Produced by Annie R. McGuire








[Illustration: HARPER'S ROUND TABLE]

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

       *       *       *       *       *

PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, MARCH 16, 1897. FIVE CENTS A COPY.

VOL. XVIII.--NO. 907. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.

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[Illustration]

A BOAT AND A BOY.

BY JOHN HABBERTON.


Some boys, like some men, have greatness thrust upon them. Bruce Marvel
became one of these boys one day to his own great surprise.

Bruce was a good shot with either rifle or shot-gun; he could pitch,
catch, or strike a ball as well as any other boy of his age, and he
could handle a horse better than some men who travel with circuses.
Still, he had spent most of his life in an inland village where the
largest body of water was a brook about six feet wide. It stands to
reason, therefore, as boys are very like men in longing most for what
is farthest from their reach, that Bruce's consuming desire, in the
line of sport, was for a sail-boat and for water in which to sail it. He
studied pictures of sailing-craft, which he found in a pictorial
dictionary, until he could redraw any of them from memory; he learned
the names of all the sails of a full-rigged ship, and he delighted in
sea stories of all kinds, while he longed for the day in which he could
see broad water and such boats as were moved by wind, and when he could
sit in a boat and manage the sails and rudder.

Fortune finally seemed to favor him, for in his fifteenth year he was
invited to spend a month at the sea-shore with an aunt of his mother's.
As the aunt's family contained no men, it had no boats, so Bruce was
sadly disappointed. But he was not of the kind that gives up when
disappointment comes; he spent most of his waking hours in walking the
beach of the little bay about which the town was built, looking at the
boats, and scraping acquaintance with boys whose fathers owned boats; he
kept up his spirits by hoping that in the course of time some one would
invite him out sailing, and perhaps to take part in the management of a
craft of some sort, Bruce cared not what, so that it had sails.

But sailing was anything but sport to the boys whom Bruce came to know,
for most of these boys were fishermen's sons, to whom sailing meant
hard, every-day work, of which they did not care to do more than was
absolutely necessary for business purposes.

Yet Bruce learned some things about sailing, thanks to sharp eyes. He
observed the fishing-boats and other small craft until he learned that
almost anything that sailed would "go over" very far without capsizing.
He thought he learned a lot about steering, too, although it puzzled him
greatly that different vessels would sail in different directions while
the wind blew from but one point of the compass. He determined to clear
this mystery for himself, for nothing comes harder to a spirited boy
than the displaying of ignorance by asking questions about matters which
every one else seems to understand.

One day he climbed into a fishing-boat which a receding tide had left
lying upon the sand. The little three-cornered sail in front of the
mast, which Bruce knew was called a jib, had been left loosely flapping,
as if to dry, while the owner sought refreshment and company near by. As
many another man has done before him, the owner remained longer than he
had intended; meanwhile the tide came up until it floated the vessel, so
Bruce had rare fun at "trimming in" the jib-sheets, first on one side
and then on the other, and in seeing the boat strain at her anchor,
which was a big stone with a long rope attached.

Suddenly the wind began to come from the shore in hard puffs. Bruce
trimmed in the jib very close, upon which the boat tugged furiously at
her anchor; but she did the same when the sail was hauled close on the
other side, so the make-believe sailor eased the sheet until the wind
was directly abaft. Still the boat continued to strain; the anchor rope
was old, so finally the friction caused by rubbing against the rail made
the strands part suddenly; then the boat started for sea "on the wings
of the wind," as Bruce afterward said.

The boy sprang to the rudder. At last he was really sailing! It was
through no fault of his, either, as he carefully explained to himself,
for how could he have known of the rottenness of that rope? He had some
misgivings, for he was sure that he did not know how to turn the boat
and sail back again against the wind; still, he was resolved to have a
little fun before asking assistance from some passing boat. He had been
in the village and along the shore long enough to know that the offing
was usually alive with fisher-craft coming in or going out, and he had
frequently seen boats towed by others; so he had no doubt that he would
be helped back safely to the beach again.

Within a few moments he learned several facts about sailing; one was
that by "easing" sheets freely while sailing under a jib alone, the sail
will dispose itself at almost a right angle to the wind, so there need
be but little work at the rudder. As to the larger sail, he did not
trouble his mind about it, for not only was he in doubt as to how to use
it, but his craft was going quite fast enough with such canvas as she
was already carrying.

The farther he got from shore the stronger the wind seemed to blow--a
condition which did not impress him favorably, for he was soon out of
the bay and upon the ocean, and although the water was not rough, the
sea appeared to be very large, and the few boats in sight were far from
him; and when he tried to steer toward some of them, his own boat
behaved quite provokingly, as any boat will when asked to change her
course much while the only sail she carries is a jib.

Still, the experience as a whole was great fun, and whenever Bruce felt
a little scare creeping through him, he rallied himself by singing a
selection from "A Life on the Ocean Wave," beginning,

  We shoot through the ocean foam
    Like an ocean bird set free.

But the wind continued to increase in strength, and to come in hard
puffs, which Bruce had heard were dangerous. How was the boy to get back
to shore? He began to recall some sea stories, which did not now seem as
interesting as when he first read them--stories of boys who had drifted
out to sea and never been heard of afterward. It does not require many
such memories to make a wind-driven boy fearful of what is to come; a
man would feel quite as uncomfortable in similar circumstances--being
driven out to sea, in the latter part of the afternoon, with no sign of
rescue in sight, and he in a boat which he did not know how to manage.

After some hard sailing Bruce determined to let down the jib if it would
consent to fall, turn the boat's head toward shore with an oar that lay
in the bottom, and then paddle back to the bay; fortunately he had
learned paddling on the brook in his native village. Whether he could
force the boat against such a wind he did not know, but he had strong
arms; besides, the tide certainly would help him, for it was setting
shoreward, otherwise it would not have lifted the boat from the beach an
hour or two before. He succeeded in getting down the jib, although it
hung loosely and caught much wind. He found paddling, in the
circumstances, much harder than propelling a narrow raft on the still
water of a brook; although the sea was not exactly rough, the deck was a
very unsteady platform for his feet, and the wind caused the craft to
wildly change direction from time to time; once the rail bore so heavily
upon the oar that Bruce had to choose between letting go or going
overboard, so of course he let go, and a moment later the boat was again
hurrying seaward.

"This," said Bruce, as he went gloomily aft and took the tiller, "must
be what the stories mean when they tell about scudding under bare poles.
There can't be any doubt about it, although I greatly wish there could."

Up to this time the wind had been freshening Bruce's appetite, but now
the boy would have promised to fast a week for the certainty of getting
ashore. The sun was steadily declining; not a sail was in sight on the
course over which he was drifting. Steamers and other vessels
occasionally went up and down the shore, in plain sight of the bay, but
what chance was there of his sighting one of them before dark; and what
pitiful stories he had read of shipwrecked men whose signals had been
unseen or disregarded.

Suddenly he saw, a mile or two out to sea, and in the course he was
sailing, something which appeared to be a row-boat containing men who
were waving hats and handkerchiefs.

"Hurrah!" shouted Bruce. "They want to get back without rowing. Perhaps
some of them will know how to manage this contrary craft. I hope they
will have sense enough to row towards me, for if I steer a bit wrong
nothing can keep me from running out to sea and missing them."

He quickly got the jib up, so as to sail faster; he knew he could get it
down again should he find himself in danger of passing the other boat.
Under canvas, Bruce got over the water rapidly, but to his surprise and
consternation the men did not attempt to row toward him. Suddenly he
exclaimed.

"That isn't a row-boat! It is bigger, and of a different shape. It's a
sail-boat, and on its side, and the men are sitting on the edge of the
hull.' They're wrecked! I wonder why their boat doesn't go over
entirely? Oh, I see!--the mast and sail are lying on the water, and
keeping it on its edge. Oh, if I were a good sailor! See the poor
fellows signalling to me! I suppose they're wild with excitement and
fear, although they can't be more so than I."

In the next few moments Bruce steered very carefully; he also did some
earnest thinking. How should he stop his own boat entirely when he came
abreast of the wreck? He knew of no way but that of letting down the
jib, which had not worked very successfully when already tried, for the
mast and hull had caught the wind with alarming success. Should he shout
to the men, explain his ignorance, and ask what he should do? If one of
the men would swim out to him when he neared them, and take charge of
his boat, Bruce did not doubt that all would go well; so he assured
himself that no false pride should prevent him confessing that he knew
nothing about sailing, should he fail to lay his craft alongside of the
wreck.

Meanwhile his boat kept exactly the proper course. The shipwrecked men
began to shout, but the wind was against them, so Bruce could not
distinguish a word. He hoped that they were hailing him as their
deliverer; he also hoped that they would be able to deliver him from the
worst trouble in which he had ever found himself. The shouting
continued, but Bruce was now too near to pay attention to anything but
the tiller, which had seemed to become a thing of life and intelligence.
When he got within about a hundred feet of the wreck he heard:

"Isn't it time to drop your jib? And throw us a line, if you please."

Bruce quickly let go the jib-halyard, but in his excitement he forgot to
ease the sheet, so the sail declined to fall; the wind kept it in place.
A few seconds later the young amateur was thrown from his feet by the
shock of his boat striking and breaking the mast of the capsized boat.
The force of the collision tumbled the three shipwrecked men into the
water; but they quickly scrambled out, and one of them shouted,

"Hurrah! Now throw us a line, before we drift apart."

Bruce responded by tossing a coil of the main-sheet, and begging the man
who caught it to keep tight hold of it.

"Count upon us for that, young man," was the reply. "We know our last
chance when we see it, and we aren't going to let go of it."

In a moment the line was made fast to a cleat just under the rail of the
wrecked boat, while Bruce said,

"I'm very sorry that I broke your mast, but my jib wouldn't come down."

"Don't mention it, young man, don't mention it! 'Twas the best thing you
could have done for us, next to coming out to our rescue, for otherwise
we never could have got our boat righted. Of course we couldn't get the
hull on its bottom again without unshipping the mast--a job we've been
attempting ever since we went over. Although we've cut all the stays,
the mast sticks in its step as if it was fastened there or at the deck.
We'd have cut the mast ourselves if we'd had anything to do it with, and
risked getting back with the oars, which we've kept lashed."

"Let's clear away now," said another. "It's going to take a lot of time
to right the hull, and get the water out, and get the wreckage aboard,
so we'll have as little as possible to pay for. We'll have to get our
young friend to tow us in, if he will, and 'twill be slow work, beating
all the way."

"Let me help you all I can," Bruce replied, "for you will have to help
me get my own boat back to the bay."

"I should think so," said one of the men, as he hauled Bruce's boat
close and sprang into it. "'Twas right enough to run out under a jib,
but of course you can't get back that way, and no one man can handle
main-sheet and tiller in a breeze like this. Now, boys, I'll get up sail
on our friend's boat, and see if we can't get some help from it in
righting our own. It will be troublesome work, for our ballast
shifted--the wrong way, of course--as we went over."

"Suppose," Bruce suggested quickly, "that two of you come aboard, if
you're used to working together in a boat? I don't know much about
righting capsized hulls."

"Eh? Well, probably not. You every-day sailors on the coast here aren't
stupid enough to let a boat go over, as we amateurs did when a hard puff
came to-day. We pass for pretty good sailors, too, in our yacht club at
home. Here, Grayden, come aboard. I'll take the tiller, you take the
main-sheet, and if our young friend will 'tend jib--"

"Good!" interrupted Bruce, while a great sense of relief came to him. He
felt well acquainted with that jib.

The mainsail, in which there already was a reef, was hoisted, the
main-sheet of the wrecked boat was taken aboard as a hawser, and after
much shouting and tacking and jerking the capsized hull was righted.
Then sail was dropped on Bruce's boat, the wreck was hauled alongside,
and the three men bailed out the water with their hats, adjusted the
ballast, and dragged the wreckage aboard and stored it. One man was left
on the hull to steer, a tow-line was put out, sail was made once more on
Bruce's boat, and the party started for the bay. When fairly on the
proper course the man who had seemed to take the lead in every thing
said to Bruce:

"My young friend, we've been working and worrying so hard that I'm
afraid we've forgotten our manners, but I want to assure you that we're
the most grateful men in this part of the world to-night, unless three
others have been rescued from drowning. Eh, boys?"

"Yes, indeed," replied one. "I think, too, for a chap as young as our
friend to dash out to sea in such a breeze to save some men whom he
never saw before was a remarkably plucky deed. I'm proud to know you, my
friend, and I'd like to do something great to prove it."

"So would I," said another.

"You're very kind," Bruce replied, "and you may begin at once, if you
like. You would be doing a great thing for me if you would teach me
something about sailing."

"Wha--a--a--at?" drawled one, while the other opened his eyes very wide.
"Why--you came out in splendid style."

"I'm glad of it, but, really, I couldn't help it; the wind did it all. I
never before was out in a boat with a sail on it; I wouldn't have been
out this time if the anchor rope hadn't broken while I sat in the boat
playing with the jib."

"Whew! And through that accident you've saved our lives!"

"And you've saved mine. Still, won't you please try and teach me
something about sailing--right now, while we're at it?"

Two teachers took the boy in hand at once; they made many short tacks,
with Bruce at the tiller, to show how to "put about"; they explained how
the force of a sudden puff could be lessened by quickly heading a little
toward the wind, taught him much more about the management of the jib
than he had yet learned for himself, and had him observe the different
ways in which the mainsail was treated on differing courses. The lessons
continued until they reached the bay, where a new anchor rope was
purchased for the rescuing craft, whose owner, also, had to be reasoned
with and otherwise pacified.

The next day two of the party returned to the city from which they had
come for a day's fishing, but one remained, hired a smaller boat, and
spent half a week afloat with Bruce, doing all in his power to make a
confident yet cautious sailor of the boy. In the mean time there came
out from the city some newspapers, in each of which was a marked article
telling how a brave youth named Bruce Marvel had, at great peril to
himself, saved three men from death by drowning. There also came to
Bruce a little gold watch, suitably inscribed; and when the boy finally
returned to his home, the newspapers and the watch made him the most
noted person in his county, and his honest admission that he really knew
next to nothing about sailing boats when he ran out to sea increased his
fame immensely.




SOME REMINISCENCES OF CHARLES DICKENS.

BY HENRY AUGUSTUS ABRAHAM.


The recent death of Mr. Charles Dickens, the eldest son of the great
author, reminds a schoolfellow of the former, who enjoyed for many years
the friendship of the family, of a few circumstances connected with the
author of the _Pickwick Papers_ that, never having found their way to
paper, may not be without interest at this moment.

It was due probably to Dickens's great regard for the actor Macready
that he selected Dr. King's preparatory school for his son. Macready,
who lived not far from King's, and who had heard of his great success as
a teacher of the classics, informed Dickens of his intention to send his
two boys to the school, and Dickens at once decided to place Charlie, as
his son was always called, at the same institution.

King's was situated near the famous Lords cricket-ground on Maida Hill.
When Douglas Jerrold heard of this he was anxious to know what made her
ill, and trusted that Charlie would be all right.

What Dickens replied "deponent saith not," but at a later date he
remarked that his boy was in pretty royal company.

It was here that the schoolfellow and his fortunate companions first set
eyes on Charles Dickens. Charlie, quite unconscious of the flutter that
he would create in the breasts of his schoolmates, quietly informed them
that his father would visit the school on a certain day. Until that
auspicious time the _Pickwick Papers_ became more bethumbed than ever.
The writer was on the tiptoe of expectation and not a little nervous.
What liberties are taken with the names of the great! "Dickens is
coming!" If Jones the lawyer were expected, or Pills the apothecary, it
would have been: "Mr. Jones is coming; Mr. Pills will visit his son."

When Dickens did come it was with a rush. He lovingly embraced his boy,
shook the hands of the fortunate lads who were introduced as Charlie's
particular chums, slipped some money into his son's hand, and was off,
without the almost inevitable allusion to the _pons asinorum_ or the
_hic, haec, hoc_, those _bêtes noire_ of a schoolboy's existence.

