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Title: Harper's Round Table, July 14, 1896

Author: Various

Release date: December 20, 2018 [eBook #58504]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Annie R. McGuire


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HARPER'S ROUND TABLE, JULY 14, 1896 ***




Produced by Annie R. McGuire








[Illustration: HARPER'S ROUND TABLE]

Copyright, 1896, by HARPER & BROTHERS. All Rights Reserved.

       *       *       *       *       *

PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, JULY 14, 1896. FIVE CENTS A COPY.

VOL. XVII.--NO. 872. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.

       *       *       *       *       *




[Illustration]

CROSSING THE XUACAXÉLLA.[1]

[1] Pronounced Hwar-car-hál-yar. This story is a sequel to "Captured by
the Navajos," contained in the Christmas Extra of Vol. XV. Frank and
Henry Burton were the sons of a Colonel in the army, and had been
appointed honorary corporals in Santa Fe, and attached to headquarters.
On the march to Arizona they distinguished themselves by gallant
conduct, and were promoted to the rank of sergeants.

BY CAPTAIN CHARLES A. CURTIS, U. S. A.


I.

"Here, Frank, come and help push this gate. I can't start it alone."

"Wait a moment, Henry. Don't be in such a rush. I think I hear a horse
coming down the Prescott road. I want to see if it's the express from La
Paz."

The younger boy ceased his efforts to close the gates, and advancing a
few steps before the entrance of the fort, looked up the valley to where
the road from Prescott appeared from behind a spur of the foot-hills.
The two boys, aged respectively fourteen and sixteen, were dressed in
the army uniform, and wore gold-lace sergeant's chevrons upon their
sleeves. Their white stripes were piped with red, and their cap cords
and regimental badges were of the officers' pattern and quality.

A beautiful white setter, with liver-colored spots and ears, and mottled
nose and paws, followed the boys and stood between them, nestling her
delicate muzzle against the younger boy's hip, and responding to his
caresses with waves of a plumy tail.

"Do you think we shall hear from father, Frank?"

"We ought to. He said, in his last letter, he was getting settled at the
Presidio, and would soon send for us."

"Takes twelve days to bring a letter from San Francisco. I suppose it
would take us longer to go there. Seems to me he might get ready for us
while we are on the road," said Henry, lugubriously. "I'm getting mighty
tired of opening and shutting these gates."

"You forget father has to visit all the posts where companies of his
regiment are stationed. That will probably take him a month longer."

"And we must go on opening and closing gates and running errands in
Arizona. Santa Fe was a good place for boys. But this is the pokiest
place we've struck yet. But come; let's shut the gates, and watch for
the expressman afterwards. We haven't much time before retreat."

The gates closed a stockaded post near Prescott, Arizona. Pine logs ten
feet long had been set up vertically in the ground, two feet of them
below the surface and eight above, enclosing an area of a thousand
square feet, in which were store-rooms, offices, and quarters for two
companies of soldiers and their officers. At corners diagonally opposite
each other were two large block-house bastions commanding the flanks of
the fort. The logs of the walls were faced on two sides, set close
together, and were slotted every four feet for rifles. At one of the
bastionless corners were double gates, also made of logs, bound by cross
and diagonal bars, dove-tailed and pinned firmly to them. Each hung on
huge triple hinges of iron.

The two boys went back to the gates, and setting their backs against one
of them and digging their heels in the earth, swung it ponderously and
slowly until its outer edge caught on a shelving log set in the middle
of the entrance to support it and its fellow. Then, as the field music
began to play, and the men to assemble in line for retreat roll-call,
they swung the second gate in the same way, and braced the two with
heavy timbers.

As the companies broke ranks, the boys went to the fifth log on the left
of the gates and swung it back on its hinges. This was one of two secret
posterns. On the inside of the wall, when closed, its location was
easily noticeable on account of the hinges, latches, and braces; on the
outside it looked like any other log. It had been sawed off close to the
ground, and being over three feet in diameter, afforded a convenient
night entrance to the fort. Their work being completed, the boys went to
the Adjutant's office to report.

"Very well, sergeants," said the commanding officer; "no further duty
will be required of you to-day."

