    Project Gutenberg's Harper's Round Table, April 21, 1896, by Various

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    Title: Harper's Round Table, April 21, 1896

    Author: Various

    Release Date: March 21, 2018 [EBook #56802]

    Language: English

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    *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HARPER'S ROUND TABLE, APRIL 21, 1896 ***

    Produced by Annie R. McGuire

THE BATTLE OF BRICK CHURCH.
A PLUCKY YOUNG TENDERFOOT.
DRILLING A GREAT ARMY IN WINTER.
ON THE CELLAR-DOOR.
AN "OLD-FIELD" SCHOOL-GIRL.
RICK DALE.
EXPLORING NEW-FOUND RIVERS.
AN HOUR IN BICYCLELAND.
THE MILKY WAY.
FROM CHUM TO CHUM.
INTERSCHOLASTIC SPORT.
STAMPS.
BICYCLING.
THE PUDDING STICK.
THE CAMERA CLUB.

[Pg 597]

Copyright, 1896, by Harper & Brothers. All Rights Reserved.

published weekly. | NEW YORK, TUESDAY, APRIL 21, 1896. | five cents a copy.
vol. xvii.—no. 860. |  | two dollars a year.

## THE BATTLE OF BRICK CHURCH.

### BY L. A. TEREBEL.

What the Lincoln Cadets called their "armory" was a large low hall in the basement of the Brick Church. Here they drilled three times a week during the winter and spring; and here they kept their brightly polished guns in racks ranged along the wall; and here their drums and bugles were stacked in a pyramid in one corner; and old Tom, the janitor, was their "armorer." On the walls, in polished oak frames, hung photographs of groups of officers that had commanded the cadets in years past, and one picture of the entire battalion of sixty boys drawn up in parade formation in the park; and over the door, in a gold frame, was a fine steel engraving of Abraham Lincoln that had been presented to the corps by Mr. Dunworthy, the president of the Board of Trustees of the Brick Church, and the chief patron of the cadets. Opposite the door, at the other end of the room, was a closet with glass doors, in which the battalion's colors and the stars and stripes and the markers' flags were kept securely locked at all times when not in use.

The first sergeants had not yet called upon their men to fall in, and the cadets were standing about the hall in groups, pulling on their white gloves and arranging their belts, for they intended to make a brave show that night because Mr. Dunworthy was coming in later to review the battalion. It was early, however, and Mr. Dunworthy need not be expected until after the meeting of the Trustees, which was being held in the vestry-room upstairs.

"Perhaps he won't come, anyway," said Captain Tom Taylor, who commanded Company A.

"Why not?" asked Adjutant Dale, as he struggled with his gold aigulets.

"His men have been on strike for pretty near a week[Pg 598] now, and Mr. Dunworthy has been obliged to stay at the mills until all hours," continued Taylor.

"And I saw in the papers to-day the men were beginning to get ugly," put in a diminutive Lieutenant in short trousers. "The police had to be called to clear the yard in front of the mills."

"I wish those Poles would stay in Poland," remarked the Adjutant; but just then there was a blast from the bugle, and a great stamping of feet and scattering of groups put an end to further discussion of the strike at Roland and Dunworthy's mills.

For those who are not so well informed as the cadets, however, it may be well to state that the trouble at the iron-mills was wholly restricted to the Polish element among the workmen. Most of these fellows were hard characters, employed at the furnaces and in the puddling shops. In all, they numbered about one hundred and fifty. Few of them could speak English, all were ignorant, and a majority had seen the inside of the town jail. But as they were the only class of men that the mill-owners could obtain to do that class of work, they had to be employed. The difficulty which had resulted in the present strike was of long standing. The men had made certain demands, and these demands, after a brief delay, had been granted. And the Poles, thinking then that any request of theirs should be acceded to, immediately asked for further benefits, and when these were refused they left their work. Some of the worst threw stones, and one of the stones hit the superintendent. Three men were arrested and locked up in the jail. This seemed to make the Poles very angry, and they became so demonstrative that, as the Lieutenant had said, the police had to be called in to drive them out of the yard in front of Mr. Dunworthy's office.

All these occurrences made it necessary for Mr. Dunworthy to remain late at the mills, and consequently he was forced to send a note to the church saying that he would be unable to be present at the trustees' meeting that evening. Old Tom, the janitor, was sent down stairs to inform the cadets. Old Tom had served in the cavalry during the war, and he wore a decoration on his breast for gallantry at Vicksburg. So when he entered the drill-room he stood very erect, and marched up to Major Jack Downing, a tall, good-looking young man, and saluted in proper military style, then waited for permission to speak. When he announced that Mr. Dunworthy was not coming, there was an audible hum of disappointment in the ranks.

"Never mind," said Major Downing, quickly; "we will go on with the parade just as if he were here."

Old Tom saluted and withdrew. He went up stairs and stood on the front steps of the church, looking up at the clear starlit April sky. Presently, however, his reveries were interrupted by the sound of many feet and a sort of distant humming noise, and looking down the avenue, he saw a crowd of men approaching. He thought at first it was a body of street-cleaners or some other gang of night-workmen; but as they came nearer he recognized them as Poles, iron-workers from the mills. There must have been a hundred or more, and half of them carried bludgeons. They did not pass by the church, as old Tom had thought they would, but, seeing him standing there, they paused, and one bearded fellow, who spoke English fairly well, asked, "Is this the Brick Church?"

"Yes," answered the janitor, curtly.

"Is Dunworthy inside?"

"Mr. Dunworthy is not here to-night," continued old Tom.

The crowd grumbled.

"Come off!" shouted another. "We know he's here; he's at a meeting.

"He is not," replied the janitor: and seeing that the men were gradually crowding in from the sidewalk through the iron gates, old Tom went down to them, and said:

"See here, you fellows, I tell you Mr. Dunworthy is not here, and you have got to get out. You are disturbing the meeting."

"Ah-h-h-h!" shouted the crowd, like an angry sea; and a piece of sod, torn up from the grass-plot in front of the church, knocked off the janitor's hat. This angered the old cavalryman, and he gave the men nearest to him a vigorous shove, and tried to close the gates. He was unwise in this, for the Poles seized him, and soon there was a general fight, in which old Tom was the target for every Polander's fist and foot.

Of course it is not to be expected that all this could have happened without attracting the attention of the gentlemen in the vestry room and of the boys in the armory. Several of the officers had run to the top of the stairs as soon as they heard the approach of the Poles, and when they reported to the Major, the latter at once ordered "Fix bayonets!" and drew his men up in column of twos facing the staircase. He had barely completed this formation, during which two of the trustees had urged the boys not to show themselves upstairs, when the Adjutant shouted from the doorway,

"Come on, fellows; they're killing old Tom!"

There was a swaying in the ranks, as if the impulse of all had been to rush; but Jack Downing shouted:

"Steady! Company A, forward, double time, march!"

Captain Taylor repeated the order sharply, and leaped in the van of his men, reaching the top of the staircase just in time to see half a dozen stones and bricks fly through the church doors.

He could hear Jack Downing below shouting orders to the other two companies. Taylor called to his men to form fours, and marched them straight down the steps toward the gateway. The other cadets followed close behind up the narrow staircase, and the Major sent one company to the left of Taylor's rear, and one to the right, so as to attack the strikers in three parallel columns.

The appearance of uniforms and bayonets from the church was a big surprise to the Polanders. They were so startled that they fell back to the middle of the street, leaving poor old Tom almost senseless on the sidewalk. Two non-commissioned officers of C Company helped him to his feet, and led him back into the vestry-room, where a corpulent old gentleman was telephoning madly for the police.

But in the mean time there were lively times in the street. The Poles, partly recovered from their surprise, snarled like animals, and spoke hard words in their own hard language, and many of them threw sticks and stones at the cadets. Jack Downing got his forces out into the street, where there was room to manœuvre, and formed a sort of wedge of bayonets with which he charged straight into the centre of the crowd. The iron-workers fell back like sheep, and as soon as he had the mob divided the young strategist wheeled one company against one section, and another company against the other section, and kept Company A in front of the church as a sort of reserve.

The Poles only threw two volleys of stones, and were then apparently so surprised at the advance of the cadets that they did not notice these were merely boys and only half their number. But they did notice that their opponents were disciplined, and that they carried shining bayonets pointing straight out in front of them; and when they saw a phalanx of these coming down the street they turned about and ran.

The Lincoln Cadets did not pursue. They halted on the street corners and formed skirmish-lines. But even this was unnecessary, for as they did so they heard the gongs of the patrol wagons, and soon a score of policemen were in the neighborhood of the church—and not a Pole in sight!

The young Major drew his three companies up into battalion formation on the sidewalk then, and one of the trustees stood on the steps of the church and made what the Adjutant afterward characterized as a "regular spread-eagle, star-spangled-banner, Fourth-of-July speech." He ended by inviting the battalion to a near-by restaurant, where he ordered served for them just exactly the kind of an evening feast they would have ordered if they had had the doing of it themselves. Old Tom (with a black eye) sat at the head of the table, and after the cakes and the ice-cream had been slaughtered even worse than the Poles, he told stories of his own fighting days, and as he closed he said he had seen many battles, but none he cared more to remember than the "Battle of Brick Church."

[Pg 599]

## A PLUCKY YOUNG TENDERFOOT.

### BY PAUL HULL.

Harry Brown had the cowboy fever, and this is the way that the disease originated. During the early spring Harry's uncle had been a guest with the Brown family for several weeks, during which time the boy had been regaled with stories of wild Western life and adventure until his dreams suggested a panorama of prairie-land, cowboys, a whole menagerie of savage animals, and an endless procession of gayly bedecked and hideously painted Indians galloping furiously across the plains.

Uncle Joel had taken a great fancy to his sister's child, and having a boy of his own about the same age, he proposed to the somewhat startled parents to carry the lad away with him for the summer, and give him an outing on his ranch, where he would have the companionship of his sixteen-year-old cousin Frank, whom he had placed at school in Chicago for the winter, and for whom he intended to call when on his way back to Wyoming.

After considerable pleading and argument, Harry's mother at length allowed herself to be almost persuaded that if he went he would not be converted into a long-haired, swaggering, pistol-shooting citizen, and that hostile bands of redskins were not in the habit of lying in ambush around the ranch for the purpose of scalping its inmates several times a day; so at last she hesitatingly added her consent to that of her husband's.

During the remaining week of Uncle Joel's stay in New York the poor man was subjected by the anxious mother to such a running fire of cross-questioning, and so made to feel the awful responsibility that he was incurring by taking Harry away from his comfortable home, where he was tenderly cared for, to place him among strangers and savage beasts and wild and uncouth cowboys, as well as blood-thirsty Indians, that he would have gladly gone back on his contract, even if it was calculated to cost him a dozen of his best steers.

The time set for the departure arrived, and, being a Saturday, Harry was escorted to the depot by a large delegation of his school-mates, who gazed enviously at their companion striding along at the side of his rich cowboy uncle, who had been elevated into a hero in their minds by reason of the startling tales of Indian adventure in which, according to his nephew's account, he had been a most prominent actor. It is safe to say that Harry's imagination was responsible for the gaudy coloring of some of the stories, and that the rate at which his uncle was reputed to have cleaned out the red men whenever an uprising took place proved conclusively that the savages were either so thick in Wyoming that they interfered with one another's walking, or that they were wise enough not to go upon the warpath very often—otherwise that territory would have been depopulated of its natives long before.

After two days of anticipation, Harry stepped off the train at Chicago to greet a lad whom he had seen on the platform from the car window, and whose resemblance to Uncle Joel permitted no doubt as to his relationship. Frank had been written to some days previous concerning the companion that had been selected for him for the summer, and had been anxious to meet his cousin, so, as he expressed himself to a school-mate, "to size him up and see what stuff he was made out of."

For a moment after Uncle Joel had introduced them, in his bluff but kindly way, the boys held back just a trifle, as though measuring one another according to individual standards; then a mutual smile of pleasure and satisfaction lit up their faces, and they shook hands heartily and walked off arm in arm, to the gratification of Mr. Williams, who heard them exchanging confidences and speculating over the coming vacation.

The ride from the foot of Lake Michigan to the city of Cheyenne was full of novelty and excitement for the Eastern boy, whose previous travelling had never carried him beyond the limits of the Empire State.

On the morning of the day that the train rolled into the capital city of Wyoming, Mr. Williams pointed to a natural and lofty pyramid of rocks situated a few hundred feet away from the track, telling them to take in the situation quickly, as the train would shortly round a curve and hide it from view.

Harry asked his uncle if there was a history connected with the scene, and learning that his suspicious were well founded, begged for the story. Mr. Williams began in the orthodox fashion:

"A long time ago, when I was a young fellow about twenty-three years of ago, I first came out to this part of the country as a member of a railroad surveying party. One awfully hot August afternoon we had worked our stakes along until we reached the big mass of rock that I pointed out to you a few minutes ago. As there was a promise of a thunder shower, according to the big black clouds soaring up out of the northwest, and as we were all knocked up with the heat, our chief gave orders to unhitch the cattle and to camp under the shade of the rocks.

"We had two good guides and Indian-fighters in our outfit, and being in a hostile country, of course they were always on the alert for Indian signs and ambushes. Although we had had several attacks from the hair-lifting individuals, the same had always been made when we were prepared for them, owing to the warning given by our guides. Well, why it was that they were so careless on that day I speak of I cannot say, unless the burning heat of the forenoon had taken away their shrewdness and caution.

"As far as the eye could reach in every direction there was nothing but rolling prairie, except right against our backs, where the bare and ragged rocks went up almost straight into the misty, heat-charged atmosphere. As we intended to remain in camp for the remainder of the day and coming night, sentinels were stationed on the four sides of the rock, and the mules and horses were allowed to crop the parched grass in the vicinity as far as their picket-ropes would allow them to wander, it being intended to drive them within the square of wagons before dark, so as to make them secure against a stampede.

"About four o'clock the storm came sweeping across the prairie, and for about an hour the thunder rolled and cracked and the lightning flashed as it knows how to do in Wyoming; then when it seemed to be dying away, there came a blinding flash of fire in our faces and the most awful crash I ever heard. It stunned us all for a moment, so that when something came pitching down from the rocks just over our heads and fell with a thud on the sodden grass a few feet away, we imagined it to be a piece of the cliff detached by the last concussion. After that the rain ceased and the sun shone out. Then it was that we discovered the thing in front of us to be a Cheyenne warrior. After the first look there was no use in seeking for signs of life in him, for his face was as black as that of a negro's, and one side of him was horribly burned. It didn't take us long to reason that he had been hidden away among the rocks, spying on us, and that the last lightning bolt had been attracted to him by the steel tomahawk in his belt. Well, after that we pulled out on the open prairie and kept a close watch on that pile of rock for the remainder of the afternoon and night, for we didn't know how many more of the heathen there might be in hiding up there; but nothing further happened, and in the morning we said good-by to it with a big feeling of relief."