But it was while he was talking to Dr. King that an opportunity was
given to study Dickens from a boy's point of view. He was then
considerably under forty, but looked--to the boy, remember--a
comparatively old man. What was young in him were his hair and eyes.
There were not many wrinkles visible, but lines of thought and care
marked features that in repose were deceiving in their sternness. As to
his dress, the writer has since thought that, while it might have been
quite untidy and loud for a butterman's best, it suited Dickens's rapid
motions and easy gait. It would be hard to imagine Dickens in prim
attire. Such apparel would have been out of place.

It was while summering at Broadstairs, a quiet watering-place on the
Kentish coast, that the writer had perhaps the best opportunity to study
Dickens's characteristics--the most notable of which most certainly was
his love for children. Apparently adoring his own, he still had room in
his great heart for other people's darlings. Had it been more generally
known that for several seasons Dickens made Broadstairs his
abiding-place, that pretty little sea-side resort would have been
crowded with visitors. As it was, several of his intimate friends, among
them the artists Stone and Egg, made Broadstairs their summer home.

Those twenty-mile rambles, so frequently alluded to, would alone have
made Dickens interesting to younger people, who were continually
arranging to meet the author and his frequent companion, Miss Hogarth,
on the cliffs or sands between Pegwalt Bay and Margate.

Once Dickens came to the rescue of some children who had been overtaken
by the tide. Miss Hogarth and the writer were of the party. Dickens
summoned donkey-boys from Margate and sent the youngsters home at a
gallop. They arrived just as the tide was washing the white cliffs.

Only once in several years did the writer hear Charles Dickens's voice
in angry tones. This was the occasion, and it was indelibly impressed on
his memory:

"Mamie" (Miss Mary Dickens) and "Katie" (Catharine, named after her
mother, whom Dickens always addressed as Kate) were very pretty and
interesting girls; indeed, they were the little belles of Broadstairs.
They frequently had juvenile tea parties at "Bleak House," as Dickens's
Broadstairs home was called. It was situated on a high bluff, and stood
alone--a very picturesque but mournful and deserted-looking building, as
peculiar in its style as the author's house in Devonshire Terrace,
London. Dickens's library had a seaward and an inland view. He was then
writing _Dombey and Son_, and he had told Miss Hogarth that he must not
be disturbed. But notwithstanding this injunction, the tea party, rather
formidable in numbers, tired of cake and bread and butter, scoured the
house and turned it into a Bedlam, gentle Mamie, however, protesting.

[Illustration: BLEAK HOUSE, BROADSTAIRS.

(From an old print.)]

At a moment when Dickens was evidently very much engrossed, the
children, with a wild rush, broke in on his quietude. The writer,
wittingly, or perhaps impelled by force of numbers, found himself within
a few feet of the desk where Dickens was writing, and was very much
alarmed as Dickens looked angrily on the crowd. But he loved children
too well to be angry with them long. Rising from his seat, the frown
melting into the smile that always endeared him to young people, he
spread his arms and simply shooed us from the room, like the geese that
we were, and bade us seek Miss Hogarth, who never seemed to tire of
entertaining her niece's guests. But on this occasion the abashed
marauders, deeming "discretion" to be "the better part of valor," crept
into the garden, where Charlie was engaged in the innocent though
perhaps dangerous pastime of gathering some very dubious-looking plums
from a tree that had seen better days. Miss Hogarth, having doubtless
been interviewed by Dickens, led the young people to understand, later
in the day, that strangers would not be admitted to Bleak House until
further notice, thus practically breaking up the tea parties. We
subsequently learned that Dickens had frequently been disturbed, and it
was necessary that silence should reign for a season.

Very little has been written, if indeed anything, of this interesting
summer home of the noted author--Bleak House. It was surrounded by high
and gloomy brick walls that gave the old place a dreary and forbidding
appearance. Its very quaintness moved Dickens to make it his temporary
abiding-place. It may have been interesting, but it seemed to the good
people of Broadstairs, as they looked on the most exposed spot in all
the little place, that only courageous hearts could live at Bleak House.
And during a frightful storm, that sunk fishing-smacks and damaged the
coast, devastating the esplanade and destroying not a few farm-houses,
the frightened residents at morning's dawn looked with pale faces in the
direction of Bleak House, almost expecting to find it in ruins. But in
spite of its exposed position, the house bravely withstood the gale,
although chimney-pots and trees were blown down. The family was
naturally alarmed, and betook themselves to apartments adjoining the
library on the esplanade. The library and assembly-rooms were the public
resort of Broadstairs's quality. But Dickens was rarely if ever seen at
the gatherings.

Dickens remarked a few days later to the writer's father that the gale
had been an alarming and thrilling experience.

[Illustration: DICKENS'S HOUSE IN DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, LONDON.

(From an old print.)]

Soon after the meeting at Dr. King's school Charlie's schoolfellow
visited the family in Devonshire Terrace, just off the New Road. _David
Copperfield_ was then the book of the hour, and because it had been
suggested that the author had his own boyhood in mind while writing the
novel, Dickens was more of a lion than ever to the juvenile mind.
Charlie devoured the pages of the book with avidity. Indeed, all the
novelist's children were charmingly appreciative of their father's
writings--a flattering incentive to Dickens, no doubt.

At the moment of this visit, his own little darlings, as well as some
others, were crawling all over him, reminding one of Gulliver in the
toils. But he at once turned to the somewhat bashful visitor, and, in
renewing the acquaintance, with delightful tact made the schoolboy feel
that he was not _de trop_.

It was at the juvenile birthday parties that Dickens seemed in all his
glory. At the supper table, in helping some little miss to "trifle," he
would assure her with all possible gravity that it was no trifle at all.
When the writer, urged to make a little speech on the occasion of
Charlie's birthday, came to a full stop at the words "I am sure,"
Dickens at once came to his assistance, and enabled him to retire from
the platform, however ungracefully, with the remark, among others,
"Always be sure, my dear boy, and you'll get along all right."

At the little theatrical entertainments Dickens was the alpha and the
omega of the proceedings. He was sometimes author, adapter, condenser,
musical director, manager, prompter, and even stage carpenter. He
overflowed with energy.

Dickens, doubtless remembering his own acute sensitiveness as a child,
could not wittingly wound a child's feelings. He made fun _with_, not
_of_ us. No party ever came off at Dickens's without "Sir Roger de
Coverley" being introduced. Dickens shouted with laughter as some novice
got badly mixed up in "all hands down the middle." Off he darted after
the lost sheep--generally an awkward boy--and turned his blushes to
smiles by saying, "What a dancer this boy will make when he's tackled a
little more roast beef!" or, "Isn't Tommy a nice young man for a small
party?"

There was nothing of the pedagogue about him. No vulgar attempt to pose
as the brilliant "Boz." He was simply a big boy, and he came down the
ladder of his fame to meet his fellows on their ordinary platform--to be
one of them in their own simple way for a time.




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 XXI.

TAKING A PRIZE.

I had found a little box, that had just room enough for a bunk and a
narrow cupboard, at the foot of the forecastle ladder, and this I took
possession of, as, of course, it would not do for me to mess or bunk in
with the crew. There was a fine ten-knot breeze blowing when I was
awakened the next morning, and the little cutter was dipping into the
waves gracefully like a Mother Cary's chicken. Every one was in high
spirits. All idea of my being a Jonah had faded from the minds of the
crew. Yet I was filled with a huge disappointment. A bitter, miserable
sensation had firm hold of me. I saw what an injudicious and, mayhap, an
unkind thing I had done, and regretted that I had not been more
strenuous in my efforts to keep Mr. Middleton from carrying out his
intentions of leaving the _Cæsar_; but I believe that if I should have
urged strongly against it, the cruise of the _Bat_ would have ended
there and then.

At eight bells in the morning watch I saw Mr. Middleton come on deck. I
noted that he held his wig on with one hand as he approached. I lifted
my hat and bowed politely.

"A word with you," began the old gentleman. "It is evident that you
never had any intention of touching at Dublin."

"That, sir," I returned, "is the truth; I never had. Would you suppose
it possible for an American crew to sail into a hostile harbor in a
captured vessel and get out again?"

"You played the joke well on the Englishmen," he said.

"Yes; but they were Englishmen," I answered. "The Irish might be
quicker-witted."

I knew that he was an Irishman, for he had a genteel touch of the
brogue.

"Look here, my young sir," he rejoined; "I am a wealthy man, and my word
is as good as a written and sworn-to bond. If you will land me on the
coast of Ireland, anywhere, I will give you a thousand pounds."

"No money could tempt me," I replied, "to place the freedom of my crew
in jeopardy; but this I have determined; if I meet a vessel bound for
Europe, and can do so without risk, I intend to place you and your
granddaughter Mistress Tanner on board of her. More than this it is
beyond my power to do."

"You just spoke Miss Tanner's name," said the old man, looking at me
fiercely; "and when we came on board, your forwardness in speaking was
most noticeable. I pray you, do you claim acquaintance?"

"Sir," I returned, "it is as the lady says."

"She says you are a stranger to her," answered the old man, grimly.

"So be it," I replied, and turned upon my heel.

I did not see anything of Mary that day, but late in the evening she and
her grandfather came on deck, and, arm in arm, walked up and down the
weather side of the quarter-deck, I giving over to them, and pacing up
and down the opposite side of the mainsail; but my heart was big to
bursting, and I was tempted again and again to step around the mast, and
standing there face to face with the girl that had given me the rose,
demand an explanation. Oh, woman! who can account for your strange
actions or analyze the motives of your inconsistencies?

As they went below, I happened to be standing so close that my presence
could not be ignored, nor could I, without seeming rudeness, avoid
speaking.

"I hope you and the young lady are quite comfortable, Mr. Middleton," I
said, bowing. "If there is anything in my power I can do to add to your
comfort, I pray you to command me."

Purposely I avoided looking at Mary as I spoke, and yet I was conscious
that her eyes were full upon my face. She stood a little apart from her
grandfather, and her little foot was tapping the deck impatiently. Mr.
Middleton acknowledged my salutation, and replied with a certain
peevishness that is shared by the very old or the very young.

"The only thing that you can do is to redeem your promise, and set us on
some vessel bound for Great Britain," he returned.

"I shall endeavor thus to redeem myself," I said. And then the two went
below, leaving me leaning back against the boom with a leaden heart.

We were carrying a great square topsail, and kicking up a great smother
forward that showed that we were travelling well. The man at the tiller
was humming softly to himself, the crew were lolling forward, when I saw
my First Lieutenant approach. I noticed from his expression that he
wished to speak to me.

"Well, Mr. Chips," said I, "and what is it?"

"I beg your pardon, sir," he returned, "but hadn't you better take a
squint at the sun and see where we are? It's near high noon."

I was in a quandary, for, as I have stated previously, I knew nothing of
navigation--that is, the science of it.

"Well, Mr. Chips," I said, "do you suppose I don't know where I am?"

"The sextant is in the cabin, sir. But there is another thing," he
added, touching his cap. "Would you mind calling me by my real name?"

"Why, isn't it Chips?" I exclaimed in surprise, not knowing that this
was the nickname applied to every carpenter afloat.

"My name is Philemon Cutterwaite," he answered, quietly.

As of course I had no intention to hurt his feelings, I repressed a
smile, merely saying, "Very good, Mr. Cutterwaite; I shall endeavor to
remember it."

"Thank you, sir," was the reply. "Shall I get the instruments and take
the time?"

As he spoke he stepped to the head of the companion-ladder and knocked.
I could think of no excuse for the moment for detaining him, and taking
my silence for consent, he obeyed the answer from below to enter, and
disappeared. But in an instant he came on deck.

"Captain Hurdiss," he said, "the chronometer has stopped. We must have
forgotten to wind it, sir--bad fortune!"

"Then there is no sight for to-day," I said, much relieved.

"I suppose not," was the grumbling answer. And then the good fellow went
below.

I messed alone, either on deck or in my box of a cabin; and I had just
finished my evening meal when one of the crew who had been aloft came
down to the forecastle and reported that there was a sail in sight to
the westward. When I came on deck I could just make out a faint spot
against the sunset sky, but what course the vessel was holding I could
not make out even with the aid of a glass. It was dead calm, and the
_Bat_ rolled lazily about, fetching up with a jerk of her heavy boom
that would send an echolike sound rolling up the great mainsail.

In my absence Mr. Cutterwaite, as I shall call him hereafter, had given
some orders, and I saw that some of the crew were making ready to get
rolling tackle on her, as a preventive of the danger of carrying
anything away by the slapping and romping of the vessel. The sea that
was running must have been the aftermath, so to speak, of a heavy blow,
for it rolled from the southward, smooth and round, with not a ripple on
the crest or a dimple to be seen on the sides of the waves.

The sun was going down behind a streaky line of clouds that crossed the
western sky in such a peculiar manner that, as they caught the red
sunset color, the whole west resembled nothing so much as a great
American flag. Even the stars were there, shining in the blue field. I
was standing looking at it in admiration, when I turned suddenly and saw
that Mary Tanner had come on deck, and was regarding the sight with
wide-open eyes. Probably she had not seen me, but I determined to speak
to her, and so came closer.

"It is our flag yonder," I said, pointing.

She gave a little frown, as if I had interrupted some pleasant thought.

"I see it," she answered, turning her head half away; and with this she
descended to the cabin again.

Such a starlit night as this was I can never recollect seeing. The calm
continued, and as it was warm I brought up a blanket to lie on, and
determined to pass the night on deck. As I lay there watching the
topmast sway to and fro against the besprinkled heavens, I fell into
wondering what was going to become of me--what should I do when I
returned to America. I could not imagine; and it seemed to me that it
was impossible that Mary Tanner, whom I had grown to think of as the one
person in the world who might be interested in my life (ah, the beloved
picture of her waiting for me!) was here within sound of my voice; here
in my keeping, as it were; and yet affairs were sadly different from
what I had hoped or supposed they would be.

I was lying with my head almost on the edge of the hatch combing, when I
thought I heard the sound of something like a sigh or a long-drawn
breath. I raised myself on my elbow, and there she was standing not
three feet from me. I could have placed my hand over hers if I had so
chosen.

"Mary," I said, softly. She gave a little gasp and turned.

"Pray do not go until you have heard a few words that I wish to say," I
went on, leaning forward. "If my speaking to you is disagreeable, I
shall not repeat the offence a second time. Listen! I had not thought to
carry you away, but I had hoped some day to find you. In prison I
thought of this, and as a free man the hope has been before my eyes.
Now there is nothing left. I have naught to offer you, but some day
there may come a time when I can do so." I was urged to speak thus by I
know not what. "You think that I am but a common sailor. I am--"

"Oh, pray do not explain further, Monsieur le Marquis," she interrupted.
"I suppose that you were going on to speak of your estates and titles."

I started.

"What do you mean?" I said. "What do you know, anyhow?"

"Only what Gaston informed every one in Stonington," she said. "Poor
loon! they would have put him in the mad-house. But you were going on to
say, you are--"

"A plain American seaman," I returned, "who would give his life to serve
you."

I had risen to my feet and stood there looking at her. I thought for a
moment that her look had softened as I spoke, but just then Mr.
Middleton's voice interrupted us from the cabin.

"Mary, child," he called, "where are you?"

"I am here," she answered, and she jumped below, almost into the
frightened old man's arms. I clinched my teeth, and there was no sleep
for me that night.

In the early morning hours it clouded a little, and an intermittent
breeze blew up from the south. At daybreak we discovered the sail that
had been sighted the evening before, about three miles distant, bearing
a few points off our weather bow. She was a small ship, and at the first
glance at her Mr. Cutterwaite pronounced her English. We changed our
course, and at the same moment the vessel did hers also, and when about
a mile distant she broke out her flag.

"A Portuguese, by David!" exclaimed Dugan.

"We'd better try the British Jack, sir," suggested the carpenter.

I acquiesced, and soon the _Bat_'s natural colors were flying over us.
Instantly down went the Portuguese emblem, and up went that of England.
The ship had come up into the wind, and was waiting for us with her
maintop-sail aback and her foresheets fluttering. Suddenly I noticed
that she had dropped four ports, and through the glass I noticed one of
the guns run in and the toss of a sponge handle. Instantly the risk we
were running crossed my mind.