Frank and Henry ran through the postern, and arrived on the crest of the
bluff overlooking the Prescott road just as a horseman turned up the
height. The news that the La Paz courier had arrived spread quickly
through the quarters, and every man not on duty appeared outside the
walls.

Joining the boy sergeants, I said,

"Boys, if you want to drop the job of opening and closing the gates, it
can hereafter be done by the guard."

"Thank you, sir. We took the job, and we will stick to it," replied
Sergeant Frank.

"I wonder if Samson could pack those gates off as easily as he did the
gates of Gaza?" said Henry, seating himself on a log which had been
rejected in the building, and taking Vic's head in his hip and fondling
her silken ears.

"They are the heaviest gates I ever saw," said Frank.

"Then stop straining at them. Captain Bayard has several times suggested
that you be relieved of the duty."

"We have swung them since they were hung, and we want to do it until we
leave," continued Frank. "We can't remain here much longer. I think
this express will bring an order for us to go to San Francisco."

"Very likely. It will be an agreeable change for you. Life here is not
very enjoyable for boys."

"I should say not," said Henry. "At Santa Fe there was plenty of fun. Of
course we had to study there; but that made play all the more pleasant.
Then we could go hunting now and then, or gathering piñons; but here we
can't look outside of the fort unless a dozen soldiers are along, for
fear the Apaches will get us."

"But you can go to Prescott."

"Prescott!" in a tone of great contempt. "Twenty-one log cabins and
stores, and not a boy in the place--only a dozen Pike County, Missouri,
girls."

"And we can't go there with any comfort since Texas Dick and Jumping
Jack stole Sancho and Chiquita," added Frank.

Further conversation was temporarily interrupted by the arrival of the
expressman. A roan bronco galloped up the slope bearing a youthful rider
wearing a light buckskin suit and a soft felt hat with a narrow brim. He
was armed with a breech-loading carbine and two revolvers, and carried,
attached to his saddle, a roll of blankets and a mail-pouch.

Dismounting, he detached the pouch, at the same time answering questions
and giving us items of news later than any contained in his despatches.

After handing his pouch to the quartermaster-sergeant, his eyes fell
upon the boy sergeants.

"I saw Texas Dick and Juan Brincos at Cisternas Negras," he said,
addressing them.

"My! Did you, Mr. Baldwin?" exclaimed Henry, springing to his feet and
approaching the courier. "Did they have our ponies?"

"You know I never saw your ponies; but Dick was mounted on a black, and
Juan on a cream-color."

"Sancho!" said Frank.

"Chiquita!" said Henry.

"Do you know where they were bound?" asked Captain Bayard.

"I did not speak to them, nor did they see me. I dared not hold
communication in a lonely place with such desperate characters. I
learned from a friend of theirs at Date Creek that they were going to
open a monte bank at La Paz."

"Then they are likely to stay there some time."

"Can't something be done, sir, to get the ponies back?" asked Frank.

"Perhaps so. I will consider the matter."

The mail was taken to the office of the Quartermaster, and soon
distributed through the command. Among my letters was one from Colonel
Burton, the father of the boy sergeants. He said he had expected to send
for his sons by this mail, but additional detached service had been
required of him which might delay their departure from Whipple for
another month, if not longer. He informed me that a detail which I had
received to duty as professor of military science and tactics in a boys'
military school had been withheld by the Department Commander until my
services could be spared at Fort Whipple, and that he thought the next
mail or the one following it would bring an order relieving me and
ordering me East. This would enable me to leave for the coast the first
week in November.

Frank and Henry occupied quarters with me. Seated before our open fire I
read their father's letter, and remarked that perhaps I should be able
to accompany them to San Francisco, and if the Colonel consented to
their request to go to the military school with me, we might take the
same steamer for Panama and New York.

"Oh, won't that be too fine for anything!" exclaimed Henry. "Then I'll
not have to leave Vicky here, after all."

Vic, upon hearing her name called, left her rug on the hearth and placed
her nose on Henry's knee, and the boy stroked and patted her in his
usual affectionate manner.

