are very
     common here.

  CAROLYN SHERMAN.
  ASH GROVE, VA.

       *       *       *       *       *

Queer New Orleans Customs.

     New Orleans has some customs peculiarly its own. One of them, the
     decorating of the cemeteries on All-Saints day, is not done in any
     other place in the United States. On that day the cemeteries are
     beautifully decorated with all kinds of flowers. The fronts of the
     great white tombs (for there are few underground graves in New
     Orleans) are often so covered with flowers that you can hardly read
     the inscription. This is lovely while it lasts; but when the
     flowers are faded and dead, it is rather pathetic than otherwise to
     wander through the streets of the silent cities of the dead.
     Metaire and Greenwood are the most beautiful cemeteries, and the
     old St. Louis the most interesting. Here are buried the old French
     people who died over a hundred years ago.

     Another queer custom, but which is dying out, is the giving of
     "lagniappe" (pronounced lan-yap) in the stores and markets. That
     is, they give you an apple, an orange, or a few pieces of candy in
     the grocery stores, in addition to what you have bought. They used
     to do it in the old French Quarter more than anywhere else, and
     often gave lagniappe of coffee, tea, sugar, or rice. But now they
     give hardly any, except to children, and sometimes even they have
     to ask for it.

     Then the street-criers, too, are amusing. A familiar sight is a
     dilapidated wagon and horse loaded with sacks of charcoal, while an
     extremely dirty-looking individual screams, "Charcoal, two bits a
     sack--charcoal!" "two bits" being used invariably, instead of
     twenty-five cents, among this class of people, and even among the
     better classes.

     New Orleans has a most excellent system of street railway, although
     it is but lately that it has had it. Before, there were only small
     cars with one mule attached; so you can imagine the electric cars
     are a great improvement on the old style of transportation, which
     was both slow and uncertain. But it has taken away a good deal of
     the quaintness from the city. There are only two mule lines left,
     and these will soon be replaced by electric ones.

     The city lost one of its old buildings by fire two years ago, which
     has been replaced by a handsome modern structure seven stories
     high. I refer to the St. Charles Hotel. There are very few handsome
     public buildings here; about the finest are those of the Tulane
     University. The soil of New Orleans does not admit of very heavy
     buildings being built, although they now drive piles of sixty feet
     for foundation.

     New Orleans is fast coming to the front as a grain-exporting point,
     the Illinois Central having recently finished an immense elevator
     and dock. It has been for many years the largest cotton-exporting
     port in the world.

     The two public parks, Audubon and the City Park, could be made very
     beautiful if they were improved. Their natural beauty is so great
     that one does not mind their somewhat wild state. Little by little
     they are being improved, but, both being large tracts, it takes a
     long time. The trees in both are immense live-oaks, and under those
     at the City Park many of the duels of the earlier Louisiana days
     were fought.

     West End, the one nice resort of New Orleans, is situated on Lake
     Pontchartrain, about six miles from the centre of town. Here, in
     summer, there is music every evening by a fine band, and trains run
     at intervals of fifteen minutes. It is a most delightful way to
     spend an evening, as there are no mosquitoes, and the breeze off
     the water is always cool. The mosquitoes are a great pest here, and
     even in winter they are quite bad, we being compelled to sleep
     under bars a good share of the time.

     This is a very easy place for visitors to find their way alone, as
     the streets are all plainly marked and numbered. All the cars start
     from Canal Street, and it is almost impossible to lose one's way.

     As Canal Street is the starting-point for all the cars, it is quite
     a feat to cross without risking your life. Policemen are stationed
     on every corner, and it is very rarely that an accident occurs.

  SOPHIE ELEANOR CLARK.

       *       *       *       *       *

What do You Think They Weighed?

     Don't you think the following pretty good? I got it from an old man
     who says he won $5 for answering it years ago.

     A man had an article weighing exactly forty pounds. He let it fall,
     and it broke into four pieces. But it was such a fortunate fall
     that the pieces were afterwards available for sale weights, and
     with them he could weigh any number of pounds from one to forty.
     How much did each piece weigh?

  J. LURIE.
  NEW YORK.

We do think it good. You ought to be able yourself to tell a good
puzzle, for you have won some of our puzzle-prizes. The TABLE will
publish the answer in a week or two.

       *       *       *       *       *

Laid and Wove Paper.