"Stand by to cast loose and provide those guns," I said, holding the
_Bat_ up a few points so as to lessen our speed. "Arm all hands," I
added.

We were a fair bit less than one-third the size of the vessel we were
nearing, and I saw that the men cast rather furtive glances at her as
they set about obeying orders.

"Men," I said, "we do not intend to fight that vessel. I just wish to
speak to her; but be ready."

"If fight we must, why, fight we will," said Dugan, with a grin.

I called down into the cabin.

"Mr. Middleton," I said, "you can get your baggage, sir. I judge we will
soon part company."

In ten minutes we were almost within hailing distance, and the old
gentleman came on deck, followed immediately by Mary. Her eyes were red,
as if she had been weeping. It required all the strength of will I had
to keep my lip from quivering as I raised my hat and wished her a polite
good-morning. There was a strange wistful glance that I could not fathom
that she threw at me, and then she turned her head aside. I had donned
the uniform of my unknown namesake, and leaning against the lee shrouds,
I raised my voice and hallooed,

"What ship is that?"

"The _Lord Lennox_, from Quebec to Liverpool. What cutter is that?"

"His Majesty's sloop _Bat_, from Dublin to Quebec," I answered.

"What do you want of us?" was the inquiry of a short thick-set man in a
beaver hat, who had mounted the rail.

"Can you take two passengers back with you to England?" I replied.

The man on the rail turned as if he were speaking to some one behind
him, and giving no answer to this, jumped down out of sight.

"Look out for treachery," cried the carpenter, suddenly. And no sooner
had he spoken than the forward gun, an 18-pound carronade, roared out,
and the shot plumped through our mainsail.

"Below with you," I cried, dodging under the boom, and hastening Mr.
Middleton toward the cabin with a push. "Below for your dear life," I
cried to Mary as she followed him.

Without orders one of my men had fired the forward 6-pounder into the
hull of the ship, and seeing that our only hope was to get so close that
they could not depress their guns enough to hit us, I jammed down the
tiller, and we shot up close under the vessel's side. Her three other
guns were discharged over our heads, and away went our topmast, and the
tip of our gaff with the colors on it. So close were we that a burning
wad fell on our deck. The other 6-pounder was discharged, and ripped a
great hole in the ship but a few feet above the water-line. And now we
were in for it! With a slight jar we grazed along the ship's side, and
the wounded gaff tangled, in her fore-shrouds.

"There's nothing for it but to board," I cried.

"Boarders away for the spar-deck!" roared Dugan, as he sprang for the
chains, followed by all hands in a wild scramble.

Perhaps the cheer that we gave sounded as if there were many more of us.
I saw Dugan's pistol flash as he threw his leg over the bulwark
overhead. It was answered by a volley, and the poor fellow with a cry
fell back into the arms of the next man below him. By almost pushing
those ahead of me out of the way, I had managed to be among the
foremost. Somebody gave me a leg up from behind, and I shot over the
ship's rail on to the forecastle. But I was not alone. To a man the crew
of the _Bat_ were with me, and there before us, gathered in the waist,
were a score or more of seamen who were scrambling forward to meet our
onslaught. They outnumbered us, but we were better armed, and (if I say
it, who should not) we were better fighters. I had felt a sharp twinge
of pain go through my left shoulder when I had fallen forward, but,
getting to my feet, I was soon in the midst of the cutting, shouting,
and firing.

Before me stood a thick-set middle-aged man, who hurled a smoking pistol
full at me. It grazed my head as I dodged, and my cutlass rang against
the weapon he carried in his right hand, an old Scottish claymore with a
basket hilt, and a blade some three inches longer than my own. With an
oath he made a slash at me that would have brought me to my knees had I
not turned it. At the same time, with a sidewise stroke I reached him
beneath the armpit, and almost lifted the limb from his body. He fell
backward with a howl. I had but noticed this when from the side some one
caught me a clip over the head that severed my cocked hat like a pumpkin
and sent my senses flying. I stumbled, for I could not for the life of
me keep my feet, and down I went.

When I came to I was first conscious of a tremendous throbbing in my
temples, and opening my eyes I saw that I was below in the little cabin
with the miniatures on the bulkheads. It was but a glimpse of
consciousness I had, but in that glimpse I felt a soothing touch laid on
my brow. Raising my eyes my heart leaped, for it was Mary bathing my
head with a cold wet cloth. The joy of it may have sent me off again,
for I remembered no more until I was awakened by the sound of
whispering. Looking up, I saw that Cutterwaite and Mr. Middleton were
standing alongside.

"Well," I said, faintly, "how fares it?"

"Another prize, Captain Hurdiss, and a good one," said Chips, bending
over me. "We took the ship, sir and she's in our wake. We're not five
hundred miles off Cape Cod. The wind's fair, and all's a-taunt-o."

Oh, I could have cried for the joy of it, but at this instant the
curtain that had partitioned off the cabin was drawn aside, and I heard
a soft voice ask,

"Is he speaking?"

"Mary!" I said, tremulously.

Mr. Middleton and the carpenter stepped to the other side of the
curtain, and the one whom I had always dreamed of as waiting for me came
near.

There was no pride or anger in her face, and her voice shook as she
said, softly,

"Sh-h-h--you must not speak!"

[Illustration: I PUT OUT MY HAND AND SHE TOOK IT.]

I put out my hand. She took it and sank down at the side of the bunk.

"John dear, forgive me," was all she said; and then--and then-- Well,
what is the use of telling more? Women are strange creatures. But
suffice it. I had, of a truth, taken the fairest prize in all the world.
How she had won the old gentleman to her way of thinking I do not
pretend to tell. I have never asked, nor did he inform me. But some
women have a way with them against which there is no gainsaying. Mr.
Middleton is a wise man, and this may account for it. But I was not the
only one under Mary's care. Dugan and three others were wounded lying in
the forecastle; but I am glad to here record, so far as I know, they are
at this moment well and hearty. On the fourth day I was on deck when
land was sighted. It was my own country that lay off to the westward. I,
the happiest man in all the world, was home again.

Thus ended my adventures. Since then I have made many cruises in my own
vessels, always knowing that there was waiting for me when I returned
the dearest little woman in the world, and were I a nobleman with vast
estates I could be no wit happier, nor could I be so happy as I am at
this very moment. Of that I am sure.

There is just a half-page left of this old ledger. As my story is done,
I can but go over it again; and in looking back, what a strange record I
have made here, for I began as a child without a name and without a
country, who chose both for himself. I had been a mysterious waif in a
Connecticut village, an instructor in small-arms on board a privateer,
an English prisoner of war, a French nobleman among the refugees in
England, a lieutenant of a fine schooner, and the commander of two
vessels, all inside of a week; yes, and had I not been a robber also?
For I robbed an English officer and a scare-crow of their clothes, and
an old man of his granddaughter. (Of the last I am prouder than I can
tell in calm words.) And now I am a prosperous ship-owner, with nothing
in this wide world to wish for, except that I were a better scribe. Oh,
I might set down that I learned, of course, of the death of my uncle,
and found out that Gaston had disappeared with the belongings of Belair;
no one knew whither. I was sorry for this, for there was much that I
would like to have possessed. As for any other title than that of an
American citizen, I care not so much as the snap of my finger; nor would
my sons, I am sure, even if they had but to extend their hands to grasp
it. They may read in this a great deal that their father has not told
them, but it could make no difference, I am sure, in our relations
toward one another.

One thing more--I returned all the personal effects found in the _Bat_'s
cabin to my namesake who lives in Sussex, England.

THE END.




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 VII.

THE LAD WHO HAD NEVER SEEN A GIRL.

While poor Todd was striving to scale the rocky ladder from which he had
just fallen, another lad of about his own age had bounded up the steep
pathway behind him with the speed and ease of a mountain-goat. He was
tall and slender, straight as the lance shaft that he bore in one hand,
and finely proportioned. The bronze of his skin and his long hair, black
and glossy as the wing of a crow, showed him to be an Indian, though his
clear-cut features expressed a lively intelligence, and exhibited none
of the hopeless apathy so common to the moderns of his race. His body
was naked to the waist, below which it was covered by a pair of fringed
buckskin breeches, while his feet were encased in unornamented but
serviceable moccasins having soles of goat-skin.

This new-comer was so startled by the unexpected sight of a stranger
that he uttered the shout of amazement which had caused Todd to lose his
hold. Bitterly regretting his impulsive outcry, and distressed at its
result, the young Indian knelt beside the unconscious stranger, and
gently lifting his head from the rocks against which it had struck,
gazed eagerly into the face of the first white boy he had ever seen.

While he was thus occupied a second figure appeared toiling up the
rugged path. It was that of a white man, venerable in aspect, but still
sturdy of limb, and clad from head to foot in buckskin. He was a large
man, and his massive head was covered with silvery hair, still thick and
clustering in curls about his temples. He wore a flowing white beard,
and his kindly face was as serenely placid as though the cares of life
had touched him but slightly. At the present moment it was flushed from
the exertion of climbing, and filled with an anxious curiosity at the
astounding sight of a stranger in that place, and one who was at the
same time in so sad a plight.

A few words from the Indian lad told all that he knew of what had just
happened, and while he spoke the old man examined a slight wound in
Todd's head, from which a stream of blood was trickling.

"It does not appear serious," he said at length, "and I believe that
with care he will speedily recover. Remain thou here with him while I
continue on to the castle and notify mother of what has happened. From
her I will obtain a few things that be needful, and will quickly return.
Then must we try and carry him down to the hut, for in his present
condition I doubt if it would be possible for us to get him up to the
castle."

The old man climbed the rock ladder with marvellous agility, and so
hastened his movements that in less than five minutes he had returned,
bringing a flask of water, some strips of cotton cloth, and a healing
salve. The water did so much toward restoring Todd to consciousness that
after a little he was able, with help, to regain his feet. Then, with
many encouraging words, his new-found friends half carried, half led him
back down the steep trail he had so recently climbed, and along the
woodland pathway to the very hut in which he had already spent so much
of that eventful day. Here they laid him on the couch of skins, and
while the old man looked after his comfort, the Indian lad, taking a
flint, steel, and bit of tinder from a recess of the chimney quickly
started a fire with which to light the little apartment. Then he
disappeared, while his companion tenderly bathed and dressed the wound
in Todd's head. He uttered a pitying exclamation on discovering that his
patient's hand was also injured, and bound it up with a soothing
dressing. While doing these things he talked constantly; but when Todd,
still dazed and feeling helplessly weak, made an effort to speak, the
other bade him lie perfectly quiet and not attempt to talk until he
should be stronger.

"Thy looks are those of one who has suffered much and is even now
wellnigh starved," he said, "but very shortly thy hunger shall be
relieved, and then will I commend thee to sleep, the restorer."

As he spoke the Indian lad returned, bringing a basket of food. Among
its contents was a bowl of broth, which, after it had been warmed at the
fire, was given to Todd, who eagerly drained it to the last drop. Then
he sank wearily but contentedly back on his couch, and in another minute
was fast asleep.

For some time the white man and the young Indian watched him in silence.
Then the former said, in a low tone:

"The poor lad has evidently undergone a terrible experience, however it
has happened; but now he is doing well, and will pull through beyond a
doubt. Whence he came, by what means he was led to this place, and how
he discovered the locality of Cliff Castle, are questions that I would
gladly ask him, for in all the years that we have dwelt in this valley
he is our first visitor. But on no account must he be disturbed until he
wakes of his own accord, since complete rest is what he needs above all
else."

"Is he in reality a white boy, such as thee has so often described to
me?" asked the young Indian. "And will he tarry with us, to be unto me a
companion and to thee another son?"

"Truly he is a white lad of about thy own age, and that he will tarry
with us is beyond question, for from this place there is but slight
chance of escape. For this night I shall leave him in thy charge, while
I return to mother, who is doubtless impatient to learn of the
happenings of the past hour. Watch closely for his waking, and give him
both food and drink if he shall call for them."

In obedience to this command the Indian lad watched his charge all
night, studying his face closely in the flickering fire-light, and
speculating concerning trim. Occasionally he dropped asleep, but Todd's
slightest movement found him wide-awake, for he was too greatly excited
over this most wonderful happening of his life for much sleep, even
though he had not been charged with a duty. So the night passed, and it
was broad daylight when he roused from a slight doze to find the
stranger lying with wide-open eyes curiously regarding him.

"Do you speak English?" asked Todd, as the young Indian started to his
feet.

"I speak with the tongue of the Professor," answered the lad, shyly,
"though I know not if that is what thee means."

"Of course it is, if what you have just said is a sample. At any rate,
it is good enough English for you to tell me what place this is, and who
you are. I mean, what is your name? Mine is Todd Chalmers. Is there
anything to eat that you could let me have, for I'm as hungry as a bear.
I suppose you know what that is?"

"Oh, yes!" answered the other, brightly. "Bears are the big rabbits,
bigger even than goats or deer, that ate up the children who mocked at
Elisha. And here is _piki_ for thee to eat. Also, thee is in the Valley
of Peace, and thy servant is named Nanahe, though he is also sometimes
called Ishmael, the son of Hagar, who fled into the wilderness."

"Are your parents Quakers?" asked Todd, greatly puzzled by the other's
form of speech.

"My father was a Navajo, and my mother was of the Hopi people," answered
the other, proudly.

"Oh, I see!" responded Todd, vaguely, though still wondering what sort
of a lad this might be, who was so evidently an Indian, and yet spoke
English without an accent, though in the manner affected by the Society
of Friends. "But I say, old man, you won't mind if I call you 'Nana,'
will you? Nanahe is too long for common use, and 'Nan' would sound too
much like a girl's name, you know."

"Thee may call me what thee pleases, and I will answer. But has thee
really seen girls and known them?" asked the other, eagerly.

"Well, I should rather say I had," laughed Todd. "Why, haven't you?"

"No, but I have wanted to so much. Tell me of them, and what they look
like. Do they resemble mother?"

"Not having seen the lady, I can't say; but if she is the Professor's
wife, I should think probably not. Girls, you know, are very young, and
they look like--why, like nothing in the world but girls. As for
describing them, you just can't, because no two of them are the same,
and because there is nothing else that I know of to compare them with.
But, Nana, how about that breakfast you mentioned some time since?
Aren't you afraid we are letting it get cold?"

"It is ready and waiting for thee," said a pleasant voice behind them;
and turning quickly, our lad beheld for the first time by daylight the
white man who had treated him with so much kindness the evening before.


CHAPTER VIII.

CLIFF CASTLE AND ITS OCCUPANTS.

"Oh, sir," cried Todd, "I am indeed grateful to you for all your
kindness to me!"

"And I," replied the old gentleman, "am more than pleased to see thee so
evidently restored to health. At the same time I sincerely welcome thee
to the Valley of Peace, which, with all it contains, is at thy service.
May I introduce myself as Rufus Plant, at one time professor of
ethnology in Calvert College, but now and for many years resident of
this valley?"

"Calvert College, did you say, sir? Why, that is the college where my
brother Mortimer Chalmers is professor of geology, and the one that I am
to enter next fall. It seems to me, too, that I have heard your name
before. Wasn't there something strange about your dis-- I mean, I
thought you were killed by Indians."

"Doubtless that was the report, and it might well be credited," replied
the Professor. "But tell me, lad, is thy name Chalmers?"

"Yes, sir--Todd Chalmers, of Baltimore."

"Can it be that thee is a relative of my old friend Carey Chalmers?"

"He was my father."

"The Lord be praised for all His mercies!" exclaimed the other. "Why,
lad, if thee was a messenger from Heaven thy presence could not be more
welcome to an old man cut off these many years from intercourse with his
fellows. But thee must be sorely in need of refreshment, and it would be
wrong to keep thee longer from her who waits anxiously to welcome thee.
Therefore let us hasten to the castle, if indeed thee is strong enough
for so arduous a climb."