"Then you have been dreading to leave the doggie?" I asked.

"Yes; I dream all sorts of uncomfortable things about her. She is in
trouble or I am, and I cannot rescue her and she cannot help me. Usually
we are parting, and I see her far off, looking sadly back at me."

"Henry is not alone in dreading to part with Vic," said Frank. "We boys
can never forget the scenes at Laguna and the Rio Carizo. She assisted
in the recovery of Chiquita, and she helped rescue Manuel, Sapoya, and
Henry from the Navajos."

"Nice little doggie. Nice little Vicky. Are you really going to San
Francisco and the East with us!" said Henry, assuming at once that he
was to accompany me to the military school. "I believe if I only had
Chiquita back, and Frank had Sancho, I should be perfectly happy."

After a slight pause, during which the boy seemed to have relapsed into
his former depression, Henry asked,

"Do they have cavalry drill at the school you're going to?"

"Yes; the superintendent keeps twenty light horses, and allows some of
the cadets to keep animals. All are used in drill."

"And if we get our ponies back, I suppose we shall have to leave them
here. Do you think, sir, there is any chance of our seeing them again?"
asked Frank.

"Not unless some one can go to La Paz for them. Captain Bayard is going
to see me after supper about a plan of his."

"I wonder what officer he will send?"

"I think, because he spoke to me, I am likely to go."

"Father would never stand the expense of sending them to the States, I
suppose," said Henry, sadly.

"They could be got as far as the Missouri River without cost," I
observed.

"How, please?"

"There is a Quartermaster's train due here in a few weeks--one started
before the order transferring us to the Department of the Pacific was
issued. It would cost nothing to send the ponies by the wagon-master to
Fort Union, and there they could be transferred to another train to Fort
Leavenworth."

"Frank, I've a scheme!" exclaimed the younger boy.

"What is it?"

"If the Lieutenant finds the ponies, let's send them to Manuel Perea and
Sapoya on the Rio Grande. When they go to the military school they can
take our horses and theirs, and we'll join the cavalry."

"That's so," said Frank. "Manuel wrote that if he went to school he
should cross the plains with his uncle Miguel Otero, who is a freighter.
He could take the whole outfit East for nothing. 'Twouldn't cost much
from Kansas City to the school."

"But before you cook a hare you must catch him," said I.

"Yes, and I suppose there is small chance that we shall catch ours,"
said Frank, despondently.

The two boy sergeants had found life in Arizona scarcely monotonous, for
the hostile Apaches made it lively enough, compelling us to build a
defensible post, and look well to the protection of our stock. A few
years later a large force, occupying many posts, found it difficult to
maintain themselves against the Indians, so it cannot seem strange to
the reader that our little garrison of a hundred soldiers should find it
difficult to do much more than act on the defensive. Close confinement
to the reservation chafed the boys. They had been interested in the
building of the stockade, and had accompanied the parties engaged in
felling the trees in the woods, and watched all the details of
construction. When the great gates were hung they asked the privilege of
closing them the first night of our occupancy, and when certain duties
were assigned them in their capacity of sergeants, the opening and
closing of the gates had been placed among them.

A ride to Prescott, two miles distant, was the longest the boys had
taken unaccompanied by officers or soldiers. Two weeks before this story
opens they had been invited to dine with the Governor of the Territory
at the gubernatorial residence, except the Territorial Capitol the most
imposing of the log edifices in the town. Governor Goodwin had made
their call exceedingly pleasant, and they had remained his guests until
tattoo. When the boys took leave of their host and went to the stable
for their saddle-horses, they found them missing, with their saddles and
bridles.

Next day inquiries in town elicited the information that two notorious
scamps, Texas Dick and Juan Brincos, an American and Mexican, were
missing, and it was the opinion of civil and military authorities that
they had stolen the ponies. The boys took Vic to the Governor's, and
showing her the tracks of her equine friends, she followed them several
miles on the Skull Valley trail. It was plainly evident that the thieves
had gone towards the Rio Colorado.