At Cheyenne, Mr. Williams's foreman and several ranch hands were in waiting with saddle horses for the party. During the two days that the party remained in the city Frank gave Harry some valuable lessons in horsemanship, and after about a week's experience, in which time he became hardened to the saddle, Harry found no greater enjoyment than in galloping about the range on the back of a fiery young horse that his cousin had raised, and which he presented to him "for keeps," as he expressed it.

Now Frank Williams was a kind-hearted young fellow, and during the fortnight that he and Harry had been thrown together a mutual affection had grown between them; but Frank was brimming over with mischief, and he conceived a plan for having a laugh at his "tenderfoot relation," as Harry was called by the cowboys.

The few Indians who appeared in the vicinity of the[Pg 600] ranch belonged to a peaceable tribe of Cheyennes, but when the opportunity came Frank intended for the time being to mentally transform these demoralized and decidedly lazy individuals into the most frenzied and blood-thirsty creatures that his imagination was equal to. The cowboys were taken into the secret, and a mysterious visit was made by one of them to the Indian camp, where the chief, who delighted in the high-sounding title of "Dog-with-two-tails," was pleased to dispose of several feathered head-dresses and a quantity of colored pigments for a suspicious-looking black bottle, which the noble savage patted affectionately and stowed away inside his dirty shirt.

Several days after this Frank asked his cousin to take a canter with him to a somewhat remote point of the range where the men were branding the young cattle. As they rode across the undulating prairie, sweet and fresh in the early summer sunshine, Frank explained to his cousin that the Indian outbreaks were always timed to take place when the winter was over. Then he went on to state, with a shade of worry on his face, that although there had been no trouble for some time, it was well to be on guard constantly, for the uprisings generally took place when they were least expected. He kept on in this strain until the branding-place was reached; then Harry became so interested in the round up and sorting of the cattle that he failed to notice several of the cowboys disappearing into the small woods close at hand.

After a time the boys started on their ten-mile ride for home, allowing their horses to jog along easily, while Frank profited by the occasion to further dilate concerning the uncertainty of their savage neighbors, and the recklessness of even riding over the range unless prepared for emergencies.

They had ridden about two miles, when their ears were suddenly saluted with the most infernal series of yells that ever disgraced the human throat. Looking back in the direction of the sound, the boys saw, not more than a quarter of a mile away, coming down on them at top speed, five savages in full war paint and feathers, brandishing their rifles, while they continued to utter such unearthly screams and howls that Harry afterward admitted that his hair developed a tendency to lift his cap clear of his head.

"They've broken out!" yelled Frank. "Spur for home or they'll have our scalps!"

The next instant the two boys were frantically driving their heels into the sides of the speeding horses, while behind them the Indians redoubled their yells and swept furiously along in pursuit.

All of a sudden Harry saw Frank's horse, which was a little in advance, step in a hole, pitch on his knees, and send its rider flying out of the saddle. Harry reined up by the side of his cousin, but Frank never moved or responded to the excited appeal for him to jump up and get on behind.

What was to be done? Back there, only an eighth of a mile away, the redskins were tearing along on their trail, and here, helpless and unconscious, lay his companion.

"I'll never leave him for those fiends to butcher," muttered Harry, pale with fear, but with his teeth set hard and a look of determination on his youthful face. Then he unslung his gun, dismounted from his horse, brought the piece to his shoulder, ran his eye along the barrel until the head of one of the Indians was in line, and pulled the trigger.

THE REPULSE OF THE PRACTICAL JOKERS.

With the report the savages turned their horses and took the back trail, and were soon out of sight.

"The miserable cowards," thought Harry, "to run away from a boy!"

"Harry," said a very shamefaced lad sitting on the ground a few feet away, and rubbing a big lump on the back of his head, "you can put up your gun; there's no danger. I tried to play a joke on you, and the joke came on me. I'm glad that you only had bird-shot in that gun of yours, because you might have killed one of father's cowboys. But I say, Harry, dear old fellow, it was awfully brave of you to stand by me when I was knocked silly by that tumble, and I appreciate it just as much as though it was all real work instead of a joke; and—and—oh! I say Harry, old fellow, don't say anything about it, and if any one ever dares to call you a tenderfoot again when I'm around, why, I'll brand him with the jolliest, biggest iron that we've got on the ranch!"

[Pg 601]

## DRILLING A GREAT ARMY IN WINTER.

The effectiveness of any of the great European standing armies depends, above all things, upon their being able and ready to take the field at a moment's notice. This theory is taught in most of the military schools abroad, and it is an excellent one; but there are many and almost insurmountable difficulties to overcome in putting it into practice. Still, in order to reach the highest efficiency, troops are trained to manœuvre in all weather and at all seasons, especially in France and Germany and Russia. The Russians, having more winter weather, perhaps, than the other nations of Europe, were the first to recognize the value and importance of drills on snow and ice, and have trained their armies to take the field in the depth of winter.

Germany has followed this example, and during the winter months the various corps of her vast army carried on mock warfare in various parts of the empire. Extreme cold is, of course, a great obstacle to the mobilization of troops. It is not always possible to secure lodgings for soldiers in towns and villages, especially in times of peace, when the necessity is not absolute; and the alternative of sleeping in tents, with the snow lying deep on the ground and the thermometer below zero, seems at first thought impracticable. And yet it has been shown, by the recent manœuvres of the German troops, that with dire precautions men suffer no ill effects from this exposure. The tents which have been found to be the most useful are very small, and have proved warmer than the larger ones. The temperature inside the canvas is generally about ten degrees higher than outside, to begin with, and rises when occupied by soldiers. The men are also kept warm by having hot coffee served to them at intervals of two hours throughout the night. The chief object, of course, of winter manœuvres is to accustom soldiers to sleep in tents during severe weather, and to learn to know the conditions which winter campaigning imposes.

A MOCK ASSAULT ON A FORT IN WINTER.

A detachment made up of several battalions of Pioneers and Grenadier Guards was sent across country on a long march during one of these manœuvres, in an attempt to surprise and capture a fortress. The attack was to be made entirely without the aid and support of artillery. The troops arrived before the fortress in the evening, and were immediately ordered to the attack, the plan being to take the place by assault. The bastions and ramparts, of course, were covered with snow, and the water in the moat, if there was any, was frozen hard. They approached as quietly as they could, with the intention of crossing the moat, but before they could get their scaling-ladders into position the garrison had been alarmed by the sentries, and immediately opened fire upon the attacking party. Search-lights were also brought into play to throw their glare into the moat, where the Grenadiers had gathered in order to climb the ramparts. But in spite of this the Guards scaled the inner defences, being protected by the Pioneers, who were drawn up on the other side of the moat, and kept up such a constant fire on the garrison that these troops were unable to prevent the approach of the Grenadiers. As soon as the latter had successfully climbed the ramparts, they in turn opened a hot fire upon the defenders, while the Pioneers crossed the moat behind them. And when the whole attacking force had thus surmounted their greatest obstacle, they made a rush over the inner defences of the fortress and captured it. This is only one of the many kinds of winter manœuvres that the German troops practise. Sometimes whole army corps are sent to capture a city or to take possession of a line of railroad; and if the snows are so heavy that these roads are impassable, the railway corps of the German army can construct a road made of light steel tracks across country over the ice and the drifts. In this way they keep up communication with their base of supplies.

[Pg 602]

## ON THE CELLAR-DOOR.

We fellows held a meeting, and Tommy had the floor;
Ned Parks was in the chair, sir, on Charley's cellar-door.
We'd voted for a lot of things and ruled some others in,
When Tommy's mother sent for him, which made no end of din.
'Twas in the middle of his speech, but Tommy had to go,
For if your mother sends for you, you haven't half a show.
The thing that we complained of was that neither just nor kind
Is the way a fellow's mother veers, and dares to "change her mind."
Old Tommy said his mother said that he might spend the day
A-playing by that cellar-door; then would not let him stay,
But thought of errands he must run, and broke our meeting square
In two just at the height of fun, and I tell you 'twasn't fair.
Grown people have such funny ways. If we should change our mind
When we had made a promise, why, they wouldn't be so blind,
They'd call it fibbing, if you please, or something worse than that,
A small black word of letters three; I've heard them plain and pat.
But we left our ruined meeting and went to playing ball,
And kicked it well, with might and main, there by Tom's mother's wall;
For we couldn't bear to stand around the dreary cellar-door
When Tommy's mother changed her mind just when he had the floor.
M. E. S.

## AN "OLD-FIELD" SCHOOL-GIRL.[1]

### BY MARION HARLAND.

### CHAPTER V.

Every hour of that black Monday cast Flea into deeper darkness. Because she was found wanting in arithmetic she was put, in all her classes, with girls whose ignorance she despised. For two years she had studied the same lessons with Bea, and recited them as well. Yet Bea smiled sweetly down upon her from the head of the "big girls'" bench, and Flea swelled with angry mortification between Lucy Wilson, who could not read to herself without whispering the words, and Emma Jones, whose recitation of, "Vermont is a small ro-mantick and pictures-quee State," was one of last session's jokes. At "play-time" Mr. Tayloe went to Greenfield, less than half a mile distant, for a comfortable luncheon. As soon as he was out of sight every tongue was loosened. The boys whooped and raced to and fro; the girls knotted together in groups under the trees and upon the steps to eat their snacks and discuss the incidents of the morning.

Flea slipped away unperceived, luncheon-bag in hand, to the welcome cover of the woods. She thought she was glad that nobody stopped or stayed her. Really the indifference of her mates to what she had endured and what she now suffered pierced her with a new sorrow.

"Nobody cares! nobody cares!" she cried aloud, plunging into the forest until the voices of the shouting boys could not be heard. She was alone at last. Casting herself down in the friendly shade, she let all the waves of wounded feeling, the billows of wounded pride, go over her head.

Up to this morning she had been a happy child, making much of her few and simple pleasures. She liked everybody she knew in her small world, and loved nearly everybody. She had never been guilty of a wilful unkindness; hatred and revenge were unknown passions. The unpleasant smile that curved the schoolmaster's lips so far upward as partly to close his eyes would have straightened into a laugh of genuine amusement had he watched, from behind the tree-boles, the look that settled upon the face, blotched with weeping when, by-and-by, the girl sat up, her knees drawn up to her chin, her arms gripping her legs. She had cried her eyes dry. She believed that she could never cry again—certainly not in that man's presence. No! not if he were to beat her to death!

"If he ever strikes me I will kill him!" she muttered, her lips curling back from the locked teeth. "It would be as right as father's killing that snake. I hope I shall have a chance to pay him back some day. I am in his power now, but a time may come! A time may come!"

She was genuinely miserable, yet she could not help being melodramatic. She was still living in her story, but the complexion of the story was changed. Yesterday she would not have harmed the meanest thing that lived. This morning to make and to see others happy was the purest joy she knew. Her heart seemed to this dreadful day to have been a placid pool, clear because it had never been stirred up from the bottom. This man—the first creature she had ever hated—had brought to the top such mire and dirt as she had never dreamed were there.

By-and-by she ate her luncheon. She was only a child, and with childhood the sharpest edge of the sharpest grief is soon dulled. When her hunger was somewhat appeased she became critical of the remnants of her "snack."

"Cold batter-bread!" turning it over with the tips of her fingers. "I wonder who mother thinks cares for cold batter-bread?"

Batter-bread is a mixture of Indian meal, milk, and eggs beaten light and baked in a mould. When hot and fresh it is puffy and delicious. In cooling it becomes heavy and sticky. Flea's misery was settling into crossness, very much after the fashion of the bread. She took one bite out of the solid chunk, and tossed the rest as far as she could send it over the bushes. It was aimed at the creek that flowed a dozen yards away, but fell short and landed in the sand. Flea could see it lying there while she crunched a crisp ginger-cake with teeth that snapped pettishly upon it.

"I'll tell mother not to put cold batter-bread into my snack to-morrow," she resolved.

At the thought a home picture arose in her mind. Of her mother, with tired eyes and wrinkled forehead, the baby tugging at her skirts and whining to be taken up, while the busy housewife stood at the dining-room table, cutting ham and buttering bread, and selecting the nicest ginger-cakes for her daughters' midday meal. She had forgotten nothing, not even the clean napkin, although Calley was teasing her on one side and baby on the other, and Dee was asking everybody where he could have put his slate, and Chaney was waiting, a wooden bread-tray on her hip, for "Mistis to give out dinner." Flea concluded that she had a good mother. If she did scold sometimes, she had reason enough for it, and Flea at least, whatever might be said of the other children, richly deserved all the fault-finding she got at home. Her mother had said to herself when she cut and buttered that slice of batter-bread,

"How my hungry little girl will enjoy this at play-time!"

And the ungrateful little wretch had thrown it away.

The Flea Grigsby who ten minutes ago was planning revenge and even murder got up meekly, crept under the hazel and sweet-gum bushes, picked up the despised chunk, carried it back to her seat at the foot of a hickory-tree, and proceeded to eat it. Every mouthful went against palate and stomach. The butter had soaked into it and left it clammy. The sand stuck to it, and Flea could not brush it quite clean. The gritty morsels set her teeth on edge, and reminded her of stories she had read of penances done for sins committed—hair-cloth shirts, and peas in one's shoes, and floggings upon the naked shoulders, and all that. The stories helped her to persevere until the last crumb was swallowed. The task was further lightened by meditation upon her mother's many sterling virtues. For instance, how she took especial pains to give the children who went to school something to eat that was a little better[Pg 603] than the children left at home would have. She said "studying was hungry work."

In reality Mrs. Grigsby had said, "stedyin' is mighty hongry work." Flea would not think of that or other peculiarities that had sometimes made her ashamed of her mother. Her mother was not to blame that her parents had not sent her to school for as many years as she meant to send her children.

At this point of her musings something bitter and burning arose in the girl's softened heart.

"Poor mother!" she muttered. "Wouldn't she be mad if she knew what has happened to-day? As for father, he'd be ready to mash him like he did the moccasin."