Todd quickly proved that he was now fully equal to the task that he had
so nearly accomplished the evening before, and a few minutes later,
filled with an eager curiosity, he stood with his new friends on a broad
shelf of rock a hundred feet above the valley. It was bordered along its
outer edge by a low parapet, and was partially overhung by the cliff
that still rose above it. At its inner end was a veritable house of
stone, having a door and windows, just outside of which stood one of the
dearest of old ladies, clad in Quaker costume.

The boy knew at a glance that she who welcomed him must be the one whom
his new acquaintances spoke of so lovingly as "mother"; but more than
ever did he wonder at the strangeness of her surroundings, and long for
an explanation of the many things that were puzzling him. A thousand
questions were at his tongue's end; but he could not ask them then, for
the dear old lady at once led the way into the house, saying:

"Not another moment shall thee be kept from thy breakfast, Todd
Chalmers; for starvation is one of the things not permitted in Cliff
Castle, and hunger is written on thy face."

Never had Todd entered so queer an abode, nor one so filled with curious
objects, as when he passed the doorway of that little dwelling. Its low
roof was not more than two feet above his head, and its interior walls
of white clay were covered with rude drawings in color that strongly
suggested the work of ancient Egyptians. The stone floor was covered
with rugs of goat and deer skins; several articles of rude furniture,
besides blocks of jasper and agate used as seats, were conveniently
placed, while great earthen-ware jars, quaint in shape and beautifully
decorated in colors, stood on all sides. In one corner was a rude
fireplace, which was evidently used only to furnish warmth, as Todd had
already noticed another, provided with appliances for cooking, on the
outer platform.

Best of all, in our hungry lad's estimation, was a table covered with a
snowy cloth and laden with food. Nearly all its furnishing--including
bowls, platters, jugs, and small dishes--was of earthen-ware quaintly
devised and ornamented. There were also several steel knives and forks,
half a dozen silver spoons, three white china cups, and as many saucers.

Served on these queer dishes was a breakfast of broiled chicken,
oatmeal, corn-bread, and another bread made from grass-seeds, eggs, and
stewed peaches, besides small white cheeses, and a jug of goat's milk,
all of which combined to make a meal that seemed to Todd better than any
he had ever before tasted. It made him pity himself to recall how, only
the day before, he had been very nearly starved actually within sight
and reach of all this abundance.

When his hunger was at length satisfied, the boy related his adventures
of the past few days, describing his wanderings on the desert, his
efforts to reach the blue peaks that ever beckoned him forward, his
finding of the valley, his perplexity at discerning signs of human
occupancy but no inhabitants, his joy at seeing the smoke from Cliff
Castle, his fruitless attempt to reach the place from which it ascended,
and his doubts as to the kind of reception he might meet from its
occupants.

To all this the lad's hearers listened with deepest interest, frequently
interrupting him with questions and exclamations. When he had finished
he turned to the Professor, saying:

"Now, sir, that you have learned how I happen to be in this place, will
you not tell me of your own experience in reaching it, and your reason
for remaining here all these years?"

"Gladly will I gratify thy most natural curiosity," replied the old man,
"but I must ask thee to wait until evening; for the narrative is of such
length that it cannot be told until our affairs are ordered for the day.
Therefore, let us first return thanks to our Heavenly Father for His
abounding mercies, and then attend to the duties awaiting us."

With this the old man led the way to the outer platform, to which Nanahe
fetched a small Bible, that was the only book the Indian lad had ever
seen, and from which he read aloud, without hesitation, the exquisite
Twenty-third Psalm. While he read, Todd gazed over the underlying
valley, and wondered that its every feature should appear so familiar to
him. Suddenly he recalled the mirage that three days before had first
turned his steps in this direction, and knew that the picture then
presented was an image of the one upon which he now looked.

After the simple service was ended the Professor and Nanahe descended
into the valley, carrying with them the fowls that had been brought to
the castle for safety during their two days' absence. The old lady
busied herself with domestic duties, and Todd found himself at liberty
to explore the quaint little house, which, his hostess informed him, was
only one of many, long since abandoned by their builders, that were to
be found among the cliffs enclosing the valley.

"Thee must have read of the ancient cliff-dwellers of this region," she
said, "and so will understand when I tell thee that this place of abode
and most of its contents were made by their hands, and that we are
to-day leading the very life of that long-vanished people."

"But what became of them?" asked Todd.

"That is a mystery that many persons have tried in vain to solve. My
husband is of the opinion that they were forced to migrate, either by
flood or drouth, but expected to return, since they left their most
valued possessions behind them, and carefully concealed the only
entrance to the valley. Had they been destroyed by an enemy, their
possessions would also have been destroyed or removed, whereas nothing
had been touched from the day they left, probably hundreds of years ago,
until that on which we were led to this place, and it was given to us
for a house."

"It was very wonderful," said Todd; "but the strangest part of all is to
find you and your husband and a young Indian living here so contentedly
and comfortably. I can't understand it all, and wish you would tell me
how it came about."

"Have a little patience and it shall be made clear to thee," replied the
old lady, with a smile. "It is a tale of strange experiences, and I
would gladly relate it, but I know the Professor has set his heart on
telling it himself."

So Todd was forced to wait, and passed the morning in an examination of
the dwelling and its contents. Later in the day he descended to the
valley, where at the hut he found Nanahe cutting into thin strips, for
drying, the meat of a deer that he had just brought in.

"How did you kill it?" asked Todd. "I didn't know you had a rifle."

"I have not, nor did I ever see one," replied the Indian lad. "I killed
it with my throw-stick."

"Throw-stick?" repeated Todd, with a puzzled air. "What is a
throw-stick?"

[Illustration: NANAHE EXHIBITS HIS THROW-STICK.]

For answer Nanahe handed him a stick of tough wood two feet long, about
as many inches in diameter, and fitted at one end with a handle in which
were two finger-holes. The weapon was completed by a slender lance
having a barbed head formed from a splinter of obsidian, keen-edged as a
razor. Nanahe laid this lance on a flattened side of the throw-stick,
with its butt resting against a bit of bone that was embedded in the
wood near the upper end of the weapon. The lance was held in position by
the thumb and one free finger of the thrower's right hand until the act
of throwing was begun. Then it was released and sent whizzing through
the air with such force that it fell to the ground more than one hundred
yards away.

"Now I understand," cried Todd, "for I have often thrown apples from the
end of a stick in just that way. But surely you can't throw the lance
with any degree of accuracy."

Without replying, Nanahe smilingly selected half a dozen of the
stone-headed shafts, and hurling one after another with inconceivable
quickness at a tree some thirty yards from him, set them quivering in
its bark so close together that a ring two inches in diameter would have
encircled them all.

"Good enough!" cried Todd, enthusiastically. "I give in, and acknowledge
that your throw-stick is a wonderfully effective weapon. But where did
you pick up the idea?"

"The Professor found some of them in the cliff houses," answered Nanahe.
"He says that in very ancient times all hunters used them, and that even
now they are common among people called Eskimos who live in a far-away
land of ice and snow. He taught me how to use them, and this one I made
myself."

"Well," said Todd, "I begin to see how people get along and manage to
live comfortably in a place like this; but it certainly takes genius to
do it. As for myself, I know I should have starved long before I learned
to kill a deer or even a rabbit with any such primitive weapon as a
throw-stick. Now let's get back to the castle, for it must be
supper-time, and after that I am to hear the Professor's strange story."

[TO BE CONTINUED.]




[Illustration: An Obstinate Collision]

ONE OF THE OLD SAILOR'S YARNS.

BY W. J. HENDERSON.


It was a crisp morning in late October. All the land was sere and yellow,
darkening away into brown shadows. The trees kept their garments of
leaves, but these were ragged and sombre, as if the heat of summer had
worn and burned them. The grass at the foot of the trees was brown and
gray, and the bare branches of the field bushes made naked perches for
belated birds. The sky was wan and faint near the rigid horizon, but
deeply blue in the zenith; and the sun, far down the southern vault of
the heavens, rolled westward in a glory of silver. The sea was of a
gorgeous ultramarine color, with a dash of royal purple in its shadows,
and a glitter of cold emerald in its transparent crests. A light
nor'west wind barely ruffled its surface, yet sufficed to fill the sails
of a score of schooners which were ploughing a snowy road to the
southward.

Henry and George felt that it was a good day for yarns, and so they
hurried out of the house immediately after breakfast and bent their
steps toward the pier. There they saw their old friend in his familiar
attitude, with his eyes fixed on two steamers which were rapidly
approaching each other from opposite directions. He did not turn his
head as the boys approached him, but said, in a meditative manner,

"It are not no sort o' kind o' use fur to try to git past without
shiftin' yer helm."

Then he relapsed into silence, while the two boys stood wondering what
was coming next. Presently the Old Sailor broke out again,

"Do ye see them two steamers?"

"Yes," answered both boys.

"Waal, they are agoin' fur to pass putty close."

At that instant a gush of white steam rose from one of them, and the
hoarse cry of her whistle rumbled across the water. The other vessel
answered with a single blast.

"An' wot do that mean?" asked the Old Sailor.

"That means," answered Henry, "that they are going to port their helms
and keep off to starboard."

"Werry good, too," declared the Old Sailor. "An' ef they didn't, wot'd
happen?"

"They would bump into each other," answered George, soberly.

"W'ich the same it'd be a colligion," said the Old Sailor, "an' mebbe it
would be like the colligion o' the _Lord Kindlin'wood_ an' the _Orange
Mary_, an' mebbe it wouldn't, 'cos w'y, I don't reckon there ever were
no sich colligion afore, an' I don't reckon as how there ever will be
agin."

"Will you please tell us about it?" asked Henry.

"In course I will, my son. W'enever I recomembers one o' them picooliar
misfortins wot has happened to me at sea, I allus tells ye about it,
don't I?"

The Old Sailor fixed his eyes on the two steamers, which were now
passing each other very closely, and shook his head.

"It are all werry putty in clear an' calm weather," he said; "but it
ain't no good wotever in weather wot are dirty. Waal may I never live to
see a ship's cook at the fore-sheet ag'in ef it weren't jess like I'm
agoin' fur to tell ye. I were in Liverpool an' didn't have no berth at
all, so I were more'n half tickled to death w'en I met old Jonas
Pettigrew, the shippin' agent, an' he sez to me, sez he, 'They 'ain't
got no mate on the _Lord Kindlin'wood_ yet.' I'd heerd about her. She
were bound fur Calcutta an' Hong-kong by way o' the Suez Canal, an' her
Cap'n were a Frenchman, 'cos she'd jess been bought by a French company
in Canton. So I went down to the dock where she were a-takin' in her
cargo, an' I sez to the Cap'n, sez I, 'Here are a mate fur ye.' His name
were Zhan Four--anyhow, that's as near as I can come to wot he called
hisself. 'Ala bonner,' sez he to me, sez he, w'ich the same it are
French fur 'Bully fur you.' We soon come to tarms, an' I turned to.

"Waal, we didn't have no incidents or accidents o' no kind at all on the
run down to Alexandry. Then the wind come in from the south'ard an'
east'ard an' blowed putty nigh straight up the sea. I don't remember any
nastier sea than it kicked up. The _Lord Kindlin'wood_ would stand
straight up on her starn-post, an' then take a pitch forrad and go clean
into it up to her foremast. We had double lookouts up in the crow-nest,
an' they was under water so much o' the time that they hollered fur
divin'-suits.

"Waal, it blowed an' it blowed an' it blowed. It blowed so hard on the
second day that it cut the tops right off'n the seas, an' sent 'em
flyin' along like buckets o' rain, an' blow me fur pickled oysters ef ye
could stand with your face up to wind'ard.

"Howsumever, we got used to it arter a while, an' the cook took to
singin', so we knowed we was all right. But along about the middle o'
the fust dog-watch one o' the lookouts yelled, 'Steamer ho!' I jumped
into the fore-riggin' an' seed the wessel dead ahead o' us. She were a
steamer about our own size, bound to the north'ard. She were runnin' at
full speed ahead o' the gale, an' were drivin' along like the werry tops
o' them seas wot I told ye about. Only she were actin' a little
different from the _Lord Kindlin'wood_, 'cos w'y, she were a runnin'
with the seas. So w'en one o' them would roll in under her starn she
would h'ist her taffrail up into the air, an' plough forrad with her
head down for all the world like a mad bull. Then the sea would underrun
her an' git under her bow, an' she'd sit up on her starn-post with her
bow p'inted away up in the air, an' like the werry tops o' them seas wot
I told ye about. That were all right, but wot discomforted me w'en I saw
her were that she were a-headin' right dead on end at us. Now we didn't
dare fur to shift the _Lord Kindlin'wood_'s helm an inch. We had to keep
her head to the seas, 'cos w'y, it were the only way she'd lay to an'
behave herself. The other wessel I sort o' reckoned, bein' about our
size, would be in danger o' broachin' to ef she shifted her helm. So I
were somewhat anxious 'bout how the two on 'em was agoin' fur to git
past each other. I sent a man aft to call the Cap'n, an' he came on the
bridge an' danced a reg'lar jig. 'Ef she turn not away she will make to
the bow a bump!'

"'Wot is the orders, Cap'n?' sez I to he, sez I.

"'Blow the wheestle! Blow the wheestle!' sez he to me, sez he. An'
accordin'ly I blowed it once, signifying accordin' to the rules o' the
road at sea, that we were puffickly agreeable that both parties should
keep to the right. The other ship she blowed hers back at us. O' course
we couldn't hear nothin', but we could see the steam, an' we knowed she
were agreeable. But she didn't change her course a little bit.

"'Dogs an' cats an' little kittens!' sez Cap'n Zhan Four, in French. 'Ef
he change not the course, we are collided.'

"'Shall I order the helm to be shifted, Cap'n?' sez I to he, sez I.

"'Non! non! All the time non!' sez he to me, sez he. 'I turn not out of
my path for such rubbeesh! I hit him in the meeddle, the miserable
shadow of a dead horse!'

"'Werry good, sir,' sez I to he, sez I.

"An' I sez to the man at the wheel, 'keep 'er steady.' The other wessel,
seein' we didn't change our course, blowed her whistle several times,
but o' course that didn't 'nay pa riang,' as the Cap'n sez. Waal, to
make the story short, this are edzackly wot happened. The _Lord
Kindlin'wood_ riz up over one o' them flat-topped seas, an' plunged head
fust down the other side. At the werry same instant the stranger were
sittin' up on her taffrail gittin' ready to dive down; an'
consequentially we 'n the two ships come together precisely an' direckly
head on, the stranger's bow overrun ours, an' she came down with her
forefoot right on top o' our fo'c's'le deck. There were one grand crash,
an' fur half a minute ye couldn't see nothin' 'cept flyin' timbers,
iron, egg-shells, an' ham bones. In the middle of it all ye could hear
the Cap'n screechin' in French, an' the two whistles a-blowin', an' the
mates yellin' to clear away the boat-falls, 'cos w'y, it were not to be
expected that both wessels would do anything 'ceptin' go to Davy Jones's
locker in about five minutes. But they didn't, an' that are the
picooliar part o' this 'ere yarn wot I'm a-tellin' ye, an' also the
werry partikler reason w'y I are not a-feedin' Red Sea fish like
Pharaoh's army.

"It warn't no sort o' proper behavior fur wessels wot, accordin' to the
laws o' colligions, ort to gone to the bottom; but sich as it were, this
were the bloomin' ridiklous way on't. The stranger's bow comin' down
right on top o' ourn cut through the decks jess like a axe, straight
down to the k'elson. An' there it stopped, bein' wedged in jess like the
axe in a log, an' a dozen tugs couldn't 'a' pulled her out. An' wot we
found out arter a few minutes, w'en we'd all got through bein' crazy,
were that she were wedged in so tight that there weren't a leak anywhere
at all, an' them two ships was actooally made into one, 'ceptin' that it
were a new kind o' wessel with two starns, an' no more bow than a
bass-drum. The Cap'n o' the stranger he comes forrad on a run an' a
jump, and w'en he got to the place w'ere our cat-heads was alongside o'
his he stopped, an' sez he, bawlin' like Feejee Injun in a fit o'
cholery:

"'Donner unt blitzen! vot kind o' peezness vas dot? Vere ist der
Gept'n?'