After supper I accompanied the commanding officer to his quarters. He
told me that the express had brought him a communication from the
Department Commander stating that, since Arizona had been transferred to
the Department of the Pacific, our stores would be shipped from San
Francisco to the mouth of the Colorado and up that stream by the boats
of the Colorado Steam Navigation Company to La Paz. He said that he had
decided to send me to La Paz to make arrangements with a freighter for
the transportation of the supplies from the company's landing to Fort
Whipple.

"And while you are in La Paz," said the Captain, "look up those
horse-thieves, and turn them over to the civil authorities; but whether
you catch them or not, be sure to bring back the boys' ponies."

"What do you think about letting the boys go with me?"

"No doubt they would like it. Would it be safe?"

"There have been no Indians seen on the route lately."

"But it may be the 'calm before the storm.'"

"The mail-courier, Baldwin, has seen no signs of them."

"So he told me. The excursion would be a treat to the boys, and might
bring luck to your undertaking. I believe I will let them go with a
strong escort. Tell the Adjutant to detail a corporal and any ten men
you may select, and take an ambulance and driver."

"Shall I go by the Bill Williams Fork route or the one over the
Xuacaxélla Desert?"

"The desert route is much the nearer, and the courier says there is
water in the Hole-in-the-Plain. There was a rainfall there last week.
That will give you water at the end of each day's drive."

I returned to my rooms, and looked over an itinerary of the route, with
a schedule of distances and other information. After making myself
familiar with all its peculiarities, I told Frank and Henry that if they
desired to do so they might accompany me.

They were overjoyed at the prospect. Henry caught Vic by the fore-paws
and began a waltz about the room. Then, sitting down, he held her head
up between his palms and informed her that she was going to bring back
Sancho and Chiquita.

"I think we better not take her, Henry," I said.

"Not take Vic? Why not, sir?"

"The road is long--six days going and six days returning--over a rough
and dry region, and she will be in the way and a constant care to us."

"But perhaps we cannot find our horses without her. She will be sure to
help us in some way; she always does," said Henry, emphatically.

"She certainly will be of much use to us if we have to make a search,"
added Frank. "She need be no care to you; Henry and I will look after
her."

"I am sorry to disappoint you, boys, but I cannot take the dog. She will
be left with Captain Bayard."

This decision made the boys very miserable for some time. They lavished
more than their usual attentions and caresses upon Vic, seeming to look
upon her as a much abused dog, whose privileges and rights had been
tyrannically set aside without reason. They put her to bed in her box,
both patting her repeatedly and whispering their sympathies in her ears.
Then Frank asked,

"Have you ever been to La Paz?"

"I have never been beyond Date Creek in that direction," I replied.

"Is the Xuacaxélla really a desert?"

"Only in the absence of water. Grasses, cacti, and shrubbery not needing
much moisture grow there. One of the geological surveys calls it Cactus
Plain. It is one hundred miles long. There is water in a fissure of a
mountain spur on one side called Cisternas Negras, or Black Tanks; but
for the rest of the distance there was formerly no water except after a
great rainfall in the depressions, a supply that quickly evaporates
under a hot sun and in a dry atmosphere. A man named Tyson has lately
sunk two wells thirty miles this side of La Paz."

"It was at the Black Tanks the expressman saw Texas Dick and Juan
Brincos with our ponies," said Henry. "What a queer name that is--Juan
Brincos, John Jumper, or Jumping Jack, as nearly every one calls him."

"He is well named; he has been jumping government stock for some years."

"I thought Western people always hung horse-thieves."

"Not when they steal from the government. They are apt to look upon army
mules and horses as common property."

"Frank," said Henry, just before the boys fell asleep that night, "I
felt almost sure we should recapture the ponies when I thought Vic was
going; but now I'm afraid we never shall see them again."

[TO BE CONTINUED.]




[Illustration: Queer Pets of Sailor Jack.]

BY LIEUTENANT-COMMANDER J. D. JERROLD KELLEY, U.S.N.

(_In Two Instalments._)


II.