The rule quoted as "a good law" by Major Duncombe, never to tell tales out of school, was one of the first lessons learned by every boy and girl of that school. Traditions of awful floggings administered by former teachers for violations of the rule were familiar to all. A large majority of parents were in the league with the schoolmasters in this matter. Many fathers not only refused to listen to their children's complaints, but punished them for bringing them. Boys actually carried for weeks the marks of the whip, and took pains to hide them from their parents lest they might be obliged to tell how they got them. A tell-tale was despised everywhere. To tell tales out of school branded boy or girl as for a disgraceful crime.

If Flea had battles to fight, she must fight them single-handed. The authority of the Old Field schoolmaster was what she had learned in Olney's geography to call "absolute despotism."

"He's worse than Turkey and China," she said, drawing the strings of her "snack-bag" viciously tight. "He's meaner and crueler than a satrap—or—a Mameluke!"

The sound of voices and laughter broke in upon her gloomy reverie. Peeping between the overhanging boughs she saw what made her crouch lower in her covert.

The creek was wide, and at this season shallow at this point. When swollen by winter and spring rains it was so deep and swift that a bridge had been built over it high above the present level. Coming from the direction of Greenfield, two women and a man had just reached the bridge. They were Miss Emily and Miss Eliza Duncombe, and Mr. Tayloe. He was on his way back to school, and the young ladies had walked part of the way with him. The party stopped on the bridge and leaned over the railing.

"If Miss Emily had seen him this morning, she wouldn't let him stand so close to her," reflected Flea. "She'd sooner push him into the water."

Miss Emily had no present intention of doing anything of the sort. She seemed upon the best possible terms with her brothers' teacher. He had a gun upon his shoulder. The woods were full of game, and he might knock over a bird or "an old hare" in his walks back and forth to the school-house. In the noon stillness Flea could hear what Miss Emily's high-pitched voice was saying:

"I tell you I can shoot beautifully. Just let me try."

And in answer to something he said: "I dare you to hit that stump in the water over yonder. The stump with the red leaves on it."

Mr. Tayloe raised the gun and fired. The leaves flew in every direction, and the shot pattered in the water.

Miss Emily clapped her hands and screamed with delight; there was a confused chatter for a moment, all three talking together, while Mr. Tayloe reloaded the gun and handed it to the young lady.

WITH A CRY SHE COULD NOT QUITE STIFLE, SHE RUSHED AWAY INTO THE WOODS.

"She ain't aiming it right," thought Flea, regretfully, as Miss Emily raised the short fowling-piece awkwardly but boldly to her shoulder, and laid her cheek down upon the stock. There was a report, and a rain of bird-shot fell, not in the water this time, but upon the clump of bushy shrubs in which Flea was hiding, and she felt a sharp cut across her cheek. With a cry she could not quite stifle she rushed away into the woods, too much frightened to do anything but fly from the chance of a second shot.

She did not hear the shout of laughter from the bridge.

"You peppered a pig that time, Miss Emily," said the teacher to the unskilful sportswoman. "You did not come within fifty feet of the stump. It's lucky the pig was so far off. I heard him squeal as he scampered into the woods. So you did hit something after all. That's a good one!"

He went off into another fit of laughter.

The blood was oozing from the cut when Flea stopped running, and she put up her hand to feel how much she was hurt. It was a mere scratch, for the shot was light and almost spent by the time it reached her. Her fright over, her spirits arose with a bound. A happy thought had entered her ever-active brain.

Major Duncombe had no patience with carelessness in the use of firearms. She had seen him angry but once in her life, and that was when one of his boys pointed an empty gun at his brother. The father had laid his riding-whip smartly about the boy's shoulders, and forbidden him to touch a gun again for a month.

"I would cowhide any man who aimed even a broomstick at me," he said. "'Gun' and 'fun' should never go together except in a rhyme."

Miss Emily would be scolded by her father and made fun of by everybody else, and feel dreadfully besides if anybody ever found out what she had done. Flea would lock up the secret in the recesses of her own heart, as any other heroine would, for the sake of the beloved object. She hoped the scratch would leave a scar—just a tiny thread of a scar—that would not disfigure her, and would always be a token of how much she loved her dear, dear Miss Emily.

"It would be a badge of merit—an honorable scar!" she said, aloud. "I am glad, glad it happened!"

A quarter-mile from the school-house, the hill on which it stood fell away abruptly in a bank out of which a clear little spring ran through a pipe into a trough below. There Flea paused to wash her face and hands, and to rinse the handkerchief she had used to stanch the blood. She even took pains to make herself look more tidy than usual, wetting her "Shetland-pony" forelock, and combing it back with the round comb which she wore for the first time that day. Then she smoothed her apron, and swinging her luncheon-bag around and around as she went, she tripped blithely up the slope into the clearing that made the play-ground. At the same instant the figure of the teacher came into view from the opposite quarter, and there was a rush and a scuffle among boys and girls to get into the school-room before he arrived.

Thus it happened that nobody noticed the raw scratch crossing Flea's left cheek, about an inch below the eye, until the dictionary class was called up to recite. Much attention was paid in the Old Field school to spelling and definition, the text-book being Walker's Dictionary. Two columns of words and definitions under the head of A were assigned to the class of five girls and six boys, who had been busy studying the lesson ever since the beginning of the afternoon session. For no reason except that it pleased him to put down in every way the girl to whom he had taken a dislike, Mr. Tayloe placed Flea Grigsby at the foot of the row ranged in front of his chair. The scholars stood while reciting, their hands close to their sides, their chins level, and shoulders back. When a word was misspelled, or a wrong definition given, it was passed down the line until somebody supplied the proper spelling and meaning, and went above those who had failed.

Flea mounted steadily and rapidly in this exercise, spelling being one of her strong points. She was the fourth from the head of the class when the word "adolescence" was given out. The first one who tried it put in two d's, the second left out the first c, the third spelled the word right, but had forgotten the meaning. Flea instinctively cast her eyes down, and tried with all her generous might not to look elated as the trial in which she knew she would succeed drew nearer and nearer.

"Felicia Grigsby!" said the teacher.

"Ado—"

"Instead of staring that ink-spot out of countenance, suppose you have the politeness to look at me when I speak to you." He broke off to stare at her. "What have you been doing to your face?"

Flea put her hand up to her wounded check, and felt that[Pg 604] it was wet. The water had checked the bleeding for a while, but now specks of blood, like tiny beads, were starting out along the line of the cut. Her blush at the discovery looked to the master like the confusion of guilt.

"Can't you speak?" he said, roughly. "You are usually over-ready with your tongue. With whom have you been fighting, now?"

A titter from the school behind her made Flea color yet more deeply.

"With nobody," she answered, in a low tone. "My face got scratched in the woods."

"Got scratched? That does pretty well for the crack scholar of the county, who is going to make us all proud of her some day. Why don't you say what scratched you?"

Flea was mute; not with alarm, although she would not have been surprised had he hurled the dictionary at her head. She had seen that done to a girl by a former teacher. The book had knocked the girl down. In falling she had cut her head against the corner of a bench, and lain quite still for a minute before she could get up. Flea recollected it all in a flash, yet without being afraid. Her eyes, fixed upon the teacher, were bright, her lips were compressed. No torture should force from her what might grieve and annoy Miss Emily. Stories from Fox's Book of Martyrs and Tales of the Covenanters, and a Sunday-school book, The Lives of the Saints, which she read last summer, thronged her mind. It was grand to be a heroine to save one she loved. It was sublime to be a martyr. Who was it who had written of somebody who "played the man in the fire"?

Mr. Tayloe's eyes faded almost white, the glow of metal seven times heated, that gave him an ominous look. The scholars ceased tittering and held their breaths. He took out his watch. Flea noticed that it was gold and very handsome, and was fastened to a heavy gold chain of curious workmanship, like the scales of a fish. There were initials on the back of the watch. She wondered if it had been his father's, and was left to him as the oldest son.

"I will give you exactly three minutes, Felicia Grigsby, to say, 'Mr. Tayloe, a thorn scratched my face as I came through the woods.' Obstinacy is what I will not stand."

In the deathlike hush of the room the ticking of the watch in his hand was painfully audible to the scholars of the back benches. Each tick seemed to go in one of Flea's ears and out at the other, trailing a red-hot wire with it. She could not stop counting them, try though she might. There was no thought of yielding in her mind, but she was getting faint with suspenseful dread. Never until now had she openly defied lawful authority. What was going to happen?

"Three!" said the teacher, returning the watch to his pocket. "Are you ready to do as you are told?"

Flea swept her dry lips with her tongue, and swallowed hard. "I can't say what you want me to say; it wouldn't be true."

"Aha! what is true, then?"

Again she was dumb.

"Go to your seat, and do not touch a book, or move, until I give you leave, if you have to sit there until to-morrow morning."

When the school was dismissed, an hour later, the rest of the scholars filed out of the room, staring hard at Flea as they passed.

Mr. Tayloe had letters to write. Not a sound was heard for the next half-hour, except the scratching of his pen and the rustling of the dried aspen-leaves blown by the wind into the open door and along the aisle. Flea watched them in a miserable, mechanical way. An odd stupor was stealing over her. Her nerves were wellnigh worn to threads, and although the stout heart stood firm, the waiting for an unknown punishment was horrible, and used up what strength positive disgrace had left to her.

Mr. Tayloe wrote on briskly. If Flea had read the letter over his shoulder, she would have seen that it began, "My dear Mother," and was full of merry, affectionate sayings.

Presently he looked up suddenly toward the door, smiled, hustled his papers into his desk, caught up his hat, and walked quickly down the aisle. In going out, he slammed the door behind him.

She was, then, to be left there all night!

#### [to be continued.]

[Pg 605]

## RICK DALE.

### BY KIRK MUNROE.

### CHAPTER XVII.

### SAVED BY A LITTLE SIWASH KID.

The attention of the departing revenue-officer being attracted by the barking dog, he paused, and glanced inquiringly in that direction. It was a critical moment for our lads, who knew not whether to run, which would be to reveal their presence at once, or to try and kill the dog, with probably the same result. Fortunately they were spared the necessity of a decision, for a little girl, whom up to this moment they had not noticed, though she was quietly at play with a family of clam-shell dolls directly in front of them, took the matter into her own hands. She had just arranged her score or so of dolls in potlatch order, with the most favored near at hand, when the dog, charging that way, threatened to upset the whole company. To avert such a catastrophe the child snatched up a stick, and springing forward in defence of her property, began to belabor him with such a hearty will, and scream at him so shrilly, as to entirely divert his attention from his original object.

Taking advantage of this diversion in their favor, the boys stole softly away, and after making a long détour through the forest, cautiously approached the coast a mile or more from Skookum John's camp, but where they could command a wide view of the sound. Here they had the satisfaction of seeing the yawl, under sail, standing off shore, and a full half-mile from it. The sloop was not visible, nor was the cutter.

"How could he have known just where to look for us?" asked Alaric, who had been greatly alarmed at the imminence of their recent danger.

"He couldn't have known," replied Bonny. "It was only a good guess. I suppose he overhauled our boat, and, finding her empty, made up his mind that we had landed somewhere. Of course he couldn't tell on which shore to look, but, noticing John's camp, thought it would be a good idea to find out if the Indians had seen anything of us. Of course they hadn't, and now that he has left, it will be safe enough for us to go back."

"Do you really think so? Isn't there any other place to which we can go?" asked Alaric, whose dread of being captured by the revenue-officers was so great as to render him overcautious.

"Plenty of them, but no other that I know of within reach, where we could find food, fire to cook it, and a boat to carry us somewhere else; for there aren't any white settlers or any other Indians that I know of within miles of here."

In spite of this assurance Alaric was so loath to venture that the boys spent several hours in discussing their situation and prospects before he finally consented to revisit Skookum John's camp. By this time the day was drawing to its close, and the lengthening forest shadows, flung far out over the placid waters of the sound, were so suggestive of a night of darkness and hunger amid all sorts of possible terrors as to outweigh all other considerations. So the boys plunged into the twilight gloom of the thickset trees, and began the uncertain task of retracing the way by which they had come.

As neither of them was a woodsman, this soon proved more difficult than they had expected. The trees all looked alike, and they made so many turns to avoid prostrate trunks and masses of entangled branches, that within half an hour they came to a halt, and each read in the troubled face of the other a confirmation of his own fears. They had certainly lost their way, and could not even tell in which direction lay the sea-shore they had so recently left. Bonny thought it was in front, while Alaric was equally certain that it still lay behind them.

"If we could only make a fire," said the former, "I[Pg 606] wouldn't mind so much staying right where we are till daylight; but I should hate to do so without one. Are you certain you haven't a single match?"

"Certain," replied Alaric; "but I thought you always carried them."

"So I do; but I used them all on that old lantern last night. I almost wish now I'd never invented that thing, and that they had caught us. They wouldn't have starved us, at any rate, and perhaps the prison isn't so very bad after all."

"I don't know about that," rejoined Alaric, stoutly. "To my mind a prison is the very worst thing, worse even than starving. After all, this doesn't seem to me so bad a fix as some from which I've already escaped. Going to China, for instance, or drifting alone at night in a small boat."

"What do you mean by going to China?" asked Bonny, wonderingly.

"Hark!" exclaimed the other, without answering this question. "Don't you hear something?"

"Nothing but the wind up aloft."

"Well, I do. I hear some sort of a moaning, and it sounds like a child."

"Maybe it's a bear or a wolf, or something of that kind," suggested Bonny, whose notions concerning wild animals were rather vague.

"Of course it may be," admitted Alaric; "but it sounds so human that we must go and find out, for if it is a child in distress we are bound to rescue it."

"Yes, I suppose we are; only if it proves to be a bear, I wonder who will rescue us?"

Alaric had already set off in the direction of the moaning; and ere they had taken half a dozen steps Bonny also heard it plainly. Then they paused and shouted, hoping that if the sound came from a bear the animal would run away. As they could hear no evidences of a retreat, and as the moaning still continued, they again pushed on. It was now so dark that they could do little more than feel their way past trees, over logs, and through dense beds of ferns. All the while the sound by which they were guided grew more and more distinct, until it seemed to come from their very feet.

At this moment the moaning ceased, as though the sufferer were listening. Then it was succeeded by a plaintive cry that went straight to Alaric's heart. He could dimly see the outline of a great log directly before him. Stooping beside it and groping among the ferns, his hands came in contact with something soft and warm that he lifted carefully. It was a little child, who uttered a sharp cry of mingled pain and terror at being thus picked up by a stranger.

"Poor little thing!" exclaimed the boy. "I am afraid it is badly injured, and shouldn't be one bit surprised if it had broken a limb. I must try and find out so as not to hurt it unnecessarily."