[Illustration: HE JUMPED CLEAN OFF THE BRIDGE AND DANCED ON ONE FOOT.]

"Ye see, we l'arned by his way o' talkin' that he were a bloomin'
Garman, an' I looked to see some fun w'en Cap'n Zhan Four an' him got
laid yard-arm to yard-arm. But they couldn't edzackly do that, 'cos w'y,
'cos they was laid bow to bow, like a couple o' buckin' billy-goats in a
fight. As soon as ever Cap'n Zhan Four heard the Garman Cap'n talk he
jumped clean down off'n the bridge to the fo'c's'le deck an' danced on
one foot, while he yelled:

"'Singe cornay of a Allemand!'--w'ich means dog-eared monkey of a
Garman, an' are not no perlite way fur one gen'leman to address another
at sea--'why do you make to knock a hole in my sheep?'

"'Ach, du dummer aysel!' sez the Garman, sez he; 'wot for you ton't ged
your sheep out der vay?'

"'My sheep makes not to be in the way,' sez Cap'n Zhan Four, sez he; 'it
is your sheep that comes straight at mine an' runs upon her, unessy pa?'

"'Donnerwetter!' sez the Garman, 'how could I dot help? I vas before der
seas, unt you vas behint. Das macht nichts aus!'

"'Silonce!' screeched Cap'n Zhan Four. 'Speak not the accursed tongue of
Garmany at me!'

"'Sprechen sie nicht dot frog talk at me!' howls the Garman. 'I speak
der lankwitch von my vaterland alvays!'

"'Hoist the French flag!' sez Cap'n Four.

"'Up mit der Garman flag!" sez the Garman.

"An' as soon as the flags was run up them two crazy critters commenced
fur to dance up an' down their two forrad decks right in each other's
faces, one on 'em singin' the 'Marseillaise,' an' the other 'Die Wacht
am Rhein,' like they was fit to bu'st theirselves. An' in the mean time,
o' course, the two bloomin' ships, jammed together, slewed around
broadside on to the sea, an' a big wall o' green water broke aboard an'
putty nigh swept the two on 'em overboard. Anyhow, it put a stop to
their singin', an' sot 'em a-thinkin' about their 'sheeps,' as they
called 'em.

"'Back out you!' yelled Cap'n Zhan Four.

"'Nicht!' shouted the Garman. 'Ich back for no Frenchman alretty yet!
Back you!'

"'Jammy! Jammy!' screeched Cap'n Four, an' 'jammy' it were, only that
are French fur 'not on yer life!'

"'I go aheat full speet!' sez the Garman.

"'Ay maw,' sez Cap'n Four, w'ich the same that are French fur 'me too.'
An' then them two wild men o' the sea orders their engines ahead full
speed, an' the two ships commenced a grand pushin' match, fur all the
world like one o' them there feet-ball games wot the long-haired
collidge fellers plays in the mud every autumn. Now this 'ere shovin'
game were a putty even match atwixt them there two ships, 'ceptin' fur
one thing, an' that were that the Garman had the wind an' sea with him.
So he commenced fur to push the _Lord Kindlin'wood_ back'ards up
north'ard toward the canal agin. Waal, boys, I reckon ye've seed a good
many mad men, but ye 'ain't never seed none half or quarter as mad as
that there French Cap'n Zhan Four. He said more funny things in French
than ever I kin recomember, an' he got so red in the face that he putty
near busted hisself. Howsumever, it didn't do no good, 'cos w'y, the
Garman had the best on't in the matter o' the elements, an' he were
steadily a-shovin' of us back to w'ere we come from, w'en the gale
broke, an' the sea beginned fur to go down. The barometer riz, an' I
looked fur a smart shift o' wind, w'ich the same it come along all right
about three bells in the arternoon watch o' the second day. It dropped
right around to nor'west, an' in ten minutes were blowin' a brisk
breeze.

"'Sacred name of St. Michael!' sez Cap'n Zhan Four, sez he, 'now I push
the Garman to the south pole!'

"'I hope ye ain't agoin' az fur as that,' sez I, ''cos I shipped fur
Calcutta an' Hong-kong, an' I 'ain't got my seal-skin overcoat along
with me,' sez I, jess like that, him bein' a crazy French Cap'n and me a
werry partiklarly sane American mate.

"'I push him anywhere I want to!' sez Cap'n Zhan Four.

"An' he orders more fire an' more steam. An' putty soon we found that
we'd stopped goin' back'ard an' was a-holdin' the Garman in his place.
But we couldn't make him go back'ard fast enough fur to suit Cap'n Zhan
Four. So seein' the wind were putty fresh, I sez to the Cap'n, sez I,

"'Wot's the reason we don't set all our canvas?'

"'Excellentment!' sez he, w'ich are French fur 'bully,' an' I jumps out
an' gives the orders.

"Waal, boys, jess as soon as we got the canvas on her we commenced fur
to push the Garman back'ard, an' he commenced fur to do the dancin' an'
howlin'; but it didn't do him no good. He heaped coal onto his fires an'
he burnt oil an' ham fat, but he couldn't hold us. We shoved him all the
way down the Red Sea an' out into the Indian Ocean. Then he got his men
forrad an' tried to cut his ship out o' ours, but Cap'n Zhan Four
ordered the hose turned on 'em with hot water, an' that stopped that
job. Finally, the Garman Cap'n, he come forrad with a flag o' truce, an'
sez he'd like to make a treaty o' peace atwixt Garmany an' France on the
high seas. So him an' Cap'n Zhan Four had a long talk, an' finally they
agreed that they'd make fur the nearest port, each one agreein' to be
pushed back'ards half-way an' to keep his engines agoin' reversed to
help things along. An' so we finally reached the island o' Socotra,
w'ere we contrived to get the ships apart an' patch ours up fur the run
to Bombay."




TWO LEADERS OF THE GREEK REVOLUTION.

BY V. GRIBAYEDOFF.


Greece's active championship of the cause of the Cretan revolutionists,
in the face of the opposition of the combined powers of Europe, recalls
that plucky little nation's fierce struggle for her own independence
from Turkish rule during the early portion of the present century.
Indeed, as Prince George started for Cretan waters the other day with
his flotilla of torpedo-boats, almost the last words Prime-Minister
Delyannis said to him were:

"May the spirit of the great Canaris hover over your Highness and your
brave men, inspiring you to maintain nobly the traditions of the
Hellenic navy!"

Here is probably what Delyannis had in mind: The Greece of to-day lacks
the larger vessels of war fully as much as did the Greece of 1820, but
at that earlier period she possessed a formidable weapon in the dreaded
fire-ship, and under Canaris's lead the enemy's naval power was almost
destroyed by this primitive method of attack. The fire-ship of the past
has been supplanted by the torpedo-boat of the present, an engine of war
calling into play almost the same qualities as its predecessor--pluck,
skill, dash, and rapidity in handling. And Delyannis was therefore
anticipating that the deeds of the early part of the century would be
repeated at its close in a mode of warfare for which his countrymen are
both by nature and temperament eminently fitted.

The story of Greece's struggle for independence both by land and by sea
has formed the subject of many volumes of prose and verse. But among all
the heroes of those stirring times there are two whose names will live
on the roll of fame--Constantine Canaris, the fearless and enterprising
sailor, and Marco Botzaris, the guerilla chieftain.

Let us begin with Canaris, whose achievements were the greater by reason
of his surviving all the manifold dangers of this most cruel of wars;
Botzaris, on the other hand, succumbed to a Turkish bullet long before
Greece was liberated. Let the reader glance at a map of the Grecian
Archipelago, and among its numerous islands he will find one named
Ipsara, about midway between the mainland of Greece and the coast of
Asia Minor. It was on this barren and desolate stretch of rock that
Constantine Canaris was born at the close of the last century. Until the
war of independence broke out in 1821 he pursued the humble calling of
fisherman, but at the outbreak of the revolution he abandoned everything
to espouse the cause of his country. His wife, an ardent patriot
herself, and the mother of three children, whom she had proudly named
Nicolas, Lycurgus, and Miltiades, in honor of the past glories of
Greece, urged her husband on in his resolve.

And so Canaris went to the front. He was destined soon to be heard from.
The fighting at the commencement of the war was confined to the Greek
mainland, especially the Morea, or ancient Peloponnesus; but the bad
condition of the roads throughout Rumelia obliged the Sultan to send his
re-enforcements by water through the historic Dardanelles. The fishermen
fighters of the archipelago felt that here was their opportunity. The
inhabitants of the three islands of Samos, Ipsara, and Hydra equipped a
flotilla, and started out to intercept the oppressor. Now inasmuch as
the Turks possessed double-deckers and frigates carrying an untold
weight of metal as against the light and poorly armed craft of the
Greeks, it was not to be supposed that the latter would venture on a
struggle at close quarters. The lessons of the past were there to teach
them that their sole hope of salvation lay in the skilful use of the
fire-ship, and they adopted this system of warfare with one accord. It
required a high order of seamanship to carry it on with success and a
thorough knowledge of the actions of the tide and wind, for a slight
miscalculation not only involved a failure of the enterprise, but the
almost certain destruction of the aggressor.

There were various modes of attack. As a usual thing, an ordinary
fishing sloop or schooner, filled with combustible material--tar, pitch,
oil, sulphur, etc.--and navigated by half a dozen fearless patriots,
would be directed at dusk against the enemy's ships lying at anchor.
When the messenger of destruction arrived within a few hundred yards of
the intended victim, the temporary crew applied the torch to tapers
placed at intervals among the combustibles in the hold, and then lowered
themselves into a small boat to row off to a safe distance. Carried by
the wind and current, the fire-ship stole on in the darkness, the fire
having in the mean while taken hold in good earnest. On, on it went into
the midst of the Mussulman's ships of war, the flames now darting from
its sides in huge tongues, sparing naught upon its path. Panic-stricken
and forgetful of all discipline, the Turk became a ready victim to the
avenger. His first thought was to cut his cables, but this measure made
matters worse, inasmuch as the big ships, once loose from their
moorings, usually collided with one another, and rendered their own
destruction only the more certain.

The scenes that followed the incursion of the flaming avenger beggared
all description. It became a choice between a fiery and a watery death,
for the unfortunates who had survived the explosions of the
powder-magazines, and even those who hoped to reach shore by swimming,
were doomed to destruction at the hands of the vindictive patriots
hovering near in small boats. For it must be remembered that this was a
war to the knife on both sides, in which quarter was neither asked nor
given.

But to return to Canaris. His first naval success was obtained under the
orders of a man whose name is venerated as one of the greatest heroes of
the war of independence, Admiral Andrea Miaulis, after whom one of the
Greek war-ships now on service in Cretan waters is named--the _Navarchos
Miaulis_.

The Sultan was sending an army to besiege Missolonghi on the Gulf of
Corinth, and his mighty fleet had covered about half the journey between
Constantinople and that stronghold when it sighted a Greek squadron off
the island of Lesbos. Miaulis had a comparatively strong force at his
command and was tempted to try conclusions with the foe at close
quarters, but Canaris, with greater long-sightedness, realized that his
countrymen could ill afford to assume so great a risk, and although a
mere subordinate, entreated the Admiral, on his bended knees, to be
allowed to first attack the Turks with a few fire-ships. Miaulis had
given the signal to clear the decks for action, and at first resented
the interference.

"Your Excellency has but one fleet, and the Sultan has a dozen,"
persisted Canaris. "Our deaths will not atone to our country for the
consequences of our defeat and destruction!"

The veteran fighter soon caught the drift of the younger man's argument.

"So let it be," he exclaimed. "_Zito Hellas!_" (Long live Greece!) And
muttering an invocation to his patron saint, he ordered Canaris to
proceed with his plan.

Within one hour after this interview the hardy Ipsara fisherman
succeeded in setting fire to the Turkish Admiral's flag-ship, three
frigates, and five sloops, and forced the rest of the enemy's fleet to
seek shelter under the guns of the Dardanelles forts. The loss of the
Turks in men exceeded 1000; that of the Greeks was but fifteen killed
and wounded.

Victorious at sea, the Greeks were at this period almost uniformly
defeated on land. Fifteen thousand patriots were massacred at Patras in
Morea, and many more at Salonica. The second year of the revolution
witnessed the most terrible events. In order to punish the inhabitants
of Scio, off the coast of Asia Minor, for sundry acts of rebellion, the
Sultan sent a powerful armament to that devoted island, and in the
course of a few days it was entirely depopulated. Of its 85,000
inhabitants only 15,000 escaped to the mainland; the rest were either
put to the sword or carried away into captivity. But vengeance for this
savage act was close at hand. Miaulis, Canaris, and another hero, George
Pepinis, overtook the Sultan's vessels as they were heading for the
Dardanelles. Miaulis, who had usually prohibited his men from indulging
in excesses, issued the watchword "Remember Scio!" which meant no
quarter under any circumstances. In the battle that followed, every
known method and weapon of naval warfare was brought into
play--fire-ships, grappling-irons, carronades, chain-shot, boarding
assaults, and so forth--and when finally the smoke cleared at dusk, the
Greeks found that they had destroyed six Turkish ships of the line, ten
frigates, and twelve brigs, out of a total of fifty sail.

[Illustration: CANARIS DESTROYING THE TURKISH FLEET.]

Canaris himself was wounded, and, indeed, owed his life to a miracle. He
had selected the Turkish flag-ship as his especial prey, and steered a
large brigantine filled with pine shavings and sulphur in her direction.
When within a few hundred yards of the foe he started the conflagration
below, and then made his way to the stern, intending to jump into a
small boat behind. But in some way the boat had become detached, and was
nowhere visible; the sulphurous flames were beginning to shoot up from
the hold, and the bullets from the Turkish small-arms were whizzing in
uncomfortable proximity. There was danger indeed, and increasing every
moment at that, as the wind and current drove the vessel wildly on.
There was nothing for it but to jump overboard and swim for dear life.
But, though expert swimmers, Canaris and his five subordinates were not
proof against leaden balls, and one after the other the poor fellows
sank, until only the leader remained. Even he was struck after a while,
and began to lose blood rapidly. Just as he was about abandoning hope,
none of the Greek ships being near, a terrific explosion rent the air
and convulsed the waters, and when the sinking man's head arose to the
surface for the last time, as he thought, there, within arm's-reach, was
floating the large figure-head of the Turkish Admiral's vessel. The
fire-ship had done its work. It had blown up 500 Mussulmans, and by this
very act had saved the life of Greece's naval hero.

Canaris's exploits now became the subject of general attention, and his
name also grew to be a by-word among the Turks. The very suspicion of
his being near caused the Turkish Admiral, who had been sent to relieve
the fortress of Napoli di Romania, besieged by General Kolokotronis, to
sail away without accomplishing his purpose. Still this act of prudence
did not save him in the end, for Canaris followed the Turkish fleet to
the bay of Tenedos, and there made sad havoc among the large
double-deckers, blowing them one after the other out of the water. The
Turks on this occasion added to the disaster by cutting their cables and
running foul of one another.

The following year, 1823, Canaris drove back into the Dardanelles
another Turkish fleet that had been sent from Constantinople to
re-enforce the beleaguering army of Missolonghi, a proceeding that
exasperated the Sultan to the point of vowing vengeance against the
irrepressible Giaour. The Sultan kept his word. The year 1824 saw the
accession to Turkey's fighting forces of the entire military and naval
resources of the vassal state of Egypt. The Khedive placed a large army
and navy, commanded by his adopted son, Ibrahim Pasha, at the Sultan's
disposal. The campaign therefore began with an expedition against the
Greeks, numbering 100,000 men and a fleet of 80 war-vessels. This mighty
armament was first directed against the islands of Spezzia and Ispara,
the latter, as stated, being Canaris's home. At the approach of the
Turks a council of war was summoned at Ispara by the local dignitaries.

"Give me five fire-ships," exclaimed Canaris, "and I will stand for your
safety, and that of your wives and children!"