Edward C. Wood, of Philadelphia, asked the difference between laid and
wove papers of fine grade. The question was referred to a manufacturer
of this kind of writing-paper, and he answers in the following
interesting way:

"You have seen your mother roll out pie-dough with a rolling-pin. She
rolls it out on a board into a thin even sheet with a smooth surface,
which is like the surface of 'wove paper.'

"Now after doing this, if she were to take another rolling-pin, and
place around it wires laid close together and parallel with each other
and with the length of the pin, and bind them in place with other wires
wrapped around the pin and about an inch apart, and then if, with the
rolling-pin thus prepared, she were to roll the even surface of the thin
sheet of dough, the impression of the wires would be left in the dough,
producing a surface like 'laid paper.'

"In making paper a flat surface of wire-cloth corresponds to the board.
The paper pulp or 'stuff' (made by grinding up rags very fine, and
mixing them with water until the composition looks like cream), which is
spread in a flat sheet over the surface of the wire-cloth, corresponds
to the dough. And a roll (covered with wire-cloth for wove paper, and
with wires laid parallel with each other and with the length of the roll
for laid paper) corresponds to the rolling-pin.

"This roll, called the 'dandy,' covered with wire-cloth, rolling over
the surface of the thin wet sheet of paper-stuff, smooths it down into
an even regular surface, and produces wove paper.

"The dandy-roll, with parallel wires, rolling over the wet sheet of
stuff, leaves its impression in the thin sheet, and produces laid paper.

"The lines at right angles to the parallel lines are called the
'chains,' and are produced by the impression of those wires which are
wrapped around the parallel wires to hold the latter in place around the
dandy-roll."

       *       *       *       *       *

The Name "Indian Summer."

     Henry Osborn asks why Indian summer is so called. I have always
     heard that it is the time of the year when the Indians laid in
     their provisions for winter. During the summer they only hunted for
     pleasure. Cold weather came before they realized it. Just at this
     state of affairs the Indian summer came in and gave the Indian one
     more chance to provide for winter.

  HARRY RICHARDSON.

This reason is a new one to some, we think. Can anybody else give a
reason popularly said to be the origin of the name? And will some one
write out the scientific cause for the hazy atmosphere of this season?
Is the cause well known?

       *       *       *       *       *

Advice to Boys of Fifteen.

"Mercer" asks the probable expense of two boys of fifteen going round
the world on a bicycle; whether it is prudent to go; and if any
publisher or publishers would perhaps accept and pay for an account of
the journey a sufficient sum to reimburse the boys for their necessary
outlay.

The expense of such a trip would not be less than $4 per day for each
boy for the entire time absent from home. It might be less than this in
the far East, but in other parts of the world it would be more. If this
estimate errs, it does so in being too small. Is it prudent? We should
say, with perhaps not as much emphasis as would the parents of the boys
in question, no. There are many dangers, but if there were not, what
substantial thing is to be gained? Prudence in a boy of fifteen demands
that he shall be in training, save during the few summer months, which
are not long enough for a world bicycle tour, for the future. There may
be publishers who would pay a big price for such a manuscript, but they
are not advertising that they will do so.

       *       *       *       *       *

Questions and Answers.

A member of the Camera Club sends the TABLE $1, and asks if there are
other members who have old negatives, in perfect condition, of scenes of
places of interest anywhere, size four by five inches. If any member has
such will he write to the TABLE, describing the subjects of the pictures
and the number willing to be given for $1? Do not forward negatives
until requested.--W. Randall Spurlock, 3108 Highland Ave., Mt. Auburn,
Cincinnati, O., asks if any one can give him the address of Capt. J. D.
Randall, who is, or used to be, a Mississippi River boatman, whose boat
ran, at one end of its route, to Memphis.--Chas. Henshaw, 432 North
State Street, Chicago, wants to join a Chapter or some club somewhere
that is interested in photography.--Chas. K. Russell, a Brooklyn member,
asks us why coins are put into corner-stones when laid. We always
supposed it was merely to preserve them for a future generation, the
same object in view when records, newspapers, and memorials are
enclosed. We can find no other reason. Is there any other reason?




[Illustration: THE CAMERA CLUB]

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


HOW TO MAKE ENLARGED NEGATIVES FROM SMALL PRINTS.