"Well," said Bonny, in a tragic tone, "they say troubles fly in flocks. I thought we were in a pretty bad fix before; but now we surely have run into difficulty. What ever are we to do with a baby?"

"Bonny!" cried Alaric, without answering this question, "I do believe it's the little Indian girl who drove away the dog, and something is the matter with one of her ankles."

"Skookum John's little Siwash kid!" exclaimed Bonny, joyfully. "Then we can't be so very far from his camp. Now if we only knew in which direction it lay."

As if in answer to this wish there came a cry, far-reaching and long drawn; "Nittitan! Nittitan! Ohee! Ohee!"

For several hours Skookum John and his eldest son, Bah-die, had been searching the woods for two white lads whom the third Lieutenant of the cutter claimed to have lost. He had promised the Indian a reward of twenty-five dollars if he would bring them to the cutter, and Skookum John had at once set forth with the idea of earning this money as speedily as possible.

Little Nittitan, his only daughter, whom he loved above all the others, noted his going, and after a while decided to follow him. When darkness put an end to the Indian's fruitless search and he returned to his camp, he found it in an uproar. Nittitan was missing, and no one could imagine what had become of her.

For a moment the bereaved father was stunned. Then he prepared several torches, and accompanied by Bah-die, set forth to find her. At the edge of the forest he raised a mighty cry that he hoped would reach the little one's ears. To his amazement it was answered by a cheery "Hello! Hello there, Skookum John!"

"Ohee! Ohee!" shouted the Indian.

THE ARRIVAL AT SKOOKUM JOHN'S.

"Here's your tenas klootchman" (little woman), came the voice from the forest, and the happy father knew that he who shouted had found the lost child and was bringing her to him.

On the outskirts of his camp he stood and waited, with blazing torch uplifted above his head, and an expectant group of women and half-grown children huddled behind him. He was greatly perplexed when a few minutes later a tall white lad whom he had never before seen emerged from the forest bearing the lost child in his arms. There was another behind him, though, who was promptly recognized, for Skookum John knew Bonny Brooks well, and instantly it came to him that these were the boys whom the revenue-man claimed to have lost. And they had found his little one. How glad he was that his own search for them had been unsuccessful! But this was not the time to be thinking of them. There was his own little Nittitan. He must have her in his arms and hold her close before he could feel that she was really safe.

He stepped forward to take her, but the strange lad drew back, and Bonny cried out: "Kloshe nanitsh, Skookum. Tenas klootchman la pee, hyas sick," by which he conveyed the idea that the little woman had hurt her foot quite badly. Then he added: "It's all right, Rick. He understands that he must handle her gently."

So Alaric relinquished his burden, and the swarthy father, rejoicing but anxious, bore the child to a rude hut of brush and cedar mats, the open front of which was faced by a brightly blazing fire. Here he laid her gently down on a soft bear-skin and knelt beside her.

Alaric, who seemed to consider the child as still under his care, knelt on the opposite side and began to feel very carefully of one of the little ankles. He had not spent all his life in company with doctors without learning something of their trade, and after a brief examination he announced to Bonny that there were no broken bones, but merely a dislocation of the ankle-joint.

"I don't know anything about it," said Bonny, "but I should think that would be just as bad."

"No, indeed! A dislocation is not serious if promptly attended to. You explain to him that I am a sort of a doctor, and can make the child well in a few seconds if he will let me. Then I want him to hold her while I pull the joint into place."

So Bonny explained that his friend was a hyas doctin or great medicine-man who could make Nittitan well hyak (quick), and the anxious father, having implicit faith in the white man's skill, consented to allow Alaric to make the attempt.

The little one uttered a sharp cry of pain as, with a quick wrench, the dislocated bone was snapped into place, and Alaric, with flushed face, but very proud of what he had done, regained his feet.

"Now," he said, "let them bathe the ankle in water as hot as the child can bear, and by to-morrow, she'll be all right. And, Bonny, if you know how to ask for anything to eat, for goodness' sake take pity on the starving poor, and say it quick."

### CHAPTER XVIII.

### LIFE IN SKOOKUM JOHN'S CAMP.

Skookum John, which in Chinook means "Strong John," was a Makah, or Neah Bay, Indian, whose home was at Cape Flattery on the shore of the Pacific, and at the southern side of the entrance to the superb strait of Juan de Fuca. He was a Tyhee, or chief, among his people, for he was not only their biggest man, being a trifle over six feet tall, while very few of his tribe exceeded five feet nine inches in height, but he was the boldest and most successful hunter of whales among them. This alone would have[Pg 607] given him high rank in the tribe, for to them the whales that frequent the warm waters of that coast are what buffalo were to the Indians of the great plains.

The Makahs are fish-eaters, and while they catch and dry or smoke quantities of salmon, halibut, and cod, they esteem the whale more than all others, because there is so much of him, because he is so good to eat, and because he furnishes them with the oil which they use on all their food, as we use butter, and which they trade for nearly every other necessity of their simple life.

The big Siwash, being an expert whaleman, had much oil to trade, and made frequent visits to Victoria for this purpose. Here, being an intelligent man and keenly noting all that he saw, he learned much concerning the whites and their ways, besides picking up a fair knowledge of their language.

So it happened that when the smugglers who proposed to operate in the upper sound began to cast about for some trustworthy person, who would also be free from suspicion, to look out for their interests in that section, and keep them posted as to the whereabouts of cutters, they very wisely selected Skookum John, and offered him inducements that he could not afford to refuse. He, of course, knew nothing of the laws they proposed to violate, nor did he care, for political economy had never been included in Skookum John's studies.

So the Makah Tyhee closed his substantial house of hewn planks on Neah Bay, and with all his wives and children—of whom Bah-die was the eldest and little Nittitan the youngest—and his dogs and canoes, and much whale oil, and many mats, he made the long journey to the place in which we find him. Here he established a summer camp of brush huts, and ostensibly went into the business of fishing for the Tacoma market. He had brought his big whaling-canoe, and the little paddling canoes in which his children were accustomed to brave the Pacific breakers apparently for the fun of being rolled over and over in the surf. Above all, he had brought a light sailing-canoe which was fashioned with such skill that its equal for speed and weatherly qualities had never been seen among canoes of its size on the coast. It was in this swift craft that he darted about the sound at night to discover the movements of revenue-men, watch for signals from incoming smugglers, and flash in return the lights that told of safety or danger.

Although not possessed of a high sense of honor, Skookum John was loyal to his employers, because it paid him to be so, and because no one had ever tempted him to be otherwise. At the same time he was not above performing a service for the other side, provided it would also pay, and so he did not hesitate to promise the cutter's third Lieutenant that in return for twenty-five dollars he would use every effort to find and return to him two lost boys.

When he did learn of the capture of the sloop (a blow that threatened to retire him from business), and the reason why the revenue-men were so desirous of finding the lost boys, he began to wish that he saw his way clear to the winning of that reward, for twenty-five dollars is a large sum to be made so easily. But the revenue-men wanted two boys, and the only other besides Bonny at present available was the young medicine-man, the hyas doctin, who had not only found his dearly loved Nittitan in the dark hyas stick (forest), but had so marvellously mended what he firmly believed to have been a broken leg.

The old Siwash, therefore, determined to make the boys as comfortable as possible, and keep them with him until he could communicate with the Tyhee of the piah-ship (steamer).

In consequence of these reflections, all of which passed through the Indian's mind in the space of a few seconds, Bonny had no time to make a request for food before the very best that the camp afforded was placed before them. There were small square chunks of whale-skin, as black and tough as the heel of a rubber boot. It was expected that these would be chewed for a moment, until the impossibility of masticating them was discovered, and that they would then be swallowed whole. After them came boiled fishes' heads, of which the eyes were considered the chief delicacy, and these were followed by several kinds of dried and smoked fish, including salmon and halibut, besides bits of smoked whale looking like so many pieces of dried citron. All of these were to be dipped in hot whale oil before being eaten.

Then came another course of fish, this time fresh and plain boiled, which the Indians ate with a liberal supply of whale oil. Their boiled potatoes were also dipped in oil after each bite. The crowning glory of the feast was a small quantity of hard bread, which for a change was dipped in whale oil and eaten dripping, and with this was served a mixture of huckleberries and oil beaten to a paste.

In regard to this liberal use of oil it must be said that Skookum John's whale oil was universally acknowledged to be the sweetest and most skilfully prepared to prevent rancidity of any in the Neah Bay village, and his family regarded it with the same pride that the proprietors of the best Orange County dairy do the finest products of their churn. It was therefore a great disappointment to them that Alaric did not appreciate it, and after trying a small quantity on a bit of potato, refused a further supply. He even seemed to prefer paté de foie gras, of which the boys had a single jar. This he opened in honor of the occasion, and with it to spread over his bread and potatoes, a liberal helping of the boiled fish, and an innumerable number of smoked halibut strips boiled after a manner taught him by Bonny, the millionaire's son made a supper that he declared was one of the very best he had ever eaten.

In order that their new-found friends might not feel too badly over Alaric's refusal to partake more liberally of their whale oil, Bonny gave them to understand that it was not because he disliked it, but not being accustomed to rich food, he was afraid of making himself ill if he indulged in it too freely.

At this meal the young sailor tasted both paté de foie gras and whale oil for the first time, and after carefully considering the merits of the two delicacies, declared that he could not tell which was the worse, and that as it would be just as difficult to learn to like one as the other, he thought he would devote his energies to the oil.

After supper a rude shelter against the chill dampness of the night was constructed of small poles covered with a number of the useful bark mats, of which the Indian women of that coast make enormous quantities. A few armfuls of spruce-tips were cut and spread beneath it, a couple of mats were laid over these, two more were provided for covering, and Alaric's first camp bed was ready for him. Both lads were so dead tired that they needed no second invitation to fling themselves down on their sweet-scented couch, and were asleep almost instantly. As Skookum John and Bah-die had also been out all the night before, they were not long in following the example of their guests, and so within an hour after supper the whole camp was buried in a profound slumber.

By earliest daylight of the next morning the older Indian was up, and stirring about very softly so as not to awaken the strangers. He was about to make an effort to earn that twenty-five dollars, and believed that by careful management it might be his before noon. He planned to notify the commander of the cutter that while he could deliver one of the desired lads into his Lands, the other had taken a canoe and gone to Tacoma, where he could no doubt be readily found. If the Tyhee of the piah-ship agreed to pay him the offered reward or even half of it for one lad, he would ask that a boat might be sent to the camp for him. In the mean time he would return first and invite both boys to go out fishing. Bonny in a canoe with him, and the other in a second canoe with Bah-die, who would be instructed to take his passenger out of sight, somewhere up the coast. Then the cutter's boat would be allowed to overtake his canoe, and Bonny could be handed over to those who wanted him without any trouble.

It was an admirably conceived plan, and the old Siwash chuckled over it as he softly launched his lightest canoe, stepped into it, and paddled swiftly away.

#### [to be continued.]

[Pg 608]

## EXPLORING NEW-FOUND RIVERS.

### BY C. C. ADAMS

ome of the leading African explorers have never written a book. They have had other work besides exploration, and have been too busy to write long accounts of their discoveries. A single copy of this paper would hold all that Alexander Delcommune, who has travelled further in the Congo basin than any other explorer, has written about his work. Captain Van Gele, who has had remarkable experiences, and who took the last step in the solution of a great geographical conundrum—the destination of Schweinfurth's "Welle" river—has written very little. But we know what all these men have done. Every new map of Africa that is worth anything differs from all its predecessors, because it contains later and better information. These men have done much to change and improve the maps, and their short reports to geographical and other societies have been very interesting and important.

Foremost among these men is George Grenfell, of the Baptist Missionary Society of England, whose travels in 1884-5 gave us our first knowledge of six of the largest Congo tributaries. Many thousands of black people in the middle Congo basin first learned of the white man when they saw Grenfell pushing up their rivers on his little steamboat. He travelled for over three thousand miles on the Congo and its tributaries, and always as a man of peace, winning the confidence of barbarous tribes by patience and kindness. He never shed a drop of blood nor laid violent hands upon a native. How much better was this policy than to respond with violence to the mistrust and opposition of these frightened and savage peoples.

Mr. Grenfell's steel steamer Peace was built in England, and when she was shipped to the Congo all her plates and pieces of machinery were taken apart and packed into eight hundred loads; for every bit of the vessel had to be carried on the backs of men around two hundred and thirty-five miles of cataracts to Stanley Pool, where the long caravan of black porters arrived without losing a load. Another Congo steamboat was not so fortunate, for its brass fittings were stolen while in transit, and transformed into neck ornaments for native women. It has been said that a pioneer in Africa should be able to build a boat or a house without a nail or a tool. Grenfell seems to be that kind of man. The engineers who had been sent to put the Peace together died of fever; so Grenfell trained natives in the art of riveting, and with their aid he put the eight hundred pieces together. When the Peace was launched there was not a leak. All of the parts had been placed where they belonged. She was seventy feet long, and under her wooden roof were a cabin and cook-room, with an engine amidships. Her twin screws drove her ten miles an hour, and in all respects she was well fitted for her work. So in 1884 Mr. Grenfell and his wife, with a crew of fifteen natives, set out to find favorable points for mission stations on the great unexplored tributaries that stretch away hundreds of miles north and south of the middle Congo.

We cannot describe here all the discoveries Grenfell made. He greatly changed our notions of the extent, direction, and importance of quite a number of rivers, chief among which were the Mobangi and Mongala north of the Congo, and the Bussera, Chuapa, Lulonga, and Lomami south of it. You may easily find these large rivers on the map, and they are Grenfell's greatest contribution to our knowledge of Africa.

Most of the tribes whom Grenfell met live away from the Congo, and had never heard of the world outside the districts they occupy. We can scarcely imagine the astonishment and even terror which the white man and his puffing river monster inspired as the Peace would suddenly round some river bend and pause at a village front. The natives did not always flee nor offer hostilities at once. Many stood motionless, as if rooted to the spot, with straining eyes, and hands over their wide-open mouths, a common practice among savages when they are greatly surprised. If one fled he was speedily followed by others. If one gathered his wits and began to poise his spear or bend his bow, others followed his example. Once a woman fell in spasms to the ground. One day, on the Ruki River, Grenfell surprised a party of fifty fisherwomen, who took one look at the wheezing Peace, and then sprang shrieking out of their boats, and swam, as a dog does, to the shore. A large crowd of men on an island in the Bussera saw the apparition, and rushed pell-mell for their boats, forgetting their paddles in their fright; and so, with frantic energy, they used their hands as paddles in their flight to the mainland. Grenfell was accompanied by the German explorer Von François on his ascent of some of the southern rivers, and sometimes the natives thought their white visitors came from the spirit world, and called to them, "We fear you because you are white ghosts."