A ship rat is not usually a cherished object of affection, but I knew of
one, and here is the outline of his story: Once, in the quarterly
overhauling of a frigate's main hold, a rat but a few days old was the
only inmate found of a predatory colony which had scurried, been
captured, or been carried away when the invaders entered. The ship's
doctor, a tender soul, took nest and all to his room, rigged a crude but
adequate feeding arrangement, and nursed and strengthened the baby rat
into a healthy childhood. Nothing could have been tamer than the little
gray creature, and it thrived lustily. It slept in the doctor's room,
but made rambling adventures through the civilized plains of the ship,
fearsomely avoiding the wilderness and deserts closed to man in the
frames and timbers of her hull. At night it always awoke when the doctor
came on shipboard, waited for a little food and fondling, and then slept
peacefully until reveille sent it scampering to the steward for its
breakfast. It kept the doctor's quarters clear of all winged insects,
and made such a riot among the ants and roaches of the ward-room that
the executive officer and mess caterer numbered it among their most
efficient aids. It is unnecessary to say that no cats were allowed aft,
and that the license and liberties of the officers' quarters were the
cherished pleasure and hunting preserves of the rodent. Its affection
for the doctor was unbounded, and it shared a particular fondness for
the photographs of his children, peering through the glass at their
innocent faces, and making a vantage-ground for its mid-day naps upon
one of the largest of the frames which hung against the after-bulkhead
of the officer's bunk.

One night, after a shore-going in a tropical port, the doctor lighted
his candle at the ward-room lantern, and entering his room, heard a
whirring note of anger over his bed. Looking up, he saw the little rat
in a strange state of fury, its eyes burning like points of fire, its
hair ruffled, and its legs gathered for a jump. Wondering at this
unwonted excitement, the doctor called and whistled to it, and then
turned to his bunk to throw back the bedclothes.

Just as his hand reached the upper covering he caught a strident shriek
of anger and the whir of a flying body, and saw just beneath his
uplifted hand the rat struggling in the bed with an animated ball of
fuzzy black, bristling with clawlike tentacles that writhed
convulsively. The struggle was sudden, sharp, short, and when it was
over, the doctor saw, lying dead on his bed, one of the most savage and
venomous scorpions of that region.

It had come on board probably in the unbarked fire-wood, and it worked
its way aft through the hidden recesses of the timbers to the doctor's
room. Had his hand ever touched the sheet where the scorpion lay hidden
from him in the half-light, but visible to the rat, no power could have
saved him from the poison of the sting which would have followed.

Of course his ratship was the hero of that day and of many days, and I
should like to add that it went on in the pleasant lines of its youth,
adding to its virtues hourly. But one night, when it had become big and
strong, it strayed into the evil company of other rats, and went with
them upon strange and perilous adventures. Gradually it forsook its
civilization and life of simple honesty, and one mid-watch, close after
four bells, it was found dead--a prey to a jealous ship cat, who caught
it stealing warily towards a mess cheese forward.

Next in importance, but not chronologically, was a wonderful pig--not a
euchre-playing, time-telling, disreputable suckling, but as plucky a
four-legged shoat as ever thirsted for a miry spot or ran in windy
weather with a straw in his mouth. What memories cluster around that
intelligent suckling! What regrets filled our souls in after-days for
his early flight!

By some lost correlation of ideas, pigs who go down to the sea are
always dubbed "Dennis," and it is only a little less than mutiny to name
them otherwise.

This Dennis, I regret to say, was smuggled aboard secretly just as we
were leaving Talcahuana, in southern Chile--was stolen from the bosom of
a most interesting family of brothers and sisters by a rogue of a
steward, who afterward repeated the act on shipboard with distinguished
results, except in this case our money, and not the pig, dramatically
disappeared.

Dennis was discovered by his grunted protests against confinement
shortly after we were under way--probably off Quiriquina Island, and too
late to make restitution--and his beauty and developing intelligence so
appealed to us that he was saved from a growling butcher to become an
important member of our ship family. He was entered upon the cook's
roster as Dennis O'Quiriquina, which was softened to O'Quiri, and then,
in compliment to the land where his race is most prized, into Dennis
O'Kerry--as Milesian a title as Brian Boru, of Clontarf, and all the
sons of Heremon could have desired.