But, as in all communities, there were here some politicians and
wise-acres to be reckoned with who had never fought themselves, but who
would have been perfectly willing to give Napoleon himself points on
strategy. Canaris's plan was overruled by these men, and it was decided
to await the enemy on shore. The result of this decision was the capture
and devastation of the island, including a massacre of all the males
above tender age. Canaris escaped by swimming to a boat. He had already
gotten his family safely out of the way on hearing the announcement of
the council's absurd plan of campaign.

It is unnecessary to say that the brave Ipsariot fully avenged the cruel
wrong done to his native isle. A few months later he fell upon an
Egyptian fleet of forty sail, laden with provisions and munitions of
war, and destroyed almost half their number. What remained of the
Turco-Egyptian men-of-war after all these reverses was burned or sent to
the bottom in February, 1827, by the allied fleets of England, France,
and Russia at the memorable battle of Navarino. Canaris not only
experienced the satisfaction of witnessing this event, but he also lived
to see his country free and independent.

[Illustration: MARCO BOTZARIS AND HIS GAUDY WARRIORS.]

Marco Botzaris, the most picturesque military hero of the Greek war of
independence, was a native of Souli, a famous mountain stronghold in
Epirus, which for centuries has produced a race of fighting-men. The
Souliotes indeed were justly considered the flower of the Greek
revolutionary army. Attired in a costume resplendent with gold lace,
gilt buttons, snow-white linen of superior quality, and other finery,
they made an imposing array on dress parade or on the march. An American
traveller named Emerson, who visited the theatre of the war in 1821,
says of them, "I have seen the noble grenadiers of Napoleon, and I have
known the superb English guards, but the Souliotes appear to me to
surpass both." He describes their method of fighting to be somewhat
theatrical, and to resemble that of the Scotch Highlander. Every man
chooses his post, and like the ancients who covered themselves with
shields, they seek cover behind a rock or stone, and from there shoot
down the foe. In order to deceive the latter, the Souliote sometimes
places his red cap on a pole at some distance away. He seldom makes more
than three discharges, preferring to finish the fight with the cold
steel. His weapon is a curved sword, called a _yataghan_, and he wields
it with terrible effect.

One can imagine that with such material at his command Botzaris was able
to lead the Mussulman a lively dance, as the saying is. His wild dashes
on convoys, his surprises by day and night, and his ability to check the
advance of large bodies of the enemy under all conditions of time and
place, soon made his name a terror among the followers of the prophet.
Neither Maurocordatos nor Kolokotronis, with all their science and their
military training, was able to inspire the same fear in the enemy's
ranks. Botzaris's name will ever be linked with the story of
Missolonghi, its vicissitudes and its victories. With 400 men Botzaris
defended this stronghold against an army of many thousands under Omar
Vrione, and in repelling six assaults killed 12,000 of the enemy. This
was but one of many triumphs. It was near this same stronghold of
Missolonghi that the great hero met his death on August 20, 1823. He had
received information that a large column of Turks was on its way to that
place, and he decided to intercept it with his small force of 1200
Souliotes. It was late at night when the patriots came across the enemy,
and by superhuman efforts succeeded in crushing him. For the time being
Missolonghi was saved, but the brave Botzaris received his death-wound
in the very moment of victory. He died with the words. "Zito Hellas!" on
his lips.




[Illustration: INTERSCHOLASTIC SPORT]


The eighth annual interscholastic in-door athletic meeting of the New
England I.S.A.A., a week ago Saturday, was a remarkable one for several
reasons. First of all was the surprise at the outcome, which was
entirely unlooked for; not that the winning school was not thought well
of and was not a candidate for the honors it reaped, but that the
victory was so very one-sided.

POINTS SCORED BY THE SCHOOLS.

                                                      P
                                                      u
                                               R      t
                                               u      t
                                            4  n      i
                                            5  n      n
                                3     1  8  -  i      g
                             4  0  6  0  8  y  n
                             0  0  0  0  0  a  g      1
                             -  -  0  0  -  r         6  P
                             y  y  -  -  y  d  H      -  o
                             a  a  y  y  a     i      l  l
                             r  r  a  a  r  H  g      b  e
                             d  d  r  r  d  u  h      .         T
                                   d  d     r            V      o
                             D  D        W  d  J      S  a      t
                             a  a  R  R  a  l  u      h  u      a
                             s  s  u  u  l  e  m      o  l      l
  Schools.                   h  h  n  n  k  s  p      t  t      s

  English High               8           8  5  1-1/2  2         24-1/2
  Worcester High                5  5                            10
  Hopkinson's                               3  5         1-1/2   9-1/2
  Noble's and Greenough's       2                     5          7
  Worcester Academy                   2        1-1/2  1  1-1/2   6
  Chauncy Hall                        5                          5
  Cashing Academy                                        5       5
  Boston Latin                     2                             2
  Newton High                      1                             1
  Phillips Exeter                     1                          1
  Cambridge High and Latin      1                                1

It was predicted before the games that the contest for points would
devolve upon certain schools, but it happened in several instances that
calculations were rudely upset by representatives who failed to come up
to expectations. This was noticeable especially in the case of Worcester
Academy, a school that was feared by all, but which turned out a
disappointment.

English High from the outset began to gather the points, and 16 in the
40-yard dash and half-mile walk added materially in swelling the total
of 24-1/2. Worcester High was satisfied to beat out its rivals the
Academy. Hopkinson's gave a better exhibition than it has for several
years, and came third in the competition for points. The customary
record-breaking performances were forthcoming, and the 40-yard dash,
1000-yard run, and the running high jump were affected, while the
hurdles were done in the same time as last year.

The list of entries was considerably smaller than last year, because of
the requirements of the new registration law, which prevents many from
competing. A rumor spread around before the games began that some of
those entered had not registered with the Secretary of the A.A.U., which
was confirmed by Manager John Graham of the meet. A conference of the
Athletic Committee of the B.A.A., under whose auspices the games were
given, was held to decide what should be done. They decided that if a
sanction could be obtained from the president of the I.S.A.A. for such
schools not registered but members of the I.S.A.A., the men should be
allowed to compete and assume all of the responsibility. This was also
done to act as a test case for the A.A.U's decision.

[Illustration: H. C. KENNINGTON.]

An unparalleled surprise was developed in the first event on the
programme, when the existing record in the 40-yard dash was broken,
three runners doing the trick, and equalling the world's mark for the
distance. It was an unusually speedy lot that was entered in this event,
and when the trial heats began to be caught in the old record the final
figure was awaited with suspense. In the trial heats the first and
second place winners were eligible for the semi-finals. In the first
line-up was Butler of Worcester High, the best runner that school has,
and Kennington of English High, who eventually became the winner.

[Illustration: W. J. DUFFY.]

The next two heats were captured by English High-School sprinters, Kane
getting the first and Duffy the second, in 4-3/5 sec. Eight heats were
run off in all before the list of entries had been exhausted. Butler,
Kane, and Duffy were called in the first semi-final, and speculation was
intense as to whether the Worcester lad would survive the ordeal. Kane
and Duffy realized that they had a worthy foe to deal with, and knew
that they would have to strain every bit of energy to shut the Worcester
man out and make the final round, but they were equal to the occasion.

Kennington, the third English High runner, did not have much trouble in
claiming the second semi-final heat, and Wight of Brown and Nichols, ran
second to him. In the third, Archibald of Hyde Park won the heat in a
canter, though the time was 4-3/5 sec.; Sever of Brown and Nichols was
able to catch a second. A peculiar thing happened in the final heat. At
the crack of the pistol five of the six runners were off on a line; the
sixth, Archibald, was set back a yard, which practically put him out. As
the tape was reached there was scarcely a wavering of the line, but in
the last few strides the sprinters shifted somewhat, though a blanket
would have covered them as the post was passed. The judges deliberated
long, and finally came to the conclusion that no decision could be
reached, and the only way to settle the matter was to have four of the
runners try it over; so Kane, Kennington, Duffy, all of English High,
and Sever of Brown and Nichols, toed the scratch again. It was almost a
repetition of the former heat, but Kennington was proclaimed the winner
by the narrowest of margins, with Duffy second, and Kane third.

Each school was allowed to make one entry in the 1000-yard run, the
reason being that the narrowness of the track made it necessary to
reduce numbers so as not to clog up the path. Mills of Chauncy Hall was
a prime favorite, and nobody disputed his right to be called the winner,
and most attention turned to his ability to make a new record, which he
had been heard to say he would attempt. The New York schools had a
chance last winter to see what kind of stuff Mills is made of when he
won the mile at the Madison Square Garden, and on March 27 they will be
given another opportunity. Mills rarely sets the pace, and in this
instance held back to give the others this work to do. Kinsley of
Worcester Academy started out at a 440 clip, with the evident intention
of running some of the athletes off their feet in the first part of the
race. Sullivan of Worcester High, the national interscholastic miler,
was not to be lost in such a manner, and sailed after Kinsley as if he
had wings. On the third lap Sullivan in some unaccountable way missed
his footing and tumbled, and he was left behind. Meanwhile Mills was
keeping his eyes open, and seeing his field lagging, made a dash for the
lead and began to leave a gap between him and his nearest opponent. For
two laps he ran round the track with a wonderful burst of speed, the
spectators wildly cheering his efforts to shatter the record. There were
no exclamations of surprise when it was announced that he had replaced 2
min. 33 sec. by 2 min. 30-1/5 sec. Kinsley was a quarter of a lap in the
rear of Mills, and Falls of Phillips Exeter, an unknown runner, close
upon the former.

The 300-yard run brought out some good running, but the time of last
year was never in danger of being disturbed. In the very first heat
Butler of Worcester High and George Hersey, of Worcester Academy, met,
and the issue was breathlessly awaited. The former had the pole, and
with this advantage--a big one, too, on the track conditions--swung
round the corners in the lead. Hersey unfortunately was hedged in
closely on all sides, and he just saved himself at the last moment by
breaking his way through and coming in second.

Kennington and Kane of English High counted in the next heat, but the
latter was disqualified, as on one of the corners he came in contact
with Baker of Noble's School, and the latter was thrown. Baker was
permitted to go into the final. Garrett and Winslow, two of Cambridge
High and Latin's best, won heats, and the latter got a point for his
school. Butler was the choice in the final heat, but it was expected
that Kennington and Hersey would make him hustle. Kennington bowed to
fate by going off his mark and losing a yard at the start. He was making
up this distance in fine shape when he went down in a heap on a corner.
Butler was not pushed to do his utmost, as Baker, who was coming after
him in the stretch, was some yards away.

Worcester High had strong hopes of winning the 600-yard run, basing its
faith on the presence of Dadmund, Mills, and Moran. Each one qualified
in his heat to run in the final, and the High-School stock was going
higher. When the test came Dadmund was found wanting, as his strength
failed him. Lincoln, captain of the Boston Latin, was conspicuous in
this event, as he held the lead till the last corner, fifteen yards from
the worsted. Here Mills caught him, and together they ran shoulder to
shoulder the remainder of the distance, Mills falling across the line in
the van. It was a most thrilling finish and a victory richly earned, the
audience appreciating the struggle.

J. H. Converse, of English High, the national interscholastic hurdler,
appeared to defend his title, and kept it from being marred, although he
had a narrow escape, Hallowell and Cole of Hopkinson's pressing closely
to the last foot.

[Illustration: W. F. MOHAN.]

The half-mile walk was another English High event, as all three places
went to that school. Mohan, who was credited with a point at the
out-door games, set the stride, with Riley and Foley, his schoolmates,
in close proximity. On the last lap Griffin of Worcester High challenged
Mohan for the lead of the procession, and gained his end, but with
disastrous results to his aspirations, for in spite of his coming home
first by five yards, the judge of walking had given him his final
caution, and Mohan got the prize, with Riley and Foley filling the other
places.

The field events had a small following, and in only one case was a
record shattered. Rotch of Hopkinson's cleared 5 feet 8-1/2 inches in
the high jump, bettering the old figures of 5 feet 8 inches. Converse of
English High and Howe of Worcester Academy were tied at 5 feet 7-3/4
inches, the latter getting the second prize on the toss of a coin, but
the points being divided. A similar distribution of points was necessary
in the pole vault. C. A. Shorey, the one entry from Cushing Academy, got
this event with a vault of 9 feet 6 inches. Keene of Hopkinson's and
Kendall of Worcester Academy tied for second at 9 feet.

[Illustration: W. W. COE.]

W. W. Coe, of Noble's School, was prophesied to win the shot, and he
pushed the 16-lb. weight 35 feet 7 inches; Eaton of English High was
over a foot behind him, with 34 feet 1-1/2 inches; and D. F. Spear, of
Worcester Academy, came third, his put being 31 feet 9-1/2 inches.

[Illustration: W. D. EATON.]

The six relay races aided in increasing the enthusiasm, and school
feeling reached a high pitch of excitement. Dedham High defeated Hyde
Park High; Worcester High defeated Noble's and Greenoughs; Newton High
defeated Boston Latin; Cambridge High and Latin defeated Hopkinson's;
Chauncy Hall defeated Exeter. The climax came when E.H.-S. ended a
splendid afternoon by beating Worcester Academy in a race that will be
remembered for many days.

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




QUESTIONS FOR YOUNG MEN.


ON SELF-RESPECT.

If you beat a dog he puts his tail between his legs and either skulks
off, or hangs around to receive a pardon later on. The beating, no
doubt, frequently does the dog good. He cannot be reasoned with and told
why certain things are to be done, hence he must be taught a reason
which he can understand, and he can understand that pain will be
inflicted on him if he repeats whatever he has just done. You in beating
him realize this. If you beat a little girl with a stick, you have done
something that was unnecessary in the first place, because she could be
taught or reasoned with, but also, having done something you know to be
unnecessary, you lose a certain faith, confidence, respect in yourself.

If you treat a friend in an unfair way, if you deceive him, if you tell
him a lie for any reason or for no reason, the same feelings occur to
you. You have not been found out; no one criticises you; but there is a
certain consciousness in your mind which signifies that you have done
something your real self disapproves of absolutely.

In a game of football, for instance, it is easy enough to hit a man
under a crowd after a scrimmage. Some boys do hit and scratch and claw.
They are seldom found out. Football is a good example, for there are
more chances for chivalry and for meanness in the game than in most
others or in most situations of young manhood. Yet not being found out
does not seem to be of such great importance in the long-run. The fact
that you have resorted to such means is known to you, and you cannot
avoid the feeling that it has really done you rather more harm than it
has the fellow you injured or tried to injure.

If you treat your mother without much thought, do what she asks as you
feel inclined, and not if you do not feel so inclined, she is naturally
grieved, and that may hurt you; but coming afterwards to think it over
and realizing that she has perhaps in the last fifteen years done a good
deal more for you than you have for her, there is a suggestion of
disappointment, to say the least, in yourself that you should so far
forget yourself as to act so to one whom you not only have the greatest
affection for, but one whom you know should have the greatest attention
and regard you can bestow.

If you scoff at some one's religious views, or make fun of the
"old-fashioned ideas" of others, very likely you are in the right as to
the idea in mind, but you cannot fail to realize afterwards that perhaps
it was a bad piece of business when you failed to give the other person
credit for a little sense, and the general result is a lack of pride in
the incident.

The feeling resulting from all these situations is much the same, and it
goes by the name of loss of self-respect. It is a lack of pride in what
you have done, and no one can be on the road to the formation of a bad
character who has not begun by failing to call himself to account for
such matters; no one can really go further on this road so long as he
maintains this self-respect. When an occasion requires its use it should
be ready at hand. When there is a chance to hit a man under the crowd,
if this self-respect gets in its work quickly enough, you are safe; but
there needs to be constant training to put it into such good condition
that it can be used on any emergency no matter how sudden that may be.
And this self-respect is just as easily trained as is your body for its
coming trial in the hundred-yard race. Train it as you would anything
else, and it will invariably carry you over difficult places. But it
gets "out of condition" easily, and you will miss it at the most
important time.

       *       *       *       *       *

GLASS TO KEEP HEAT OUT.

Glass of a peculiar quality--that is, non-conductive for heat rays--has
been invented by Richard Szigmondy, of Vienna, the statement being that
glass a quarter of an inch thick absorbs 87 to 100 per cent. of the heat
striking it, in contrast to plate-glass, which absorbs only about 5 per
cent.