Though the rules for the photographic contest stated that no picture
less than 4 by 5 in size would be admitted, yet the editor constantly
received letters asking if pictures taken by the small pocket-cameras
would be admitted. These tiny pictures, though often good in detail and
well chosen as to subject, are on too small a scale to be admitted to
any contest; but if one has a small picture which, aside from size,
seems worthy of being entered in a competition, a large negative may be
made from it, from which prints may be made and sent to the contest.

The first thing to do is to make as good a print from the negative as
possible. Squeegee this print to a glass plate--a spoiled sensitive
plate is the best for this purpose, as the glass is usually free from
defects. If the picture is larger than the glass, squeegee the picture
in the centre of the glass, and either block out the clear glass with
Gihon's opaque, or cover it with black needle paper. From this paper
positive is to be made the negative in the same manner in which one
enlarges from a negative to make an enlarged print.

Choose a room which has but one window. It is better to take a room on
the second floor where an unobstructed view of the sky can be obtained.
If the room has two windows one must be completely darkened and the
other covered, except a small space large enough to admit the glass
plate on which the picture is squeegeed. On the outside of the window
arrange a large piece of white card-board at an angle of about 45° so as
to reflect the light through the picture.

The camera used for enlarging may be a 4 by 5 or larger, and a little
practice will enable one to make excellent negatives. Take the
focussing-glass out of the frame, and place the glass containing the
picture in its place. The focussing-glass is easily removed by loosening
the screw in the side of the frame and slipping out the piece of wood
which holds it in place. Put the focussing-frame in the camera, and
place the camera close to the window, so that all the light that enters
the space left in the window passes through the camera. The lens is of
course turned inside the room.

The camera should be supported on a table, and fixed so that it cannot
jar. Directly opposite the camera, on the same plane, must be placed
something to serve as a support for the sensitive paper, and a wooden
box with the bottom covered with white paper will be found to answer
every purpose. A convenient way of arranging the camera and box is to
take a board, place the camera at one end, and the box at whatever point
the clearest focus is obtained.

Having everything in place, shut out all the light except that which
enters through the camera, and focus the picture on the plain white
paper. Mark where the image falls, close the shutter, and by a red light
place a sheet of bromide-paper on the space covered by the image,
holding it in position by means of small thumb-tacks.

Open the shutter of the camera and expose for ten or fifteen minutes,
according to the density of the negative. If the light is poor, a much
longer exposure must be made. One can time the exposure by making one or
two experiments with small strips of paper and developing.

For developing this enlarged negative use hydroquinone. Do not
over-develop, clear with acetic acid, fix, and wash thoroughly. When dry
the paper may be rendered more transparent by waxing, or it may be
printed from without further manipulation. If the negative is inclined
to curl, straighten it by drawing it over the sharp edge of a drawer.

     S. W. HINES, JUN., asks if it spoils plates to cut them with a
     glass-cutter; whether dark or light objects take quicker in
     snap-shots; how to print lantern slides, and where an outfit for
     lantern-slide-making can be obtained. Sensitive plates may be cut
     into smaller sizes and used if great care is taken not to scratch
     the sensitive film, though if one has plates too large for the
     camera it is a better plan to change them for a size that will fit
     the camera. See Nos. 798 and 799 for directions for making lantern
     slides. All the outfit required is a box of lantern-slide plates,
     some good negatives, a printing-frame, and a lantern. The
     finishing, cover glasses, binding strips, and name-markers will be
     required. We will publish soon another article on
     lantern-slide-making for the benefit of the new members of our
     Camera Club. Light objects always _take_ quicker than dark ones.

     D. SAYLOR WILSON, 120 McDonough St., Brooklyn, N.Y.; WILLIAM
     SEYMOUR, Marshall, Mich.; ARTHUR S. DUDLEY, West Salem, Wis.; RALPH
     BULKEY, JUN., 345 Miller Ave., Columbus, O.; S. W. HINES, JUN.,
     Cumberland, Wis.; CHARLES BOYDEN, JUN., 4053 Washington Ave., St.
     Louis, Mo.; E. L. DEDHAM, Orysa, Tenn.; JOHN D. DUFF, 922 Duquesne
     Way, Pittsburg, Pa.; ARTHUR NILSEN, 69 West Fiftieth St., New York
     city; HORACE A. WILLIAMS, Parkesburg, Pa.; DONALD C. VAUGHN, 1 West
     Eighty-second St., New York city; ARTHUR EHRHART, Maywood, Ill.;
     EVARTS A. GRAHAM, 672 West Monroe St., Chicago, Ill.--wish to
     become members of the Camera Club.