It must have been some time in March that he joined us, for I remember
on St. Patrick's day, when the hills back of Valparaiso were echoing
with the strains of "Garry-owen" and "The Connaughtman's Rambles,"
played by the flag-ship band, Dennis trotted aft at full speed, decked
with green ribbons, and carrying a small clay pipe around his neck and
the mealiest potato in the locker slung to his corkscrew of a tail. He
appreciated the dignity of the time and place, for when we went to
quarters he made a polite bow to the Captain, and for the first time in
his life asserted and secured his rights as a quarter-deck. On occasions
of special ceremony he had to be driven from the quarter-deck with
contumely, but he never could be rooted from the spot, for regularly
when the drum beat to quarters he came aft on a run to his station, blow
high or blow low, fair weather or foul, and assumed to a mathematical
nicety the spot selected on the saint's day.

He had his bath at daylight, and was washed and brushed and combed into
a state of snowy whiteness which proclaimed the possibilities of piggy
cleanliness, and then he feasted in dignified ease within the honored
and exclusive precincts of the galley. During the day he lolled about
the decks, generally in the wake of the spare spars, filled with the
pride of placeship, and never awed from the career of his humor. He
attended drills with praiseworthy punctuality, and was in nobody's watch
and everybody's mess, which is the perfect flower of sea luxury. When
night came, in his early days of leanness, he sought his hammock, and,
later, his carefully prepared division tub; but after a time, when
fatness clung to his bones, and no sailor's bed devices would hold him,
he would airily promenade the deck, waking up a sailor here and there,
until he found a shipmate fitted for his high nobility. I have
frequently seen a man awake in the middle of the night, and, calling
Dennis, give him half his blanket or pea-jacket, and then, with a
contented grunt, Dennis would nestle snugly in his new bed, and sailor
and pig sleep the sleep of the just, their mingled snores filling the
still hours of the middle watch with a touching tale of boon
companionship.

But an end came to all this happy time, for Dennis acquired undue fat
and fell into moralizing, sedate, and dignified ways; then he lost his
sense of humor, his fondness for fun, and at last he forgot the
laboriously taught proprieties of ship etiquette and sea life. Could he
have been dreaming of the lost wallowings of his race, the prizes of
unalloyed wealth that lay in sun-bathed mires? The truth is, Dennis
degenerated with his prosperity, and became touchy and captious. We
would have borne with his ailments, for he had sailed thousands of miles
with us, and had such a way of cocking his weather eye knowingly to
wind'ard, such a rolling gait, and such a heroic fondness for 'baccy and
lobscouse, that we would have cherished him to the end.

It was somewhere about the last of June, and we were at anchor off
Papaete, in Tahiti, when the Captain said to me, in his quiet way, "You
will have to send the pig ashore; the executive officer reports him
unfit for duty."

Of course this sealed the fate of Dennis. So I sent for the man who
looked out for him, and said: "Barbe, my lad, it will be the Fourth of
July next week, and Dennis has to be turned ashore or eaten. If you
wish, your mess may have him for dinner on that holiday."

Barbe glared at me in astonishment, almost in horror, as if I had
suggested he was a steamboat sailor, and not a man-of-war's man born and
bred, and then said, mournfully:

[Illustration: "WHY, SIR, I'D AS SOON EAT MY BROTHER AS THAT PIG."]

"Why, sir, I'd as soon eat my brother as that pig--as that Dennis, sir.
He's weathered o' all we have, and I'd as leave stick my knife into a
babby as into that animal. Of course, sir, if it's go ashore, go it is,
sir. But I'd like to make terms with the man that's to have him, so
Dennis will get the treatment and the kindness he larned with us, sir."

It was as I had expected, and so the arrangements for his new home
ashore were made.

_Eheu, fugaces!_ Dennis went ashore the next day in the dingy--bag and
hammock, ribbons, dhudeen, and potato--all the men clustering in the
bridleports and gangways to see him off, and the officers waving a
farewell from aft. As his pigship pulled under the bows I heard from
forward a rousing cheer, which was the last ship greeting he was ever to
know.

A countryman of ours had drifted into that land, and Dennis had been
consigned to his care under a guarantee that his later days would be
spent on a plantation inland and never killed.