This glass is designed to insure windows which will keep dwellings warm
in winter and cool in summer, especially adapted, too, for skylights,
etc., and also for blue-glass spectacles to be used by furnace men.

Remarking upon the invention in question, the _Scientific American_
calls attention to the peculiar conducting power of ordinary glass,
which would seem to render Szigmondy's glass an impossibility, in some
respects at least.

Thus, standing by a window on which the sun shines, the warmth of the
sun is felt, but, on touching the window, it is found to be cold; then
if a light of glass be placed between the person and an ordinary open
fire, it will screen from the heat, but becomes rapidly heated
itself--that is, in the first case it transmitted most of the heat, and
in the latter it absorbed.

       *       *       *       *       *

A SMALL BOY'S NOTION.

The first of March was snowy.

"Humph!" said Jack. "It's going in like a lamb getting sheared. Just
look at the wool fly!"

       *       *       *       *       *

A NOVEL BAROMETER.

It has taken a clever Frenchman to discover a kind of barometer, which
may be safely called unique. An English journal says that it is nothing
more nor less than the figure of a general made of gingerbread. He buys
one every year, and takes it home and hangs it by a string on a nail.

Gingerbread, as every one knows, is easily affected by changes in the
atmosphere. The slightest moisture renders it soft, while in dry weather
it grows hard and tough.

Every morning, on going out, the Frenchman asks his servant, "What does
the general say?" and the man applies his thumb to the gingerbread
figure.

Perhaps he may reply, "The general feels soft. He would advise you
taking an umbrella." On the other hand, if the gingerbread is hard and
unyielding to the touch, it is safe to go forth in one's best attire,
umbrellaless and confident.

The Frenchman declares that the general has never yet proved unworthy of
the confidence placed in him, and would advise all whose purse will not
allow them to purchase a barometer or aneroid, to see what the local
baker can do for them in the gingerbread line.




The

New York State

Analyst Says:

The Royal Baking Powder is superior to any other powder which I have
examined; a baking powder unequalled for purity, strength, and
wholesomeness.

ROYAL BAKING POWDER CO., N. Y.




SIR WALTER BESANT

contributes an autobiographical sketch,

"IN OLD

PORTSMOUTH"

to the next number of

HARPER'S ROUND TABLE

Five Cents a Copy. Two Dollars a Year.

       *       *       *       *       *

HARPER & BROTHERS, Publishers, N. Y.




EARN A TRICYCLE.

[Illustration]

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

W. G. BAKER,

Springfield, Mass.




HARPER'S NEW CATALOGUE

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




[Illustration: PISO'S CURE FOR CONSUMPTION]

CURES WHERE ALL ELSE FAILS.

Best Cough Syrup. Tastes Good. Use

in time. Sold by druggists.




[Illustration: 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.


The prize-winners in the annual photographic competitions are as
follows:

     SENIOR PRIZE-WINNERS.

     FIGURE STUDIES.

     First Prize, $20--Mrs. Claud Gatch, Salem, Ore. Second Prize,
     $15--Mrs. Sara W. Holm, 710 Farwell St., Eau Claire, Wis.

     [Illustration: FIRST PRIZE, SENIOR COMPETITION, FIGURE STUDIES.

     By Mrs. Claud Gatch, Salem, Oregon.]

     [Illustration: SECOND PRIZE, SENIOR COMPETITION, FIGURE STUDIES.

     By Mrs. Sara W. Holm, Eau Claire, Wisconsin.]

     LANDSCAPES.

     First Prize, $15--Mr. Roy Pike, Lake City, Minn. Second Prize,
     $10--Mrs. George E. Conn, Box 1, Green Lake, Washington.

     JUNIOR PRIZE-WINNERS.

     FIGURE STUDIES.

     First Prize, $20--Samuel J. Castner, 3729 Chestnut St.,
     Philadelphia, Pa. Second Prize, $10--Edmund C. Stone, Baird, Shasta
     Co., Cal. Third Prize, $5--Paul G. Warren, Wauwatosa, Wis.

     LANDSCAPES.

     First Prize, $12--Anton H. Schefer, 40 West Thirty-seventh St., New
     York city, N. Y. Second Prize, $8--Lesley Ashburner, Media, Pa.
     Third Prize, $5--Howard Cox, 531 Hemlock St., Helena, Mont.

     MARINES.

     First Prize, $12--William D. Bowers, 50 Pleasant St., Hartford,
     Conn. Second Prize, $8--Harry Chase, 175 Summer St., Nahant, Mass.
     Third Prize, $5--Susie Brown, Box 306, Keyport, N. J.

     HONORABLE MENTION.

     Myron Eames Davis, Worcester, Mass.; Frederick C. Kelly, Xenia, O.;
     William R. Durgin, Chicago, Ill.; Kenneth Towner, Asbury Park,
     N. J.; Manfred Goldschmidt, New York city; Frederick G. Clapp,
     South Boston, Mass.; Doar Saunders, Indianapolis, Ind.; William
     Selbie, Deadwood, S. D.; William C. Davids, Rutherford, N. J.;
     Louise McLean, St Paul, Minn.; Earl Raiguel, Philadelphia, Pa.;
     Clarence Pratt, 135 Hodge Ave., Buffalo, N. Y.; Willis H. Kerr,
     Bellevue, Kan.; Bert A. Porter, Brooklyn, N. Y.; Homer C. Gaskins,
     Baltimore, Md.; W. Brian Hooker, Farmington, Mass.; Walter
     Raudebush, Lebanon, N. Y.; Foster Hartwell, Lansingburg, N. Y.;
     Bert Atkinson, Tilton, N. H.; John W. Horr, Worcester, Mass.;
     Lothair Kohnstam, New York city; Arthur S. Dudley, West Salem,
     Wis.; Charles Taber, Auburn, N. Y.; M. W. Nourse, Chicago, Ill.;
     William S. Thomas, Detroit, Mich.; William O. Wichman, Great
     Barrington, Mass.; Harry R. Patty, Los Angeles, Cal.; Charles J.
     Bates, Highwood, N. J.; Arthur Inkersley, San Francisco, Cal.;
     Louisa Pearce, Moreno, Cal.

The pictures sent in for the annual competition show a decided advance
both in subject and finish over the early efforts of our Camera Club,
proving that the hints given from time to time in our club column on the
making of artistic pictures are read and acted upon.

In the Junior competition the first prize for figure studies was awarded
to a picture entitled "Two Little Neapolitans." Another picture of
almost equal merit entitled, "A Tarantula Dancer of Sorrento, Italy,"
was sent by the same artist. "Setting Sail" was the title of the
second-prize figure study, and was a picture of two children in an old
punt which was lying half in and half out of the water, one small child
tugging at the big oar, while the larger one stood in the bow of the
boat hoisting a stick on which was tied a rag for a sail. The third
prize was given to a picture of a small boy perched on a stump. This
picture had no title.

Some of the entries of landscape studies were very good. The first prize
was given to a picture entitled "In the Orchard"; the second to a
picture called "Along Lobster Lane"; and the third prize to a picture
called "Sunset in the Rockies." This title did not fit the picture, as
there was no sunset effect, and when the picture is reproduced it will
appear under the title "Now comes still Evening On."

"Surf at Rockaway" won the first prize in marine studies. The whole
picture--the cloud effect, the breakers on the beach, and the point of
view from which the picture was made--is very similar to the celebrated
etching entitled "The Surf-Tormented Shore," by Amos Sangster. William
D. Bowers, who sent this picture, sent also another marine called "On
Long Island Sound," but which might more appropriately be called
"Scudding for Home," for it is a picture of a yacht flying along with
all sails set. The second prize was awarded to a picture of the sea and
cliffs at Nahant, while the third was given to a picture of a yacht
drifting along with the tide.

In the Senior competition the first prize for figure studies was a
picture illustrating Eugene Field's poem entitled "Shuffle-Shoon and
Amber-Locks," the first verse of which is as follows:

  Shuffle-Shoon and Amber-Locks
  Sit together building blocks.
  Shuffle-Shoon is old and gray,
    Amber-Locks a little child,
  Yet, together at their play,
    Youth and Age are reconciled.

The posing of the figures and the expression on the faces of
"Shuffle-Shoon and Amber-Locks" show that both artist and subjects have
caught the very spirit of the poem. The second-prize picture is a genre
study made out-of-doors just at sunset. A woman with two pails suspended
from a yoke over her shoulders is crossing a rough bridge, while just
behind her trudges a little tow-headed urchin tugging a pail. The
lighting in this picture is excellent, and the whole picture most
artistic.

The pictures which won prizes in the landscape competition for seniors
were both of snow scenes, and were far above the average photographs of
snow scenery, the snow looking like real snow and not like masses of
white chalk.

The members of the club are to be congratulated on their fine pictures.
During the next few weeks all of the prize pictures will be printed in
the ROUND TABLE. All photographs save the prize ones have been mailed to
their owners.

     MURRAY MARBLE, 55 Pearl St., Worcester, Mass.; HICKOX UTLEY, 517
     South Walnut St., Springfield, Ill.; BERTRAM R. WHITE, 616
     Lexington Ave., New York city; WILLIAM S. JOHNSON, 263 School St.,
     Athol, Mass.; FREDERIC LYTE HARDING, 5940 Overlook Ave.,
     Philadelphia, Pa.; HERBERT H. PEASE, 28 Court St., New Britain,
     Conn.; JAMES M. KIMBALL, 16 Montague St., Providence, R. I.--wish
     to become members of the Camera Club.

     E. L. DEDHAM asks why some negatives are so sticky that the
     solio-paper sticks to them and ruins them; and if the glycerine
     used for films must be one special kind. Any pure glycerine will
     answer for soaking the films to prevent them from curling. One-half
     ounce of glycerine to sixteen ounces of water is the proportion for
     the glycerine bath.




[Illustration: IVORY SOAP]




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NEW YORK. BALTIMORE. ST. LOUIS.




JOSEPH GILLOTT'S

STEEL PENS.

GOLD MEDAL, PARIS EXPOSITION, 1889,

AND THE CHICAGO EXPOSITION AWARD.

THE MOST PERFECT OF PENS.




HOOPING-COUGH

CROUP.

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The celebrated and effectual English Cure without internal medicine.
Proprietors, W. EDWARD & SON, Queen Victoria St., London, England. All
Druggists.

E. Fougera & Co., 30 North William St., N. Y.




SOME NEW FICTION

       *       *       *       *       *

THE VOYAGE OF THE RATTLETRAP

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

     This is the story of three boy chums and of their cruise across the
     Dakotas in a "prairie-schooner." 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 author tells us very pleasantly some things about
     this big slice of Uncle Sam's territory.

THE LAST RECRUIT OF CLARE'S

Being Passages from the Memoirs of Anthony Dillon, Chevalier of St.
Louis, and Late Colonel of Clare's Regiment in the Service of France. By
S. R. KEIGHTLEY, Author of "The Crimson Sign," "The Cavaliers," etc.
With 4 Illustrations. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.50.

     This is a romance not of love, but of daring adventure, and so well
     worked as to be profoundly interesting.--_Chicago Inter-Ocean._

     Cleverly told, and enchain the reader's attention immediately,
     holding him captive to the last page.--_Brooklyn Standard-Union._

     A series of vivid pictures of the life of a soldier who was also a
     gentleman.--_N. Y. Press._

IN THE OLD HERRICK HOUSE

And Other Stories. By ELLEN DOUGLAS DELAND, Author of "Oakleigh."
Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.50.

     Made up of tales of girl life, very earnest, pure, and
     interesting.--_Boston Traveller._

     Delightful in their naturalness.... These amusing and simply-told
     little stories.--_Philadelphia Bulletin._

     Will especially interest girl readers. They are pure, fresh, and
     wholesome.--_Chicago Inter-Ocean._

       *       *       *       *       *

HARPER & BROTHERS, Publishers, New York




The Weight of those Four Weights.

The man who dropped a 40-pound article and broke it into 4 scale-weights
excited the TABLE's curiosity. It was a singular fall. The 4 pieces
weighed 1, 3, 9, and 27 pounds respectively. To get 2 pounds he puts the
3-pound weight on one side, and the 1-pound one on the other, and has a
2-pound balance on the 3-pound side. If he has occasion to weigh 35
pounds he puts the 27-pound weight and the 9-pound weight on one side,
and the 1-pound weight on the other. We have tested these and a few
other weights. Our correspondent says any number of pounds from 1 to 40
can be weighed with these weights.

       *       *       *       *       *

From a Bright British Lad.

     In my last letter I told you about some of the sights of India,
     where I lived till I was twelve; but now that I am in England, I
     will tell you something about the town in which I live. Bedford has
     over 40,000 inhabitants, and is a very clean town. There is a
     beautifully laid out park containing forty acres, in which there is
     a pretty lake with two shrub-covered islands on which swans and
     ducks make their nests.

     It is intersected with paths and carriage-drives, and is resorted
     to by cyclists of both sexes. There are two very fine statues in
     Bedford. One is that of John Bunyan, who was born not far from this
     town, at a place called Elstow, where may be seen the moot-house or
     church where he used to preach, and also the remains of his house.
     In a church named after John Bunyan there is an arm-chair supposed
     to have belonged to him.

     The other statue is that of John Howard, the great philanthropist.
     It was erected two years ago. The River Ouse runs through this
     town. In summer it is alive with boats and steam-launches. I am an
     active collector of stamps, and would like to exchange some Indian
     and other stamps for those of other countries, with any boy or girl
     who has any to exchange. I will also exchange crests, coins, and
     curios for stamps. If any boy or girl would care to correspond
     about India or England, I would answer every letter, as I love
     letter-writing. I go to the Bedford Modern School, in which are
     over 600 boys. Your faithful reader,

  ERNEST C. GROVES.
  BELHAVEN, 33 FOSTER-HILL ROAD, BEDFORD.

       *       *       *       *       *

From Among Mississippi Pines.

     I was interested in your article on "Working a Turpentine Orchard,"
     because I live in the Long Leaf Yellow Pine region, with turpentine
     orchards all about us. All summer we see wagons loaded with "crude"
     passing. If the TABLE would like to hear more about the process of
     manufacturing spirits of turpentine and resin, I will write again.

  HERBERT SHEAR.
  CHICORA, MISS.

Please tell us about the process.

       *       *       *       *       *

The World of Amateur Journals.

The _Jester_ of recent date has some clever pictures bringing an old
joke up to the bicycle age. A man elopes with the daughter, the steed
being not saddle-horses as of old, but a tandem bicycle. The father,
from an upper window does not shoot or holler, or get down and ride
after the fleeing couple on his fastest horse. Instead he fires some
tacks out of his gun. The tires are punctured, and the daughter returns
humiliated.

The Corresponding Chapter, of which Charles Turnbull, of Hartford,
Conn., is president, Arthur F. Kraus is vice-president, and Edward F.
Daas, 1717 Cherry Street, Milwaukee, Wis., is secretary and treasurer,
expects soon to have an official newspaper organ. The Chapter is
prospering. It wants members, especially in foreign countries.

F. E. Maynard, 420 Angell Street, Providence, R. I., wants to receive
sample copies of amateur papers.

Homer C. Bright, treasurer of the Columbine Chapter of Denver, Col.,
sends word to the TABLE that the old Columbine is doing well after a
reorganization, and has started the publication of the _Columbine
Jester_, which is neat and bright. Its editor is Homer C. Bright, and
his address is 314 West Fourth Avenue. He asks us some questions about
copyright, and whether he may take anything out of other papers,
provided he gives credit. In answer to the first: It is scarcely
necessary to copyright an amateur paper. The cost is $1 each issue. Ask
the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C., for printed instructions.
In reply to the question about clipping items: Yes, take extracts from
anything you find in any other publication, unless there is a notice
accompanying the article expressly forbidding it. You would not,
however, take the entire article without first getting consent from the
publisher. This you can, in the case of an amateur paper, probably
secure for the asking.