GRENFELL AS HE SOMETIMES TRAVELLED WHEN ON SHORE.

On all such occasions there was nothing to do except to wait for the excitement to subside, very quietly displaying presents of beads, wire, and cloth, while anchored at a distance from the shore. Grenfell's interpreter would strain his lungs with shouting words of soothing and friendship. Sometimes he would cry "Ba, ba, ba," to indicate that he wished to buy goats, and he would exhibit trade goods to pay for them. On some island, in the night, while alarm drums were arousing the country for miles along the banks, Grenfell would kindle fires, and in the bright light display his presents to the best advantage. Once while a howling crowd were bending their bows, the Peace was sent at full speed within a rod of the shore, and a cloth full of beads and cowrie-shells was thrown among them. Before the astounded natives had recovered their wits, the Peace was again in mid-stream beyond the reach of arrows. This set the savages thinking, and they listened quietly when Grenfell shouted that he wished to buy fire-wood. They filled a canoe with wood, and tying to the boat a long rope made of vines, let it drift down stream to the[Pg 609] steamer, where the canoe was emptied, and the beads which the explorers placed in it were hauled back to the shore. The ice was broken now, weapons were laid aside, and soon a dozen canoes pushed out from the shore with natives having wood or provisions to sell.

A DWARF OF THE CONGO FOREST.

All of Grenfell's blandishments failed sometimes, and he was fiercely attacked. Only one instance is recorded where he fired a gun, and then it contained only a blank cartridge. He proved the efficacy of unusual noises, for the explosion, reverberating along the forest-lined shores, sent the enemy scampering. A blast from the whistle was sometimes enough to turn pursuing canoes about face. The explorer did everything possible to protect his men, and not one of them was hurt. Wire netting completely covered the open sides of the vessel and caught many flying missiles, while others lodged in the wooden roof. A few natives in one village on the Bussera appeared to have seen or heard of guns, for Grenfell was much surprised when the very friendly people told him that they had intended to attack the vessel until they saw his firearms. One village that had accepted the explorer's presents on his ascent of the river, attacked him on his return because the river had risen meantime, a most uncommon thing at that season, they said, and ample proof that the white man was bad. The explorer found himself in a predicament on the last day he spent upon the Bussera, but Mrs. Grenfell helped him out of it. While the Peace was in shore, a party of warriors rushed to the bank with their weapons all ready to launch. In a moment Mrs. Grenfell had thrown among them a double handful of beads, and while the crowd were scrambling and fighting for the prizes, the Peace reached a safe distance. Usually an hour or two of waiting and conciliatory talk turned foes into friends. Sometimes, however, the alarm drums would notify the villages for miles around that an enemy was coming; and when Grenfell saw a throng of armed warriors waiting for him, and not a woman on the ground, he knew that trouble was brewing.

THE "PEACE" SURPRISING A PARTY OF FISHERWOMEN ON THE RUKI RIVER.

Geographical information imparted by the natives was apt to be wholly incorrect. They had ready answers for all questions, but if they imagined Grenfell would like to hear of a lake a little inland, or five days more of navigation up the river, they would make replies which they thought would please him, regardless of truth. This is a widespread practice among savages. At the same time they were often eager to learn of his discoveries. They would ask him how many days' journey his vessel made above their village, and whether the natives he met dealt in ivory and slaves. Some tribes had not the slightest idea that ivory had any value, and thought it strange that any man should have occasion to buy wood. Some of them had no names for the rivers where they live. They were children of the earth, they said, and if he wished to know the names of the rivers he must ask the children of the water. The southern tributaries—Bussera, Chuapa, and Lulonga—are in the great belt of dense Congo forest, and in the upper reaches of the rivers the big branches form a complete roof over the streams, which are in deep shadow even on the brightest days; and in this roof Grenfell found some of his most persistent enemies. They were the little folks of Africa, the pygmies, who would clamber out on the branches overhanging the streams, and shoot their poisoned arrows into the wooden covering of the vessel.

It was Grenfell who gave us our first positive information of the many dwarfs who live in the forest south of the Congo, though about the same time other explorers discovered them further south. One evening a canoe drew up at some distance from the Peace, and when the interpreter asked the natives who they were they said they were Batwa.[Pg 610] This is the name of the dwarfs living in the southern Congo forests, and Grenfell and Von François were overjoyed at the prospect of seeing them. It was now so dark that they could not determine what the canoemen looked like, but in the morning they found near by a cluster of huts inhabited by these little people, and then they knew they were in the land of the pygmies. Grenfell found many dwarfs on the Lomami, Chuapa, and Bussera rivers, and they proved to be the most troublesome and vindictive people with whom he had to deal. His black crew were badly frightened when they heard the dwarfs were near. All their lives they had been told that the dwarfs were most unpleasant people to meet. It was common report that they shot with poisoned arrows, permitted no one to live in their country, and excelled all warriors and hunters in skill with the bow and spear. We shall see later what Grenfell and other explorers have learned about these strange and interesting people, and also about the cannibals who are spread so widely over the Congo basin. Very little was known of the cannibals as long as explorers kept to the main river, but after Grenfell began his work along the tributaries the world soon came to know the appalling extent of this evil.

Nearly all the tribes discovered by Grenfell are cannibals. An interpreter whom he took with him from the Congo was in constant fear of being captured and eaten, and he would never venture ashore except in company with six or eight comrades: "You eat goats and hens," said some natives to Grenfell one day, "because you are rich and able to buy them; but we are poor, and have to eat men, whom we can get for nothing." Under the laws of the Congo State it is now a capital crime to eat human flesh. Wherever the influence of the white man extends, the practice is being discontinued, and some day this stigma upon human nature will disappear from all the parts of Africa where it has so long prevailed.

There are missionary stations now in some parts of the large regions that Grenfell traversed. His peaceful and friendly methods made it easy for other white men to go among the people he brought to light. The natives who sought to kill him are now glad to sell ivory and rubber to traders. His discoveries during fifteen months added about one thousand eight hundred miles to the known navigable waters of the Congo basin. No one except Stanley has surpassed him in the extent and value of his work among the waterways of the second largest river system in the world.

## AN HOUR IN BICYCLELAND.

### WITH AN ACCOUNT OF A PNEUMATIC CIRCUS.

### BY HAYDEN CARRUTH.

### I.

Kenneth had got his bicycle at last, and he was taking his first long ride on it. It was warm, and the road seemed to be all up hill. "If this road keeps on like this much longer," said Kenneth to himself, "I'll run into the moon. I guess papa was right when he said that bicycle-riding reminds him a good deal of work in its milder stages. However, I'd rather ride than work."

He went on a little farther, but the afternoon sun shone down hotter and hotter, and the road still seemed to have more uphill than a well-behaved road ought to have. After a while he came to a fine grove of trees. "I think I'll just turn in here and rest a few minutes, and then go back," said Kenneth. "Seems to me I ought to be able to coast about three-quarters of the way home—unless the road tilts the other way before I start, like a seesaw," he went on. He trundled his wheel into the grove out of sight of the road, stood it against a big tree, and lay down on the soft grass-covered ground in the shade.

"It seems to me," he mused, "that bicycles ought to be made so they would run themselves like—like—like horses. Then hills wouldn't make any difference." He was speaking very slowly, and half wondering if talking wasn't work too. "Then it wouldn't make any difference if the road did tilt up or—or—or turn sommersaults if it wanted to. Just think of a road ten miles long turning a sommersault." He laughed a little at the idea, but that was work too. "I—I wonder if bicycles couldn't be—be trained to—to—." It really was too hard work to talk. He hadn't noticed that another wheelman had come into the grove to rest, and left his bicycle by the same tree.

"Trained to do what?" said the other, who was enough bigger than Kenneth to be a young man. "To talk like a parrot, or to sit up and beg like a pug-dog?"

Kenneth laughed at the idea of a bicycle sitting up and hanging down its handle-bar and begging; and then he answered:

"Oh, no; just to go themselves, you know." The presence of the stranger seemed to revive him, so he sat up and looked at the other.

"Oh, shucks!" said the young man. "Trained to go themselves! Where did you come from?"

"Smithville," replied Kenneth.

"Thought so," answered the other. "You're in Bicycle-land now, where they are trained to go themselves. Come here!" he said, snapping his finger at his wheel, which rolled over and stopped by his side. "That's the way we have 'em trained here."

"Well, that's what I meant," returned Kenneth, not liking the lofty tone of the other very well. "That's precisely the way I am going to train mine." And he turned and snapped his fingers at his wheel, and it came toward him, though it wavered a good deal, and would have fallen if he hadn't caught it.

"That's very good," said the young man; "very good indeed. You have an extremely intelligent bicycle. Keep training it for a week; and it will go almost as well as mine."

"There aren't any pedals on yours," said Kenneth, as he looked at the other's wheel.

"Well, there aren't any pedals on a horse either, are there?" asked the young man, promptly. "Did you ever see a man riding a horse in Smithville, and pumping him along with pedals?"

"I forgot," said Kenneth. "I'll take them off of mine," and he reached down and did so. "What shall I do with them?"

"Oh, throw 'em in the ash-can," said the other, airily. "They're no good."

Kenneth didn't see any ash-can, so he tossed them behind some bushes, and began to give his bicycle practice at going alone about on the grass-plot. It learned rapidly, and he soon ventured to mount it, and after one or two tumbles it circled around, went ahead, and backed up very well indeed.

"Well, now, what shall we do?" asked the young man.

"I hardly know," answered Kenneth. "You're better acquainted with the country than I. You suggest something."

"I was on my way to the circus," said the other. "Suppose you come along. They say it's a very good show. It certainly has one great curiosity which I am anxious to see."

"What's that?" asked Kenneth.

"They have in this circus," answered the young man, speaking very slowly and impressively—"they have in a cage—a—live—horse!"

"Well, I don't—" began Kenneth; then he checked himself and went on, "I don't see where they got that."

"Captured it in the Smithville country at great expense and loss of life," replied the young man, proudly. "The Largest and most Ferocious Horse ever in the Captivity of Man. This Savage and Awe-inspiring Beast will daily Devour in Full View of the Breathless Audience a Peck of Oats and an Armful of Hay. At the Sight of his Food he Utters Blood-curdling Roars which bring Spasms of Fear to the Bravest. Don't miss this Chance of a Lifetime. I was just quoting from the bills," explained the young man hurriedly, as he lowered his voice again.

They then mounted their bicycles and rode away out of the grove and down a side road. The pedals being gone, Kenneth rested his feet on the coasters, as did his companion,[Pg 611] and they sped along faster than he had ever ridden on the wheel before. It was, in fact, just like coasting down a long steep hill, but without the danger, as he soon came to have perfect confidence in the ability of his newly trained steed to keep upright.

"You see," said the young man, "that it's the simplest thing in the world to train a bicycle. Whoa!" he shouted, and his wheel began to stop. "Get up!" and it increased its speed again. "Yours doesn't know that yet, but it will soon learn. By-the-way," he continued, "they say a man actually goes into the cage with that horse at the circus. Don't fail to see Seńior Jimjamdaza enter Fearlessly into the Cage of the Raging Bucephalus and Handle him as a Child might Handle a Bicycle. Remember, one Ticket admits to each and all of the Stupendous Wonders contained in this Gigantic Tentatorial Aggregation of— Oh, I beg pardon; those bills will keep running in my head," said the young man, just a little sheepishly.

"Oh, I don't mind," answered Kenneth; "only I think it's a good deal of a fuss to make over a horse. Why, I wouldn't be afraid to go into his cage myself."

"Now, see here," said the young man, "that won't do, you know. You can't fool me that way. You must think I'm green. The horse is the worst animal that ranges the Perilous and Deadly Jungle, spreading Terror and Destruction wherever he chances to show the Fiery Fury of his Face, and only Captured by our Agents after weeks of Superhuman Effort involving the Dreadful loss of Precious Life and the Sacrifice of Untold Treasure— There I go again, quoting those bills; but, anyhow, you see what sort of an animal the horse is. And still you pretend to say that you wouldn't be afraid to enter the cage with one!"

"Well, I wouldn't," insisted Kenneth. "Didn't you ever have horses in this country?"

"They became extinct ages ago," answered the young man. (Kenneth thought of the pictures of mastodons and such things which he had seen in his physical geography book at school.) "Ages ago," repeated the young man. "Sometimes we find remains of 'em. Only last week a man discovered some horse bones while digging the cellar for a new bicycle-factory."

They had been wheeling along pretty fast, and had made several turns. There were a great many other people on the road, mostly going in the same direction as they were, evidently also on their way to the circus. Nearly all of them were riding bicycles precisely as they were, though a few were in carriages driving bicycles, usually two side by side. Suddenly at a sharp turn in the road they came face to face with a long bill-board covered with immense colored pictures and letters as high as Kenneth. The young man stopped the moment he saw it, and said:

"There, see that! There's a true picture of the gentle beast you say you would like to go in with."

Kenneth looked, and saw a picture of an animal ten or twelve feet high, with a great mouth like a hippopotamus, wide open, showing rows of teeth six inches long. A lot of hunters and black natives were trying to get out of his way, but the biggest hunter had fallen, and the horse was about to come down upon him with his forward feet. The animal's eyes seemed to be flashing fire, and he had a mane like a lion.

"How long do you think you'd like to stay in a cage with an animal like that?" asked the young man, proudly. "Like to sit down with him and do your sums, perhaps? Or maybe you'd rather lie down on the floor of the cage and take a nap—eh?"

"I can't say about that sort of a horse," admitted Kenneth, doubtfully. "I never saw a horse just like that, you know."

"See what it says," cried the young man. "'The Dreadful Terror in his Native Jungle! Captured after Awful Weeks of Cyclonic Struggle! To be seen in the Full and Excruciating Exuberance of his own Tremendous Verbosity in this Show alone!' What do you think of that?"

"Well, I don't know, hardly. I can tell better after I have seen the horse," said Kenneth.

"Yes, and we must be moving or we'll be late," returned the young man. "Here we go!" and off along the road they went again. In a few minutes they came to the circus-grounds. There were two large tents connected, with many smaller ones standing alone. There were great banners everywhere showing pictures of the wonders within, the largest being devoted to the horse. They left their bicycles in a shed, and after buying tickets, went into the first of the big tents. There was a great crowd inside, especially over at one side. "I think the horse is over there," whispered the young man. Just then they heard a man shouting:

"This way, ladies and gentlemen, to see the Mighty Monarch of the Trackless Jungle, the only Horse ever captured by Man. He is now about to be fed a Peck of Hardened Oats, which he will Crunch and Rend by the Terrific Force of his Unaided and Unassisted Jaws! Step up, ladies and gentlemen; step up!"