ADVERTISEMENTS.




Postage Stamps, &c.




[Illustration]

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
p.c. com. List free. =F. W. Miller, 904 Olive St., St. Louis, Mo.=




[Illustration]

=STAMPS!= 300 genuine mixed Victoria, Cape, India, Japan, Etc., with Stamp
Album, only 10c. New 96-page price-list FREE. Approval Sheets, 50% com.
Agents Wanted. We buy old U.S. & Conf. Stamps & Collections. =STANDARD
STAMP CO., St. Louis, Mo., Established 1885.=




[Illustration]

=ALBUM AND LIST FREE!= Also 100 all diff. Venezuela, Bolivia, etc., only
10c. Agts. wanted at 50& Com. =C. A. Stegmann=, 5941 Cote Brilliant Ave.,
St. Louis, Mo.




500

Mixed, Australian, etc., 10c.; =105 var.= Zululand, etc., and album, 10c.;
12 Africa, 10c.; 15 Asia, 10c. Bargain list free. F. P. VINCENT,
Chatham, N.Y.




FREE

25 var. stamps. Send stamp for postage. Agents wanted, 50% com. 50
varieties, 5c.; 100, 10c.

F. A. RAYMOND, 6 Harriet St., Norwalk, Conn.




=FREE!= Sample P'k (250) Stamp Hinges with New Stamp List. DOVER & CO.,
St. Louis, Mo.




10

=RARE STAMPS FREE.= Send 2c. stamp.

F. E. THORP, Norwich, N. Y.




11

dif. unused Foreign stamps, 10c. Fine approval sheets at 50% off. G. M.
FRAME, Haverhill, Mass.




[Illustration: PISO'S CURE FOR CONSUMPTION]

CURES WHERE ALL ELSE FAILS.

Best Cough Syrup. Tastes Good. Use

in time. Sold by druggists.




Arnold

Constable & Co.

Infants' Wear.

SPRING STYLES.

_Piqué Walking Coats, Reefers,_

_French Mull Caps,_

_Hand-Made Long Dresses,_

_Gingham Frocks._

Children's Wear.

_Serge Suits,_

_Hand-Made Guimpes,_

_School Frocks._

Broadway & 19th st.

NEW YORK.




[Illustration: Crawford Bicycles]

Tandems, $100

Boys' and Girls' Bicycles

$45, $40, $35

Simple, durable machines of fine workmanship and handsome finish.

Guaranteed for one year.

CRAWFORD MFG. CO.

_Send for Catalogue._ Hagerstown, Md.




EARN A BICYCLE!

[Illustration]

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

W. G. BAKER, Springfield, Mass.




BICYCLING IN GREAT BRITAIN

A physician of experience in the care of boys will take a small party
through England and Scotland during July and August.

Refers by permission to Dr. David W. Cheever, Boston; Dr. C. Shattuck,
Boston; Edward E. Hale, D.D., Boston. Address

E. C. STOWELL, M.D., 502 Beacon St., Boston.




BOYS & GIRLS

money selling my Household Article. Needed in every house. Send =4 cents=
in stamps for sample, and start to work. =C. D. BABCOCK, 71 Nassau St.,
N. Y.=




CARDS

=FOR 1897. 50 Sample Styles= AND LIST OF 400 PREMIUM ARTICLES FREE.
HAVERFIELD PUB Co., CADIZ, OHIO




PUNCH

=& JUDY WHISTLE=, great fun for the boys. =WIZARD= Skeleton 13 inches
high, with directions. The great Egyptian Smoke Trick, all for 10c.
(others ask 30 to 50c.) Bert M. Slade, Akron, O. B. 5.




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.




FUNNY HOW-DO-YOU-DO'S.

Most amusing are the styles of salutation in different countries, and
also very interesting. The following are a few that have been recently
brought to notice:

The Chinese gentleman, meeting a friend, shakes his _own_ hand, and
inquires in the most complimentary terms about his friend's health. The
friend shakes his own hand also, and answers that he is well, but calls
himself the most abusive names he can think of, and they pass on.

The French and Italian gentlemen kiss and embrace their men friends when
they feel great delight at meeting.