Charles P. Follansbee, 118 South Elliott Place, Brooklyn, N. Y., desires
to receive sample copies of amateur papers. Henry Feldson asks if the
TABLE thinks autograph-collecting or amateur journalism the better
hobby. It is impossible to answer such a question in favor of one or the
other. Both afford instruction, and few hobbies ought to be ridden that
do not do that much for the rider. The only advice is, ride the one you
take the most interest in. Frances Bragdon, 1709 Chicago Avenue,
Evanston, Ill., also desires sample copies of amateur papers.

       *       *       *       *       *

Who Can Enlighten Us?

     I enclose a sketch of a button. Can you tell me what it is? The
     star is blue, set in a little from the white enamelled background.
     The belt is silver, raised up above the white background. I have
     quite a large collection of buttons, and would like to hear from
     other button collectors on the subject of exchanging specimens.

  D. W. HARDIN.
  1003 COURT STREET, SAGINAW, MICH.

The drawing sent shows a button 5/8 inch across, with a belt surrounding
a star. The belt is fastened with a buckle.

       *       *       *       *       *

Do You Like a Good Problem?

Here is a good mathematical question, perhaps not wholly new, but handy
to have when asked to tell, off hand, something to keep up the interest
and occupy the attention of the company. Frank Smith, of Cumberland,
Md., says he had a good time working it out, and he hopes others will
enjoy it as much.

A, B, and C went to market to sell eggs. A took ten dozen, B thirty
dozen, and C fifty dozen, B and C selling, according to agreement, at
the same price that A sells his. Each sells all his eggs, and each
brings home $2.75. What were the eggs sold at per dozen?

       *       *       *       *       *

A Fifteen Problem.

Is there a school in the country in which scholars never play "tic, tac,
toe"? If so, will not some one who attends it write the TABLE? It would
be interesting to know if the simple game is not universal. Charles
Kingenberg suggests the making of the double crossed lines as in the
game named. Then place the figures one to nine, one in a place, and
using all places and figures, so that horizontally, perpendicularly, and
diagonally in both ways, the sum is fifteen.

       *       *       *       *       *

Tact of Disraeli.

A new book has just been published in which are some fresh stories about
Disraeli the younger. This man was Prime Minister of England, and came
later to be Earl of Beaconsfield. Beginning life under many adverse
circumstances, and having racial prejudice against him, he was able not
only to attain the highest honor in the kingdom open to a man not of
royal blood, but to do for his sovereign services second to no Prime
Minister who ever served a British queen or king.

To deal with a sovereign and a woman requires tact. Lord Beaconsfield
possessed it. To a friend he said one day: "I never contradict. I never
deny. But I sometimes forget." He had many enemies, and yet he triumphed
over nearly all of them. "I never trouble to be avenged," he said. "When
a man injures me I put his name on a slip of paper and lock it in a
drawer. It is marvellous how men I have thus labelled have the knack of
disappearing."




[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.


New sets of stamps are now being issued with old-time frequency. The
following are those of most interest:

SALVADOR.--The 1896 set has been reprinted in new colors for 1897.

    1 centavo, vermilion.
    2 centavos, green.
    3 centavos, brown.
    5 centavos, orange.
   10 centavos, green.
   12 centavos, blue.
   15 centavos, black.
   20 centavos, slate.
   24 centavos, yellow.
   30 centavos, rose.
   50 centavos, violet.
  100 centavos, brown.

Registration stamps.

  10 centavos, blue.
  10 centavos, brown.

New return receipt stamp.

  5 centavos, dark green.

Unpaid letter stamps.

   1 centavo, blue.
   2 centavos, blue.
   3 centavos, blue.
   5 centavos, blue.
  10 centavos, blue.
  15 centavos, blue.
  25 centavos, blue.
  50 centavos, blue.

LIBERIA.--A new set of stamps has just been issued by this country. The
types of all except the 50c., which has female head in centre, and is
printed in red-brown and black, are same as the old series. The 1c. is
similar to the old 6c.; the 2c. to the old $1; the 5c. to the old 4c.;
the 10c. to the old 8c.; the 15c. to the old 12c.; the 20c. to the old
16c.; the 25c. to the old 24c., and the 30c. to the old 32c. No higher
values than 50c. will be issued hereafter. Perforated 15. Water-marked.

   1 cent, violet.
   2 cents, olive-bistre and black.
   5 cents, magenta and black.
  10 cents, yellow and dark blue.
  15 cents, slate.
  20 cents, vermilion.
  25 cents, yellow-green.
  30 cents, steel-blue.
  50 cents, red-brown and black.

ZANZIBAR.--The _Philatelic Journal of Great Britain_ chronicles a series
of adhesives with portrait of the late Sultan, also a new provisional
made by surcharging the current 1a. 6p. India "Zanzibar" in black and
"2-1/2" in red, similar to the 2a. India. Water-mark a rose. Perforated
13-1/2 by 14.

  1/2 anna, green, flags red.
  1 anna, dark blue, flags red.
  2 annas, brown-red, flags red.
  2-1/2 annas, blue, flags red.
  3 annas, olive-gray, flags red.
  4 annas, green-black, flags red.
  4-1/2 annas, orange, flags red.
  5 annas, bistre, flags red.
  7-1/2 annas, purple, flags red.
  8 annas, olive-green, flags red.
  1 rupee, ultramarine, flags red.
  2 rupees, deep green, flags red.

CHINA.--The _Post-Office_ has received a set of provisional stamps
issued on February 2, when China entered the Postal Union. All are
surcharged, on the current Chinese postage-stamps, in Chinese, with
value in English, except the $1, which is on the 3c. revenue. It is
stated that the officials refuse to sell more than one set at a time, as
but few were issued. All local post-offices closed on February 2.

Provisional stamps. Perforated.

   1/2 cent on 3c., pale yellow, black surcharge.
   1 cent on 1c., red, black surcharge.
   2 cents on 2c., light green, black surcharge.
   4 cents on 4c., rose, black surcharge.
   5 cents on 5c., yellow, black surcharge.
   8 cents on 6c., brown, black surcharge.
  30 cents on 24c., carmine, black surcharge.
   1 dollar on 3c. revenue, carmine, black surcharge.

NICARAGUA.--The designs for 1897 are similar to the 1896 set with date
and colors changed.

   1 centavo, lilac.
   2 centavos, green.
   5 centavos, rose.
  10 centavos, light blue.
  20 centavos, light brown.
  50 centavos, gray.
   1 peso, slate.
   2 pesos, dark carmine.
   5 pesos, blue.

Unpaid letter stamps.

   1 centavo, lilac.
   2 centavos, lilac.
   5 centavos, lilac.
  10 centavos, lilac.
  20 centavos, lilac.
  30 centavos, lilac.
  50 centavos, lilac.

     J. M. CATTELL.--You can get a catalogue of all postage-stamps, with
     illustrations of most of the types (except U.S.), for 50c. Anything
     beyond this is a matter of careful study. Never paste any stamps in
     the album. You can get one thousand of the best hinges, made of
     onion-skin, for 15c., from any dealer. The current U.S. stamps from
     low values are too common to pay for saving. The 50c., $1, $2, and
     $5 stamps are worth from 25 per cent. to 50 per cent. of their face
     value, even when used, but they must be without tear or other
     material blemish.

     F. SEVERN.--Part-perforated U.S. revenue stamps are not scarce, but
     I advise paying any high price for single stamps in that condition.
     Too many perforated stamps with large margins have been faked into
     "part perforated." The advanced collectors, as a rule, pay extra
     for part-perforated revenues when in unsevered pairs only. As to
     the "ultramarine," they are in most cases quite scarce in this
     shade.

     MARIA C. SHATOLA.--I have no record of receiving any letter from
     you.

     R. F. BOWE.--All the English stamps are water-marked. Take an
     unused one, or one lightly cancelled, dip it in water, and hold it
     so that the light shines through, and you will see the water-mark.

     E. BAGG, JUN.--The English government perforates initials, etc., in
     stamps at the expense of the purchaser. This is done to prevent
     theft.

     D. MCLAUGHLIN.--In the days of Queen Anne of England (1712) all
     English newspapers were taxed for revenue. The government put its
     imprint or tax on each and every paper issued. This tax was
     abolished June 15, 1855. Specimens are very common. They are
     collected to a limited degree in England.

     T. A. L.--Your U.S. coins are worth three or four times their face
     value. The Carolus III. is a Spanish dollar no longer current, and
     therefore worth bullion only, as it is very common.

  PHILATUS.

       *       *       *       *       *

A QUEER AUDIENCE.

An India correspondent, in writing to the Boston _Golden Rule_, says:
"The most singular audience that I ever saw gathered to listen to
preaching was an audience of monkeys. I had noticed that in the back
yards of the houses on the opposite side of the street there was a row
of trees, the branches of which stretched out over the flat roofs. Many
of these branches were beginning to bend downward toward the roofs, and
the faces of some old jack monkeys peered out through the foliage. Soon
some of them jumped down and came forward to see what their 'big
brothers' in the street were about, as they stood gazing so intently at
these white men standing around. Springing upon a parapet, they seated
themselves, with their hind feet hanging over in front, and gazed with
fixedness at the preacher, as they saw the people in the street doing.

"The audience in the street, standing with their backs toward that row
of houses, did not notice the monkeys, and so their attention was not
distracted by them.

"I had noticed that many mother monkeys had brought their babies to
church with them. These little babe monkeys sat upon the knees of their
mothers, while her hand was placed around them in a very human fashion;
but the sermon was evidently too high for these little fellows to
comprehend. Glancing up, I saw one of the little monkeys cautiously
reach his hand around, and catching hold of another baby monkey's tail,
give it a pull. The other little monkey struck back; but each mother
monkey evidently disapproved of this levity in church, and each gave her
own baby a box on the ears, as though saying: 'Sit still; don't you know
how to behave in church?' The little monkeys thus reprimanded turned the
most solemn faces toward the preacher, and seemed to listen intently to
what he was saying. They sat demurely until the preacher finished his
sermon and until he had distributed Gospels and tracts among the
audience.

"Our 'celestial audience,' seeing our 'terrestrial audience' dispersing,
then, and not until then, left their seats, and demurely walked back and
sprang upon the branches again. There were no 'monkey capers' as they
went; they were as serious as a congregation leaving a church, and sat
upon the branches in a meditative mood, as though thinking over what
they had heard the preacher say."




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[Illustration]

Baker's Chocolate

made by

Walter Baker & Co. Ltd.,

ESTABLISHED IN 1780,

at Dorchester, Mass.

Has the well-known

YELLOW

LABEL

on the front of every package,

and the trade-mark

"La Belle Chocolatiere,"

on the back.

       *       *       *       *       *

None other Genuine.

Walter Baker & Co. Ltd.,

DORCHESTER, MASS.




Postage Stamps, &c.




[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.




=SPECIAL EASTER PACKET=, 50 dif. stamps from 25 countries, cat. over $1,
price 25c. 100 var. fine packet for beginners, 15c. BUCKEYE STAMP CO.,
115 Sycamore St., Cin., O.




104

all different, Bolivia, &c., 10c. Finest approval sheets at 50%
discount. Agents wanted. 1897 price-list free. Shaw Stamp & Coin Co.,
Jackson, Mich.




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




MEFISTO SCARF PIN.

[Illustration]

A brand new joke; Mefisto's bulging eyes, bristling ears and ghastly
grin invite curiosity every time when worn on scarf or lapel, and it is
fully satisfied when by pressing the rubber ball concealed in your
inside pocket you souse your inquiring friend with water. Throws a
stream 30 feet; hose 16 in. long; 1-1/2 inch ball; handsome
Silver-oxidized face colored in hard enamel; worth 25c. as a pin and a
dollar as a joker; sent as a sample of our 300 specialties with 112 page
catalogue post-paid for ONLY 15c.; 2 for 25c.; $1.40 Doz. AGENTS Wanted.

ROBT. H. INGERSOLL & BRO.,

Dept. No. 62, 65 & 67 Cortlandt Street, New York City.




Hold their place in the front rank of the publications to which they
belong.

HARPER'S

PERIODICALS

  MAGAZINE, $4.00 a Year
  WEEKLY, $4.00 a Year
  BAZAR, $4.00 a Year
  ROUND TABLE, $2.00 a Year




SOFERTERAMONIGO.

A gentleman stopped to listen to the tune, played on a hand-organ, which
happened to strike his fancy. When the air was finished, he approached
the Italian, and asked the name of the music.

"Soferteramonigo!" answered the Italian, showing all his teeth in a
smile of appreciation at the compliment to his melodies.

The gentleman walked on, and endeavored for many months to obtain the
piece of music with the unpronounceable name. But he never could find
it. At last one day he heard it played by an American, and again asked
the name of the air he admired.

"Oh, that," said the player, "is an old thing--'Silver Threads among the
Gold!'"

       *       *       *       *       *

IN THE POLO REGIONS.

"I wonder if the little Eskimo boys have any out-of-door games like
ours?" said Polly.

"Oh, I guess so," replied Jennie. "They have polo-bears up there, you
know."

       *       *       *       *       *

THE TROUBLE.

"Who ever brought you up, Walter?" demanded his aunt, after some small
bit of rudeness on his part.

"Never was brought up," said Walter. "I've been being taken down all my
life."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration]

THE FANCIFUL JAP.

  "The mirror finds all the defects of my face,
    And in it I'll look all the day
  To see if it won't with its mystical grace
    In a little while take them away."

       *       *       *       *       *

A TEN-CENT QUEEN.

Imagine a queen travelling around the world on ten cents! It seems
preposterous, and yet it is a fact. There is a certain man out West,
according to the St. Louis _Republic_, who will do this for any one who
will send him an order, whether it comes from England, China, or any
other foreign country, and he says:

"I have frequent demands from all parts of the world. You see, I send
these queens as follows: You will notice that there are two little
circular compartments in this royal carriage," and he produced a little
wooden box, "one in which the queen is kept, and the other for her
suite; the little plug in the centre of the box is solidified, candied
honey, which will furnish food to the regal party until they arrive at
their destination.

"The compartments are covered with a fine wire gauze to prevent the
escape of the insects.

"This large one in the first compartment, the one with the delicately
shaped long body and beautiful markings, is an Italian queen bee, and
she is valued at $10. I have queens valued all the way from $2 to $25.

"The others, in the second compartment, are the suite, or worker bees,
that will accompany her on the trip not only for company, but also for
the heat they will produce to keep her comfortable on the stormy voyage
over the great cold seas.

"After we have the bees safely stowed away in their proper compartments,
we switch the little lid around and fasten it with a tiny screw at the
ends, and on its top surface the address of the consignee is written,
the stamp is affixed, and away goes her majesty, a queen sold into
slavery for the trifling sum of $10, and sent to her destination on a
ten-cent stamp.

"Bee-culture has grown so rapidly in the United States that there are
few farmers now who have not a substantial apiary and who do not net a
handsome income each year from the honey the bees yield, and besides the
farmer there are thousands of gentlemen and ladies who are apiarists
purely from the fascination the hobby affords."

       *       *       *       *       *

LIGHTS FOR THE FEET.

Genius has given fashionable folks a new plaything with which to amuse
themselves. It is in literal obedience to the Biblical injunction
regarding a lamp unto the feet, for that is exactly where the new light
is to be worn. The Baltimore _Herald_ says:

"It consists of a tiny lantern with sides of very stout glass, mounted
upon a stirrup which straddles the foot of the user, a tongue resting on
the toe of the foot, and acting as part of the support.

"There are several means of furnishing light for this curious lamp.
Electricity and oil are the most common. The former is likely to be the
more popular method, as there is no danger of grease leaking out upon
the shoe.

"A tiny storage battery has been constructed to furnish light. It is
carried in the pocket, and a flexible wire passes from the battery and
through the pocket down to the lamp."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration]

"DO YOU KNOW THE LESSON?"

"I GUESS SO."

"WELL, WHAT'S UTOPIA? IS IT A NATION?"

"POSSIBLY; A SORT OF IMAGINARY NATION."

"OH, I SEE; IT'S A NOTION--EH?"





End of Project Gutenberg's Harper's Round Table, March 16, 1897, by Various