[Illustration: DENNIS O'KERRY.]

I drifted ashore next day, and there, lying in the shadow of a
pandanus-tree on the shore line, his nose buried in his fore-trotters,
and his eyes closed in weary waiting and sorrow, was Dennis. He looked
up mournfully as I entered the ship-chandlers, and gave me a grunt of
sullen recognition, as if he felt I were the author of his misery, or at
least an aider and abettor of those who had sent him into exile. His new
owner said he had moped from the beginning, at first wistfully roaming
about, and at last settling into the morbidly melancholy condition in
which I found him.

It happened, fortunately, to be liberty week for the men, and whilst we
were discussing his woes the voices of some of our crew came from the
landing. The transition was marvellous. Dennis sprang to his feet, gazed
inquiringly seaward for a moment, and then as the men's voices grew
nearer and louder, he twisted his tail into the rigidity of a corkscrew
and bounded beachward, where the liberty party was skylarking by the
jetty under the palm-trees.

No need to describe the meeting or the subsequent festivities. Dennis
followed each party that came ashore, trotting after them into the back
country, sleeping in the bush, and I believe enjoying the holiday more
than they did. He was the first to welcome the coming party, the last to
speed the going, filling his part of host with a grace and dignity in
town, and an abandon and a freedom in the country, that awoke in
after-days the tender regrets of his companions.

The frolic of Dennis and his friends lasted a scant week, and when the
last boat-load left the beach he turned mournfully shoreward, unheeding
the re-echoing cheers they gave him, and crawled, swaying port and
starboard in his grief, slowly towards the loneliness of his new home.
He fell into gloomy ways; he lost his fat and dignity; he seemed on the
verge of a decline; he took himself seriously as a persecuted exile in a
far land. Finally it was thought best to send him afield to his new
labors, and his master tried to woo him countryward, but in vain. He had
won his way into this American's heart, for when force was suggested he
declined to tie the pig's legs together, and throw him into a cart as he
would have done with a pig of less degree. He declared that Dennis was a
gentleman by instinct, a little low in his mind, but still a gentleman,
and that he could wait until Dennis might, as if in the gayety of a
holiday, idly stray with him on some early morning to the plantation
inland. But Dennis was obdurate and unhappy; and so the day before the
ship sailed for Apia his old master, the ship's cook, and the
boatswain's mate were sent to him, for it was known he would follow the
trill of the bosun's call. When he heard the familiar voices and saw the
blue shirts of his shipmates, and caught the bird-like whistle of the
mate, he jumped to his feet, gave an ecstatic grunt, and ran among the
trees wildly, with the fire of youth rioting in his trotters.

A two-wheeled cart was brought to the door, the driver took the reins,
the bluejackets seated themselves in the stern-sheets, and with Dennis
trotting gayly at the tail-board, the merry company waved a farewell to
me as they went slowly down the Purumu Road into the heart of the land.

Just beyond the last police station of the town two roads join, one
curving shoreward and the other winding through a wilderness of cocoanut
groves up the gentle inclines of the island. Here the cart stopped for a
moment, while the men, trilling a bright ballad of the sea, dismounted
to weave a chaplet of hibiscus for the decoration of the jocund pig.

Then remounting, the cart pushed forward merrily, rounded the bend where
the shrubbery met the archway of the trees, and Dennis passed hillward
out of my life forever.




ROSE PETALS.

BY EMMA J. GRAY.


To save your rose petals and make a rose-bag for your room would be
delightful.

While the rose is still fresh tear off its petals and scatter them
thinly on a large platter. In this way expose them to the light. Every
few hours pick up a handful and let them shower down, so as to expose
both sides of the petals. The next day put them on a different platter,
or you may use the same one provided you are careful to thoroughly dry
it, for the plate will be very moist. The second day sprinkle a little
salt over the petals, as this helps to purify them. Keep this treatment
up until they are all dry, then put them in a thin muslin bag.