The American fool grasps his friend's hand at the level with his hat,
and gently jiggles it.

The politician, just before election, meeting a voter, slaps him
vigorously on the back, and shakes his hand at the same time.

The Gambier Islanders rub noses, and if their welcome is very hearty,
they each hold their breath for a few seconds, and then give a most
alarming sniff, thereby showing great pleasure at meeting you.

       *       *       *       *       *

HE HAD FALLEN OFF.

Patrick was a new man in the light-horse regiment, but his cheerfulness
and witty replies had already established him as a favorite. He had one
drawback, however, and that was his awkwardness when on a horse's back.
Naturally his position required the opposite of this, and Patrick worked
hard and faithfully to acquire the ease and naturalness of his comrades
when riding. He congratulated himself that this was at last
accomplished; but one day when on parade his horse shied and threw him
with considerable force. When he regained consciousness he found that
his arm had broken with the fall. With his usual characteristic good
humor the poor fellow smiled in his pain as he said:

"Well, well, it's too bad. I thought I had improved in my riding a great
deal, but instead I have _fallen off_."

       *       *       *       *       *

COULDN'T HEAR THE MUSIC.

Colonel Brown was a mighty fox-hunter, and loved the sport beyond words.
He owned a fine pack of hounds, and, during the season, thought of
nothing but his hunters, his dogs, and the weather. He was once
entertaining a friend from America, whose ideas of hunting any animal
involved the use of fire-arms, and who had never seen a fox-hound. He
had been with difficulty persuaded to go forth one morning with the
Colonel and some friends to a meet, and they were waiting impatiently
for the hounds to take the scent. Presently there burst upon their
listening ears the din of thirty canine voices in full cry. The
Colonel's eyes gleamed, and as he settled his feet in the stirrups and
stretched his arm towards the yelping pack, he cried,

"Major, listen to that heavenly music!"

The Major pricked up his ears for a second or two, and then replied,

"I can't hear a thing, those dogs are making such a noise."

The Colonel put his spur savagely into his horse's side, and dashed
away, leaving his guest to his own devices.

       *       *       *       *       *

HE WANTED PAREGORIC.

It is a good thing to remember the right word at the right time, but it
is not every one who does it by such a curious succession of ideas as
the man who dashed into a Western drug store, and accosted the clerk
with:

"Say--I want some medicine, and I want it quick, too! But for the life
of me I can't tell what the name is!"

"Well, how on earth do you expect to get it, then?" demanded the
disgusted clerk. "I can't help you!"

"Yes, you can, too!" said the would-be customer, promptly. "What's the
name of that bay on the lower part of this lake--eh?"

"Do you mean Put-in-Bay?"

"That's it! That's it! And what's the name of the old fellow that put in
there once, you know? Celebrated character, you know?"

"Are you talking about Commodore Perry?"

"Good! I've got it! I've got it!" shouted the customer. "That's what I
want! Gimme ten cents' worth of paregoric!"

       *       *       *       *       *

FRANKLIN'S LOAN.

We often learn by sad experience that it is a very unwise plan to _give_
money to the poor. It is much wiser either to loan or to require some
slight return in work. This plan tends to raise the respect of the
recipient, rather than to form the easily acquired habit of begging. In
an old English magazine we find the following letter from Dr. Franklin
to some unknown beggar; it is amusing as well as instructive:

  "_April_ 22, 1784.

     "I send you herewith a bill for ten Louis-d'or. I do not pretend to
     _give_ such a sum; I only lend it to you. When you shall return to
     your country you cannot fail of getting into some business that
     will in time enable you to pay all your debts. In that case, when
     you meet with another honest man in similar distress, you must _pay
     me_ by lending this sum to him, enjoining him to discharge the debt
     by like operation when he shall be able, and shall meet with such
     another opportunity. I hope it may thus go through many hands
     before it meets with a knave to stop its progress. This is a trick
     of mine for doing a deal of good with a little money. I am not rich
     enough to afford much in good work, and so am obliged to be earning
     and make the most of a little."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration]

  If your Majesty will kindly
    Stop your funning for a while,
  I will make a portrait of you
    In the very best of style.

  But if you keep on jesting,
    I am very much afraid
  Instead of as the king, you'll as
    The joker be portrayed.





End of Project Gutenberg's Harper's Round Table, March 9, 1897, by Various