"We've got to see that horse if half of our bones are broken," exclaimed the young man, as he seized Kenneth by the arm, and began to force their way through the crowd.

#### [to be continued.]

## THE MILKY WAY.

### BY ALBERT LEE.

I dreamed one night that I sailed away
From my little cot at home,
In a paper ship I had built that day,
Toward the heaven's starry dome.
And an angel met my little boat,
And clasped me by the hand
When I stepped ashore, in my short night-coat,
On the distant golden strand.
He led me forth down a great broad street
That seemed as bright as day,
And it felt all soft to the tread of my feet,—
For I walked on the Milky Way.
Along the sides of this heavenly road
That stretched away so white
Were a myriad stars that softly glowed,
Like fire-flies in the night.
The angel said that the Milky Way
Is the place where the girls and boys
Who are lame or crippled may go and play,
And trade their crutches for toys.
For when lame children go to sleep
In their sufferance beds below,
They are ferried by angels across the deep,
To the path where the star-lamps glow,
And the crutches they placed beside the bed,
Where they lay at close of day,
Are changed to tops and dolls instead
When they come to the Milky Way.
So I saw them there whom I knew down here,
Whom Heaven has not so blessed
With the strength to romp for the day's good-cheer,
But who hold the blessings of rest.
And now when I gaze toward the skies at night,
And look at the Milky Way,
I know why the near stars shine so bright:—
The little lame boys are at play.

[Pg 612]

## FROM CHUM TO CHUM.

### BY GASTON V. DRAKE.

### XII.—FROM BOB TO JACK.

Stratford-on-Avon.

> MY DEAR JACK,—This is the place where William Shakespeare was born. He was the man that some people say didn't write his own works, but I guess there must be some mistake about that, because if he didn't, why then they weren't his own works. Pop says that's a very suttle point that nobody else ever thought of and I think he's right, though I don't know what suttle means. We came down here from London yesterday, and on the whole I was kind of glad to get away. We used to think it would be nice to go to the circus every day, and I remember feeling very badly once because I couldn't, but you change your mind after being in London a couple of weeks with nothing but go, go, go, and see, see, see from morning until night. I've seen so much in London that I can't keep it straight in my head except the wax-works and they were royal. They had a collection of Kings and Queens there that beats anything I ever saw and Pop says they're just as valuable as the real article, except in the matter of jewelry, which is only imitation and made of paste. I said I'd rather see a real King than a wax King, but Pop says the wax King would pay just as much attention to me as a real King, and that you could slap a wax King on the back, which you wouldn't be allowed to do with a real King. I don't know about that though. I'd like to try it once. I sort of feel that if I could get hold of a real King he and I would get along pretty well together, because when I saw the Prince of Whales it struck me that he wasn't much more than a human being after all, and from the way he wore his hat, wouldn't mind much if somebody did slap him on the back and tell him a bear story. I'd like mightily to try that bear story of Sandboys' on that Whales fellow. I don't believe he'd be very horty after he'd heard half of it.

> In some ways though the wax people are more interesting than the real rulers. They wear better clothes. The wax Prince was a great deal more gorgeous than the real one. He simply blossomed all over with jewels and medals and uniform. There wasn't any beaver hat and umbrella business about the wax one, and all the wax Kings had their crowns on. I always thought Kings got along without hats and wore gold bands with prongs on 'em all around their foreheads, but Pop says they gave up that because it gave 'em colds in the heads going out with prongs on, and besides the English crown was too valuable to hang on a hat-rack.

> They had wax plain people too, sitting all around the place to make it look popular. A man came in here once and asked a wax policeman where the figure of Napoleon was, and of course the wax policeman didn't say a word, and the man got mad and took his number and complained about him for not being civil. There's a Chamber of Horrors too where they keep the wax heads of bad people and show you how burglars look. Generally they didn't look any worse than the fine people upstairs, only their clothes weren't so good and they didn't wear diamonds.

> Napoleon wasn't half as great looking as I thought he would be. Pop says he wasn't the kind of a man to work up in wax anyhow. He had a face that needed cast-iron or granite to make it go as a figure in a wax-work show, and as for the Duke of Wellington that beat him at Waterloo, he didn't show up for much in wax except his nose and that was fearful. He had a funny nose, the Duke of Wellington had and I guess that's what beat Napoleon. If Napoleon ever saw it it must have made him laugh, and nobody can fight and laugh at the same time. He had a hard nose to follow if the wax-work was like him, because it went in two directions. If I had a nose like that and wanted to go somewhere and somebody told me to follow my nose the way some people do sometimes, I'd know what they meant though. They'd mean go across our block, turn a corner and go down two. It had a thank-you-marm in it like country road's that you slide down hill on in winter. But he got there just the same, which I'm sorry for because Napoleon wasn't half as tall as he was, and I like to see the little man win generally.

> Next to the wax-works I remember the Zoo clearest of all I've seen. I saw more monkies than you could shake a stick at and the fun they were having made me wish I might be one of 'em for a little while. Some of 'em looked almost as human as our hired man, and Pop says he didn't know but what they were nearly as useful. The only objection to 'em was that they were never quite still enough to be good hired men. Besides monkies they had bears, and horned toads, and red, white, and blue parrots—Pop says he thinks the red white and blue parrots are called Jingo-birds, and we have lots of 'em in the United States, but I never saw any up our way, and I guess if we had 'em I'd know it because they spend most of their time screeching and shaking their feathers. I didn't care much for the snakes. They've got a whole house full of 'em, but they don't amount to much, spending most of their time asleep. They aren't half as lively, nor any more snakey to look at than the elephants' trunks. The Elephants in this Zoo are awfully friendly and they'll eat anything from chocolate creams to pie. There was a man in the Zoo once that saw a little girl giving the Elephant a piece of chocolate and he thought it was tobacco, so when the elephant put out his trunk for something from him he put his cigar in it, forgetting unfortunately that it was still lit, and the elephant got awful mad and grabbed the man around the waist and threw him up in the air so hard that the Zoo man says he hasn't come down yet, and that was three years ago. Try that on Sandboys and see what he has to say about it.

> I've used up all my paper now and so must stop, or else I'd tell you all about that Shakespeare man who was born here. He was a great man and wrote Julius Cćsar and lots of plays that have people die in, right before your eyes. They still keep his memory green here and Pop says are making more money out of doing so in a week than Shakespeare made in a year. He never wrote his name twice alike and was buried in the church. His grave is very interesting and has an epitaph on it forbidding anybody to dust it off, which I think is mighty queer.

> Next Monday, we are going over to Paris, and whenever I have the time I study a little French. I've learned already to say bon jour so that Pop knows what I mean and before long I expect to know the language well enough to talk to myself in it anyhow.

Always yours,
Bob.

[Pg 613]

It is only a question of time when the Cambridge High and Latin schools will be forced to compete in interscholastic sports as separate institutions. Already the football authorities have refused to recognize a C. H. and L. eleven, and at the recent annual meeting of the Baseball Committee a fight was made to force the united Cambridge schools to enter separate baseball teams. The battle was lost; but the feeling against the Cambridge schools seems to be very strong, and sooner or later the High-school and the Latin school will be compelled to stand on their individual merits.

The constitution of the Baseball League provides that no amendment can be made without a two-thirds vote, and when the question of separating the Cambridge High-school from the Cambridge Latin School in baseball came up, the vote stood three to three, and consequently C. H. and L. will be represented by one nine in the league games this spring. The schools that voted for C. H. and L. were the English High, the Somerville High, and, naturally, the Cambridge High and Latin. English High's representatives claimed that they voted to allow the schools to play as one, because separation would make the number of teams in the league too great, and they also thought the expense of such an arrangement would be inadvisable. Somerville High voted for the Cambridge institutions because it, too, is what they call there a "combined" school, and it was practically voting for itself by standing up for C. H. and L. The three schools on the opposition side were the Roxbury Latin, Boston Latin, and Hopkinson's. They voted for separation on the ground that it was for the best interests of interscholastic sport in Boston.

The Baseball and Football Interscholastic leagues are encouraged and looked after by Harvard University athletes, because they develop players who enter Harvard and make good material for the university tennis. For that reason the influence of Harvard men has always been exerted in behalf of the schools that send the best and the most material to college, and also, of course, for the best interests of sport. It was largely due to the influence of Harvard men that C. H. and L. was forced out of the football association. Eventually these graduates will doubtless take the same stand in baseball.

For the last ten years—that is, from 1886 to 1895—the number of scholars sent to Harvard by Somerville High, Cambridge High and Latin, and English High schools (the three institutions which voted for C. H. and L.) has been 236, or an average each year of 23.6 men. On the other hand, Roxbury Latin, Boston Latin, and Hopkinson's (the three schools that voted against C. H. and L.) have sent 639 men, or a yearly average of 63.9. These figures are taken from the annual report of the President of Harvard University. From other sources I find that the approximate number of scholars in the three schools first mentioned is 1300, while the approximate number of students at the three schools last mentioned is 1000. It is[Pg 614] fair to assume too, that 175 of the latter are too young to enter either the Cambridge or English High or the Somerville High schools, for Hopkinson's and Roxbury Latin accept boys as young as nine and ten years. This makes the discrepancy between the two groups even greater from an athletic point of view. Therefore it is evident that while the Cambridge schools and their adherents have some 1300 pupils, they send only about 38 per cent. of the number of men to Harvard that the other three schools send there.

For this reason, if for no other, Harvard is likely to support the separatist party among the schools, and thus ultimately force the Cambridge High and Latin schools to support separate teams. In view of this, and in view of the fact that it is beyond question for the best interests of sport that the Cambridge schools should be separated, it seems that the sooner C. H. and L. men come to realize this, and act upon the conviction, the more gracefully will they effect the scission, and besides that they will come out with credit rather than otherwise.

THE BERKELEY OVAL.

It is probable, as matters now stand, that the first annual games of the National Association will be held on the Berkeley Oval the afternoon of Saturday, June 13th.

The baseball schedule of the New Jersey I.S.A.A. has been laid out as follows: April 18th, Montclair High-School against Plainfield, at Plainfield; April 18th, Pingry against Newark Academy, at Elizabeth; April 25th, Montclair against Stevens Institute, at Montclair; April 25th, Plainfield against Pingry, at Plainfield; May 6th, Stevens Institute against Newark Academy, at Newark; May 16th, Stevens Institute against Plainfield, at Hoboken; May 16th, Montclair against Pingry, at Elizabeth; May 23d, Plainfield against Newark Academy, at Newark; May 23d, Pingry against Stevens Institute, at Hoboken; May 27th, Montclair against Newark Academy, at Montclair. It would be well if a game could be arranged between the winner of this series and the winner of the New York League, or, better yet, of the Inter-city game.

The dates of the New York baseball series are juggled with so frequently that I have given up all hope of keeping track of the schedule. At the last meeting of the I.S.A.A. more alterations were made, but with the aid of the god of sport perhaps the schedule will come out straight. One date that can be announced with reasonable assurance at present, however, is that of the Interscholastic games. These will be held at the Berkeley Oval on Wednesday, May 13th.

A striking feature of the recent interscholastic skating races at the 107th Street rink was Morgan's winning of every event in the finals on Friday evening, April 10th. He seemed to be as much at home in the sprints as in the distances, his time in the various races being: 220 yards, 23 sec.; quarter-mile, 50-1/5 sec.; two miles, 6 min. 36-2/5 sec. He skated also with the winning team in the one-mile relay race.

Although these skating races were not officially sanctioned by the N.Y.I.S.A.A. almost all of the schools in the Association sent entries, of which there were about fifty. The trial heats were run on Friday night, the 9th, and the finals on Saturday, and there were between 3000 and 4000 spectators present on each occasion.

ALFRED MORGAN.
Champion Interscholastic Skater N.Y.I.S.A.A.

Alfred Morgan, of De La Salle, won the 220 trial and the two-mile with ease, and in the quarter he almost lapped his field, and, mistaking the finish, he stopped. Realizing his mistake as soon as the field had rushed past, he plunged ahead again, and making a hard spurt managed to secure second place, which gave him a chance in the finals.

In the finals the finishing of the second and third men was in almost every instance more exciting than that of first and second, because Morgan was so far superior to the other skaters. In the 220 he was the quickest to get in motion when the pistol was fired, set a clipping pace, and won easily by twenty yards. Pitizipio beat Goulding for the place by five yards. Goulding was fortunate in getting third prize, as he slipped and fell five yards from the finish, but managed to slide across the tape in time. In the two-mile Morgan came in fully three laps ahead of the second man.

Morgan has great speed, and is particularly quick in getting off the mark. His time in the 440 comes very near to the world's in-door record. In practice Donohue has only been able to beat Morgan by about two feet in a 220 race. Morgan is not yet nineteen years old, and besides being the best skater in the schools, he is pitcher of the De La Salle nine, and a speedy bicycle-rider.

The turns in the track at the 107th Street rink are very sharp, and a number of the skaters were bowled over like tenpins at the corners. On a longer track the time might have been a trifle better. But even so, next year the scholastic competitors will have pretty high records to beat. De La Salle won the cup which was offered to the school making the largest number of points, by scoring 14. The next highest score was 6 points.

The officers of the National Interscholastic Association have finally decided to ask the New Manhattan Athletic Club to take charge of their first field meeting—upon the success of which so much depends—and the club has undertaken the task. I think the school athletes of the country are to be congratulated upon this move, for the financial element of the enterprise has now been entirely eliminated so far as they are concerned, and this is one of the greatest advantages that could be wished for.

That the National Association has done a clever thing in getting the N.M.A.C., or rather, the Athletic Manager of the club, to superintend and arrange these games is proved by the fact that for some time past the Inter-collegiate Association has been negotiating with the club to achieve this same end. But the governors of the N.M.A.C., in their endeavors to assist in the promotion of pure sport, have decided not to attempt more than they can handle at the outset, and believing that the schools deserve more of them than the colleges, they will, I believe, give their time and assistance this year to the latter only.

And at this point let me give the readers of this Department a little glance into the inside history of the negotiations which have just ended between the National Association and the club. It will give them a better idea than anything else could, I think, of the spirit which is to pervade the management of scholastic affairs in the future. When the officers of N.I.S.A.A. went to the managers of the N.M.A.C. they explained what they wanted, and they talked about gate receipts and medals and percentage, and all that sort of thing, and the word "dollars" was used a good deal more than the word "sport." That was all very well and entirely excusable, because the officers felt a certain responsibility in the matter, and they knew they could not secure grounds and prizes for nothing, and perhaps they allowed the latter factors to assume a greater importance than they deserve.

The managers of the club, however, who are ranged in opposition to the financial element in athletics, replied that they would make no agreement whatever with N.I.S.A.A. on a dollars and cents basis. They said they would take charge of the games if the association so desired, and they agreed to carry out the athletic plans of the association to the best of their ability and to the satisfaction of the scholastic representatives, but they firmly refused to enter into any contract or to discuss any question involving money matters. They stated that their purpose was to get the element of dollars and cents as far separate from that of sport as it was possible to do, and expressed a willingness to go ahead at once on that basis.

[Pg 615]

In other words, the situation resolved itself to this: The managers of the N.M.A.C. are sportsmen. The members and officers of the N.I.S.A.A. are sportsmen. The younger men say to the older men, "We have perfect confidence in your ability and integrity; will you conduct our games?" The older men reply, "We know exactly how such games should be conducted, and we know what you want; we will conduct your games." They shake hands on that agreement, and that ends the matter.

As affairs stand now the N.I.S.A.A. officials feel perfectly confident that everything that it is possible to do will be done to make the games a success. It is for the interest of school sport and for the interest of the N.M.A.C. that everything should so be done. The N.I.S.A.A. men know that the N.M.A.C. managers are aware of the fact that rewards or mementoes of some kind are customarily given to winners on occasions of this kind, and they are consequently confident that such trophies will be forthcoming upon this occasion. The value of these trophies has no place in the discussion, no matter what the constitution of the N.I.S.A.A. may say. It is further known by all concerned that the governors of the N.M.A.C., being sportsmen and not sports, are not undertaking the management of these games for purposes of gain, and that, therefore, whatever pecuniary profit may result will, no doubt, go to the scholastic association and not to the club. Hence everything seems now to be arranged on the best possible basis, and the disagreeable consideration of dollars and cents is entirely eliminated. In a few years scholastic sport will probably have gotten so far away from the financial question that we shall all of us have forgotten what a disagreeable tangle it once was.

The Graduate.

> 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.

Several collectors have lately sent me Newfoundland stamps for identification, in the belief that they had the rare early issues, but in each case the stamps were the 1863 "lake" issue. The 1d., 3d., and 5d. of the two issues are easily identified. The 2d., 4d., 6d., 6-1/2d., 8d., and 1s. (all of about the same type) were printed in at least three colors—orange vermilion, scarlet vermilion, and "lake." The first two were used between 1856 and 1863, and are very scarce, especially the 6-1/2d. and 1s. The "lake" issue, on the other hand, was printed in larger quantities, and went out of use in 1866, having had a circulation of little more than two years. A very large supply of all these varieties were left on hand, and for many years could be bought at the post-office singly or in sheets at face value. The used copies of the "lake" issue on the original envelope are worth ten times as much as the unused copies.

The following new counterfeits have made their appearance in New York: The Hawaiian 12c. mauve surcharged in black "Provisional Government." The rare U.S. 1861 10c. without the colored line. A clever rascal has taken the common 10c. of the same issue and painted out the white vertical lines. This is a dangerous counterfeit. The Tuscany 60c. has been imitated so successfully that even some dealers were at first deceived. It seems to have been made by the same person who imitated the 3 lire Tuscany.

> A. L. A.—They are tokens, not coins, and have practically no value.

> T. D. H.—Die A of the U.S. 1887 envelope is scarce on white and amber, and rare on blue and Oriental buff. It may be distinguished by the bust, which points to the space between the third and the fourth tooth. In the common die B (now current) the bust points to the space between the second and the third tooth.

Philatus.

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Booksellers and Postmasters usually receive Subscriptions. Subscriptions sent direct to the publishers should be accompanied by Post-office Money Order or Draft. When no time is specified, Subscriptions will begin with the current Number.

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[Pg 616]

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

Copyright, 1896, by Harper & Brothers.

Leaving Powers' Hotel at Rochester, proceed westward across the bridge over asphalt pavement, and taking the turn to the right at the fork of the road cross two railroads. After crossing the second, or rather on crossing the second, turn to the right, and keeping then to the left, pass through the toll-gate and follow the turnpike to Gates Centre. The route from Gates Centre, past Coldwater, to North Chili, and thence to Churchville is direct and unmistakable. Churchville is fifteen miles from Rochester, and the road is a good one most of the way. If you stop at the Cottage Hotel you will find good rooms and excellent meals served at sixty cents.

For an experienced rider it may be safe enough to take the cinder path from Churchville between the two tracks of the railway, and ride thence to Bergen, three miles further on, since of these three miles two miles on the road are practically unrideable on account of the sand; but for any one who is not an experienced rider—and, to be honest, for any one at all—to do this is a great risk, and you are advised, therefore, to walk or ride in a wagon these two miles of sand. From Bergen a turn should be made to the right, the track crossed about a mile out from town, and a direct run made to Byron through West Bergen. Thence proceed due west, following the track for about a mile, where a sharp turn to the left is made, and this road is held until Batavia is reached, ten miles further on. The road, as will be seen upon the map, is somewhat irregular, but is very easy to follow. The road itself is in good condition, though it is somewhat uphill as you run in towards Batavia.

It is possible to take the fair bicycle route marked on the map, running direct from Bergen to Batavia, to the south of West Bergen and South Byron; but, everything considered, it is better to follow the best route. This stage of the journey to Buffalo—from Rochester to Batavia—is one of the most difficult, as much of the road is sandy and, at best, aggravating riding. A good deal of care should be taken of the wheel during this run. In the first place, sand roads often give the rider a throw which wrenches his bicycle; and in the second place, the sand itself is apt to get into the bearings of the wheel, and if considerable care is not taken in cleaning it at night evil results may develop.

Phil May, of Punch, seldom lets slip a chance to play a practical joke. Not long ago he needed a policeman for a model. He went out into the street and accosted the first one he met, saying who he was and what he wanted. "Come to my house at noon to-morrow," said Phil May, and he gave the man his address. Then he walked on a couple of blocks further until he met another bobby. This one was also willing to pose, and he was likewise told to apply at noon of the following day. The artist wandered about London for several hours making appointments with policemen. The next day at noon there was an entire platoon of police in front of Phil May's residence. A crowd collected, and the reason for such an array was freely discussed. Some asserted that a den of anarchists had been discovered and was about to be raided; others insisted that a swell gambling-place was about to be seized; others hinted at a murder or at some other mystery. A few minutes after twelve o'clock Phil May came to the door and invited all the policemen into his garden. There he lined them up and inspected them. He picked out the man most suitable for his purposes, then handed to each of the others an envelope containing the regulation fee for a sitting, and dismissed them.

[Pg 617]

Every girl cannot, of course, find a blind neighbor who wishes to hear somebody read aloud, nor are little dancing classes to be formed at one's pleasure. But if a girl is fond of her needle, she may keep a dainty piece of work on hand—a centre-piece, or a bureau scarf, or a doily or two, and embroider these as she has opportunity, gradually becoming so expert and deft that her needle produces exquisite effects, like those of a painter's brush. Such work is saleable, and there are always people who will order it for holiday or birthday gifts, or for their contributions to fairs. You must not hope to sell what you do in this line unless it is really excellent work, but if you are skilled you will be able to reap some profit from your labor. Many girls earn their money for charity in this way. I know one who trims the family hats and bonnets, and so earns Easter and Christmas money for the poor and for her gifts.

Among pleasant methods of earning money I must mention the device of Marion, the sixteen-year-old daughter of a friend, who pays her a little salary for keeping a set of books for him. There is, in this case, a particular account which the father wishes to keep separate from all others, and Marion, who has studied book-keeping, has charge of this, her father willingly remunerating her for her time. When a girl's parents are able to pay her for some work which she does at home she is to be congratulated.

Anna M—— frankly declares that her talents are of the home-making order. She is quick and neat, and likes to make cake, and candy, and salted almonds, and other goodies which people enjoy. If she had time to make them, her peanut taffy and her maple-sugar caramels would be in great demand, but as it is she never has trouble in getting orders for all she can supply. Her sister Sallie has earned a really large amount of money for a young girl by obtaining subscriptions for a favorite periodical, the publishers allowing a liberal commission on every paid subscription.

But after all, girls, I cannot urge you to devote your powers as yet to the earning of money. This is your preparatory season. Think of something you would like to become, and spend your time in getting ready for it. I admire Louise W——, who, when she was a child, enjoyed her needle and her little bit of patchwork, and learned to dress her dolls beautifully. Louise took a thorough course in millinery and dressmaking, learning the art of cutting and fitting perfectly; then she began to teach it, and now, as a young lady, she goes about to different schools to impart what she knows, and she also forms classes and takes single pupils. She waited till her school days were over before entering on her profession, and she is so fully mistress of her art that nobody is more independent than she.

Concerning singing, about which Lulu D—— writes, lessons from the best masters are very costly, though it is possible to study at a conservatory, and by sharing the lessons of a class receive instruction at a smaller outlay. If the voice is worth cultivation a conscientious teacher will tell you its probable range, and advise you whether to invest money in vocal culture.

> Mary G. H.—Your letter reached me too late to be answered by the date you set. Should your club have another entertainment mentioned, have either a flower party or a library party. In the first instance each girl must dress in the color of her favorite flower, wear it in her belt, and recite a little poem or tell a story in which her flower is mentioned. In the second, each chooses a book and is dressed to represent its title, which the rest find out by guessing. Bring a copy of the book with you, if you wish, and let it be given to a hospital or other charity.

> Flora B.—All the way from Chili your letter came straight to my desk. I am glad to have warm words of appreciation of The Pudding Stick from a South-American reader. You write a beautiful hand, and use English well.

> Frances.—I think twenty-five cents a week would be a sufficient allowance for pocket-money at your age.

> Helen.—As you are small for your age, wear your dresses just to the tops of your boots.

> May and Rosalind H.—I thank you and your mamma for your letter, and grandmamma for her excellent culinary hint, which is that a bit of charcoal put in the vessels in which cabbage, onions, cauliflower, turnips, and spinach are cooked will quite do away with the disagreeable odors which usually accompany the process of boiling.

> Mrs. T. E.—You will gain the information you ask for by addressing the Young Women's Christian Association, New York.

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AGENTS w'nt'd to sell Confed. bills; 5 samples, 10c.; 1500 var. stamps and $2.50 album, $15. R. & A., 113 W. 15th St., City.

[Pg 618]

### A Novel Experiment to Try.

Sir Edward C. Wood, secretary of a Round Table Chapter in Germantown, Philadelphia, Pa.—his address is 156 School Lane—is interested in science, and he sends us the following, adding that he intends to test the experiment, and will be glad to answer questions as to the result. Here is the novel item:

A French scientist, M. Ragouneau, has just discovered how to make a plant grow from the seed in thirty minutes as much as it would under ordinary circumstances in as many days. Heretofore nature has shared this secret with the Yogis of India alone, and the methods pursued by these clever magicians in performing this trick have been often described. They plant a seed in the earth and cover it with a cloth. In a few moments the cloth begins to be pushed upward by the growing plant, which, in a short time, attains the height of several feet. Various theories have been advanced as to the modus operandi of this miracle, one of the latest being that the spectators are all hypnotized by the magician. During his travels in India M. Ragouneau saw this trick performed frequently, and noticed that the Hindoos always embedded the seed in soil which they brought with them specially for that purpose. At last he learned that they obtained this earth from ant-hills. Now ants contain a large proportion of formic acid, with which, in time, the soil of their habitations becomes charged. This acid has the power of quickly dissolving the integument surrounding a seed, and of greatly stimulating the growth of the germ within. After a little experimenting with this acid the learned Frenchman was able to duplicate perfectly the Hindoo trick. His further researches have led him to believe that this discovery may be profitably applied to agriculture. By infusing ants in boiling water, acid as strong as vinegar can be obtained. M. Ragouneau has achieved the best results and most perfect growth by using earth moistened with a solution of 5000 parts of water to one of acid.

### The Justice's Carriage Bill.

Not long since Mr. Justice Gray, of the United States Supreme Court, went down into Delaware to hold court, and was met at the railroad station by a deputy marshal. The fees are not large in that section and deputy marshals are not rich men. So this deputy met the Justice on foot.

"Where is your carriage?" asked Justice Gray.

"Well, Mr. Justice, you see the distance ain't great, and the fees are small. If I hired a carriage I should have nothing left."

"You get the carriage," said the Justice. "There is an account to which it can be charged. Write to the marshal in Baltimore, and he'll tell you what the account is."

So Mr. Justice Gray rode into town and the deputy wrote to his superior. Soon after the Justice returned to Washington he received a letter from the Delaware deputy.

"The carriage bill is all right," wrote the latter. "The marshal tells me to charge it up to the account of transportation of prisoners."

### On Biscayne Bay.

> The northernmost settlement on this Florida bay is Biscayne, first settled twenty-five years ago. The site is one of natural beauty and importance. The land is high, with very little prairie. Several orange and lemon groves have been put out during the past two years. There are pretty tropical flowers, stately cocoanuts, and the ruins of several old stone houses burnt many years ago.

> Lemon City, three miles south, and the largest town on the bay, contains 150 families. It has a hotel, a church, and an excellent school. It is the terminus of the Bay and Key West schooner line. The harbor is deep. Buena Vista has the deepest water on the bay. It is a mile south of Lemon City. It is a very small town. It has one store, hotel, and the yard of the Pensacola Lumber Company is situated here. Schooners carrying 300,000 feet of lumber arrive along the shore. The back country is well settled. The largest shipment of beans for the whole bay was shipped from the Buena Vista wharf last season.

> Historic Miami is situated three miles south. It is a picturesque region. The oldest cocoanuts in the State wave their nuts above the deserted barracks of Fort Dallas. The Miami River is narrow, silent, and slow-flowing, with rocky banks. There are only three families here, but the Miami River bottom-lands are full of people, owing to vegetable farms, which make this an important shipping-point.

> Cocoanut Grove, the home of the yachtsman, is five miles south of Miami. The Peacock Inn is a "veritable English caravansary." This settlement is described as being "popular with travellers, leaders in social functions, and a favorite resort of professionals from all paths of life in need of rest and recreation." There is a hotel, a store, union chapel, and four clubs—the Housekeepers' Club, Girls' Pine-Needle Club, Biscayne Bay Yacht Club, and a Knights of Pythias Society—all in active operation. There is a casino for social purposes, and a yacht-club house which was built in 1888. The club signal is a red field bordered with blue. Ralph Munroe is commodore, and Kirk Munroe is secretary. Many prominent people belong to the club, and the winter season is gay at Cocoanut Grove.

Harry R. Whitcomb.
Umatilla, Fla.

### A Blunt but Practical Reproof.

Mr. Henry T. Durant, the philanthropist who gave to Wellesley College its largest endowment, was in early life a lawyer, but at fifty retired from practice and became a "lay preacher." He brought to the latter calling wide experience of affairs and no small knowledge of human nature. He saw through people and through things. One day, during a religious meeting in which he was much interested, he listened to a preacher whose eloquence had profoundly impressed his audience. Behind his eloquence, however, Mr. Durant saw the self-consequential bearing of the young clergyman. When the latter came down from the pulpit Mr. Durant said to him:

"That was an eloquent sermon. What was your purpose in it?"

"Why," answered the preacher with surprise, "to hold up the vivid personality of our Lord."

"I thought that was what you intended; but do you know," observed Mr. Durant, bluntly, "you stood so distinctly and directly in front of Him that nobody saw any one but you."

### Answers to Kinks.

No. 1.—Pie-crust.

No. 2.—1, Bagpipe. 2, Hornpipe. 3, Blowpipe. 4, Stovepipe. 5, Pitchpipe. Poetical quotation from Browning's "Pied Piper of Hamelin."

No. 3.—1, Blame—lame. 2, Swarm—warm. 3, Pine—pin. 4, Wine—win. 5, Maid—aid. 6, Brown—brow. 7, Brow—row. 8, Sleight—sleigh. 9, Babel—babe. 10, Scorn—corn. 11, Pink—ink. 12, Learn—earn.

### Kinks.

### No. 4.—The American Flag.

I am composed of 16 stars and 5 stripes. My stars 1-16 form a word square.
My 1, 2, 3, 4 is a girl's name.
My 5, 6, 7, 8 is to mind, to yield to.
My 9, 10, 11, 12 is to bring up.
My 13, 14, 15, 16 is a hawk's nest.
My 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22 is a trembling, a quivering.
My 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28 is to place in contrary order.
My 29, 30, 31, 32, 33 is a large strong rope or chain.
My 34, 35, 36, 37, 38 is a species of poplar.
My 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46 is to rule over, to play lord or mistress,
My whole is the red, white, and blue of our nation.

Rita E. Boardman.

### No. 5.—Enigma and Anagram.

A spacious room am I,
But when taken my first,
What before I my second
That no more mean I.
Into a sentence transpose me
I tell that a fluid they pour;
Reverse the two last words of this,
And an animal they adore.
Once more an anagram am I,
The impossible I denote;
And still once more an anagram,
"They're at a catch" is then my cry.
Simon T. Stern.

### Questions and Answers.

Harvey G. Brendersteth: National Guards of the various States are not national in the sense that they are directly under the command of the United States authorities. More properly speaking they are State Guards, or militia, and when called out to service are called by the Governor of their State. Their expenses are borne by the States and not by the national government. The commander-in-chief of the United States Army is the President of the United States. The commander, in a strictly military sense, is the ranking general, at present General Nelson A. Miles. He is not a West Point graduate.

> Any question 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.

### FLASH-LIGHTS.

Nearly every amateur has experimented with flash-lights, the results of his experiments being, like his photographs, good, bad, and indifferent.

The great fault with flash-light pictures is the poor lighting of the subject, especially if one photographs a group or even a single individual. The sharp high lights and the dense shadows make a picture which might be called a Rembrandt gone mad. In making a portrait by flash-light the effect of the flash-lighting may be seen by placing a lamp at a point where the best effects of lights and shadows are obtained. The lamp should be at a height of at least four feet from the floor, or at the place where the strongest light from a window, if there were one, would shine on the subject.

Having found the best place for the correct lighting of the subject, arrange the flash-light at this point. Next proceed to obtain a correct focus. This is more difficult to do than by daylight, as the light is so much duller, or has less illuminating power; but by a very simple device one can focus as easily by lamp-light as by daylight. Take a large piece of white card-board, on which either paste or draw plain black letters at least two inches in height. A sentence is better than letters made at random. Set this card-board in the lap of the subject so that it is at the exact horizontal of the camera. If the subject is standing, a string can be attached to the card, and it can be hung about the neck. Place the card-board so that the letters are bottom side up, and they will of course appear right side up when viewed through the camera. This makes them much easier to distinguish. Focus on the letters, and do not try to strain the eye to focus on the subject.

Having the flash-light ready to fire, lower the lights a little, but not enough to make objects indistinct. If the lights are turned[Pg 619] out or very low, the sudden change from light to darkness makes the staring look to the eyes so often seen in flash-light pictures. The room being in semi-darkness, the pupils become diluted, and do not contract to natural size till after the picture has been made. Flash-light lamps, with full directions for use, can be bought at very moderate prices ($3 to $5), or one may buy the powder or cartridges. Each cartridge contains enough for one flash. A very pretty picture may be made by placing the powder in the fire-place, and firing it—placing something between the light and the camera—giving the effect of the room being lighted by the firelight.

If the subject does not look toward the camera when the flash is made the expression of the eyes will not be noticed. In firing either a lamp or the powder it is a wise precaution to protect the hands by either putting on an old pair of gloves or wrapping a cloth round the hand used in firing the flash. Aluminum is sometimes used in place of magnesium powder. Either the leaf or powdered aluminum when burned gives an intense light, without the smoke and fumes which make the use of magnesium powder so disagreeable.

Sir Knight Floyd E. Quick sends to the Round Table a tiny photograph of the picture of General Grant which was given with our Round Table last month. It was taken with the Kombi camera, and Sir Floyd says that he placed a lamp about a foot from the picture, and set his camera on some books about a foot from the picture, opened the shutter, and made a three-minute exposure. The picture is very good indeed, quite clear and distinct, so sharp a focus, that the name "U.S. Grant" can easily be read, though the whole picture is not much larger than a twenty-five-cent piece.

#### To Our Querists.

Correspondents in sending as queries often ask to have the answers printed in the next issue of the Round Table following the receipt of the letter. For the benefit of those who make this request, and then fail to see the desired answer in the "next number" of the Round Table, we will explain that queries are published as soon as possible.

> Sir Knight L. K. says that in developing he develops his plates till the image can be seen on the back of the plate, but after the plate is fixed, while the picture is distinct the negative is nearly transparent, and wishes to know the reason. It is because the development has not been carried far enough. The best test of development is to hold the negative to the light and look through it. If it does not appear dense enough it is not developed sufficiently, and must be returned to the developer. A negative will look nearly the same after fixing as it does when examined before fixing. The method of testing development by the image on the back of the plate is not a true test.

> Sir Knight Joseph Peri asks what is used in retouching negatives. 1st, What is used to make the negative print black; and 2d, What is used to make it print white. Soft lead-pencils are used in retouching negatives. Any spot in the negative which is filled up or marked over on the negative will print white or light in the negative. To make the print of the negative black in certain places the film is removed by a reducing solution. Alcohol applied lightly with soft linen or cotton will reduce or thin the film where it is not very thick. Ferrocyanide of potassium dissolved in water is a powerful reducer, and will remove the film entirely, leaving clear glass, if such an effect is desired.

It costs a little more, but with chapped hands and clothes weakened by the free alkali in common soaps, the housekeeper soon finds that Ivory Soap is the cheapest in the end.

#### The Procter & Gamble Co., Cin'ti.

There is just a little appetizing bite to HIRES Rootbeer; just a smack of life and good flavor done up in temperance style. Best by any test.

#### Made only by The Charles E. Hires Co., Philadelphia.

#### A 25c. package makes 5 gallons. Sold everywhere.

## CARDS

The FINEST SAMPLE BOOK of Gold Beveled Edge, Hidden Name, Silk Fringe, Envelope and Calling Cards ever offered for a 2 cent samp. These are GENUINE CARDS, NOT TRASH. UNION CARD CO., COLUMBUS, OHIO.

## THE

## BALTIMOREAN PRINTING-PRESS

has earned more money for boys than all other presses in the market. Boys, don't idle away your time when you can buy a self-inking printing-press, type, and complete outfit for $5.00. Write for particulars, there is money in it for you.

#### THE J. F. W. DORMAN CO.,

#### Baltimore, Md., U.S.A.

## PRINTING OUTFIT 10c.

Sets any name in one minute; prints 500 cards an hour. You can make money with it. A font of pretty type, also Indelible Ink, Type Holder, Pads and Tweezers. Best Linen Marker; worth $1.00. Mailed for 10c. stamps for postage on outfit and catalogue of 1000 bargains. Same outfit with figures 15c. Outfit for printing two lines 25c. postpaid.

#### Ingersoll & Bro., Dept. No. 123. 65 Cortlandt St., New York.

## FOR YOUNG PEOPLE

### Tommy Toddles

By Albert Lee. Illustrated by Peter S. Newell. Square 16mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25.

> A more entertaining collection of nonsense has rarely been penned.—Boston Traveller.

> The story is intended to be juvenile, but it will appeal to thousands of grown-up juveniles better than to the juveniles themselves.—Boston Daily Advertiser.

> This is one of the most charming bits of fairyland writing I have read in a long time. The boys and girls will delight in it, but the old folks, no matter how many years they carry, will find an equal pleasure.—George H. Hepworth in N. Y. Herald.

### A Life of Christ for Young People,

In Questions and Answers. By Mary Hastings Foote. With Map. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25.

> It is only occasionally in the book-market that we come across such a clear decantation of long and well-digested reading as may be found in this book.—Critic, N. Y.

> The Rev. Dr. David H. Greer writes: "I believe it to be one of the most satisfactory manuals of that character which I have ever seen. It meets a need both in the family and the Sunday-school, and I am sure that its merits will be very quickly and widely appreciated. It is not often that I can give an indorsement so cordially and unreservedly as in this case."

### OAKLEIGH

A Story for Girls. By Ellen Douglas Deland. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25.

> The incidents are full of life, the characters are very natural, and the conversations well sustained, so that the story is full of intense interest from beginning to end.—Chicago Inter-Ocean.

### By W. J. HENDERSON

Afloat with the Flag. By W. J. Henderson, Author of "Sea Yarns for Boys," etc. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25.

> The story has been read with eager interest by thousands of Round Table readers, and it will have an additional charm to them and others in its present book form.—Boston Advertiser.

#### HARPER & BROTHERS, Publishers, New York.

[Pg 620]

Come to the Moon-Fay Tennis-Courts,
And see the Grand Athletic Sports.
The Frogs will jump for the medal gold
With the Famous cow of the fable old,
Who took the moon in one grand leap.
Two Snails will start on a Six-Day Creep,
And sixteen gnats,
In derby hats,
Will wrestle a match
With the Bandersnatch.
A dozen Clams
Will take six hurdles against six lambs;
And the Lobster's claw
Will pull 'gainst the Crab's in a tug-of-war.
The voice of the musical Pee-Wee Bird
In a high-note contest will be heard.
So come to the Moon-Fay Tennis-Courts
And see these grand athletic sports.
Admission Free!! All those must pay
Who have the bad taste to stay away.

"Why, Pat, what's the trouble now?"

"Faith, whin oime asked to paint a life-sized man on this sign-board, and it not big enough to paint a half a man on, what on earth can I do?"

"Why, paint the half of a man, of course."

"Sure it's aisy enough to do that; but what troubles me is what shall I leave off."

"Leave off? What do you mean?"

"Faith, I don't know whether to let his legs hang off or put his head above the sign."

### SCIENCE IN THE NURSERY.

Now, Fido, you'll be pleased to hear
That when my dollie groans,
Because I've let her fall and break
Each precious limb she owns,
We soon can make her well, for we
May photograph her bones.

General Lee used to tell a story about a darky that served in the war. It seems during the heat of the battle the General and his attendants were posted on a small knoll watching the course of the action. They descried a colored soldier racing toward them, leaping over obstacles in his path, his face blanched with fear. He rushed up, and fell headlong on the ground in front of Lee, crying,

"Oh, massa General, let me stay here."

Lee saw at once that the man was almost frightened to death, and useless as a soldier. It disgusted him somewhat, but his curiosity was aroused, and he asked,

"Did you come here to get out of the way of the bullets?"

"Yes, massa; where de generals am is de safest place on de field."

Teacher. "James, what makes you late?"

James. "I was pursuing knowledge."

Teacher. "Pursuing knowledge? What do you mean?"

James. "Why, my dog ran off with my spelling-book, and I ran after him."

Mr. Chauncey M. Depew is very fond of telling humorous short stories, and the following one that he relates is a good specimen:

"When I was quite a young lad, about fourteen years old, my father lived on an old farm up at Poughkeepsie. One day I went to town to see the circus, and while there I saw for the first time one of those spotted coach dogs. I bargained for it with the owner, and trotted home happy with my new possession. When my father saw it his good old Puritan face fell, and he said, sadly,

"'Why, Chauncey, we don't want any spotted dog on the farm! It would drive the cattle crazy.'

"I succeeded in obtaining permission to keep him, however. The next day it was raining, and I took the dog out in the woods to try him on a coon. The rain was too much for the spots, and when we returned home they had disappeared. I hastened to town and hunted up the man who sold him to me.

"'Look at the dog,' said I; 'his spots have all washed off.'

"'Great guns, boy!' exclaimed the dealer, 'there was an umbrella went with that dog. Didn't you get an umbrella?'"

The Emperor of Germany is a man of versatile accomplishments, and rarely rests any length of time without appearing in some new rôle. Recently he was entertained at dinner by his officers of the cuirassiers, and enjoyed himself thoroughly—so much so that he prolonged his stay over six hours. As the time went by he entered into conversation with the bandmaster on the subject of historical marches. With a quick impetuous movement, the Emperor jumped to his feet, and summoning the musicians of the band, seized the baton and conducted the Hohenfriedberg March by Frederick the Great. As his baton fell on the final note, and the music ceased, he turned, and in an enthusiastic manner cried out:

"Ah, it is fine like that! I'll have it like that throughout my army."

It is to be wondered if the Emperor proposes to wander about his country rehearsing the bands of his army to suit his musical tastes.

A FUNNY SPAT.

Oh, would it not be funny for to see this sort of spat,
And have the rabbit arch its back the same as does the cat!

### FOOTNOTES:

[1] Begun in Harper's Round Table No. 857.

    End of Project Gutenberg's Harper's Round Table, April 21, 1896, by Various

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