Cover the bag with violet, yellow, or pink china silk as best suits the
color of your room. Tie it close at the top, as you would tie any other
bag, and suspend it on a rocking-chair back, gas-fixture, or any
convenient place. It will prove an attractive ornament as well as convey
delicious odor. Use inch-wide satin ribbon the same color as the silk to
tie the bag. Make a generous bow, with ends of irregular length. Cut the
ends pointed or slanting, and this prevents the ribbon fraying.

Another way to use petals after they are dried would be to lay them
between two pieces of pink cheese-cloth, cut the exact size of your
bureau drawer. After the petals are in place knot the cheese-cloth,
about two inches apart, all the way down and across with tiny bows of
baby-width pink ribbon. This will help to keep the petals even;
otherwise they would lay in a heap at one end. Put such a piece under
your linen, and have it perfumed with roses.

It will take a great many roses to make either a fair-sized bag or
drawer pad, but the dried petals may be saved and added to until you
have enough. Keep them in a tightly covered china or glass receptacle.
Never dry the petals on brass or other metals; dry them on marble,
china, or glassware.

In the same way that rose petals are used try sweet-marjoram, lavender,
or other pleasantly scented herbs or grasses. Besides being a delight to
the eye and conveying delicate perfume, they may also serve as a
reminder of a pleasant gift or enjoyable entertainment.

Try also balsam, pine, and hop bags. Make small ones not over ten inches
long; cover with pretty silk, knot on narrow ribbon of a shade either
complementary or to match, and suspend such from a chair back,
door-knob, or curtain fixture.

A delicious bag would be made of pea-green silk or the green of the pine
itself, and enlivened by a net-work of gold silk, the strings for which
should be gold-colored satin or bullion thread.




NURSERY BALLADS.

A PERILOUS SPOT.


  It's a dangerous place sometimes for those who don't know my nursery
      floor,
  And I'd advise those who are timid at all to keep well outside the door;
  There are lions at large, and bears and cows, and animals wild like that
  Parading around most all the time, and a great big plooshy cat.

  My Pa came into that room one day to see who was blowing the horn,
  And before he looked where he walked he stepped on top of a unicorn;
  And the fast express from old Bureauville--as fast as the wind it goes--
  Came whistling over the carpet track, and ran right over his toes.

  And when he jumped back to get out of the way a big man-of-war sailed
      by,
  And clipped the end of his heel, it did, and a cannon-ball hit his eye,
  A cannon-ball shot by General Zinc bombarding a Brownie band,
  That peeped from the edge of the old soap-dish we keep on the oak
      wash-stand.

  And once in the dark he tripped on the ark, and fell on the Ferris
      wheel,
  And bumped his head on a wagon red, and broke off my steam-launch keel;
  And when he got up to leave the room, the very first thing he knew
  He got in the midst of some lead Arabs, and made a great hullaballoo.

  And that's why I say it's a dangerous place for those who've not been
      there before,
  With lions and boats and bears and carts strewn everywhere over the
      floor,
  And unless I'm home when you visit me, there isn't a bit of a doubt,
  Instead of a-venturing in there alone, you'd better by far keep out.

  CARLYLE SMITH.




TWO AGAINST A FLEET.


Early in September, 1814, a British fleet sailed up the Penobscot River
from Belfast to Bangor, robbing and destroying the farms and villages as
they went along, and after they had caused great damage in Bangor, they
turned about and sailed back again to the sea. Only once in this long
and, from a British point of view, successful raid, did the Yankees get
the better of their enemies, and this single instance was due to the
bravery of one old man and his courageous wife.

The fleet was guided up the stream by a Tory pilot, and encountered no
resistance until it reached the highlands of Cape Jellison, when a
volley of musketry was discharged by a little band of Maine patriots,
killing a number of sailors and soldiers who had been occupying
conspicuous positions on the decks. The British replied with broadsides
of grape-shot, riddling every house within striking distance, and
silencing the flint-locks. But the incident had maddened the commander
of the English squadron, and he gave orders to his gunners to take a
shot at everything on shore as they proceeded. As a result many houses
were struck and one cow was killed; the inhabitants, warned of the
approaching fleet, having retired inland out of range.

Thus the Britishers had it all their own way until they came to a point
called the Narrows, about a mile below Bucksport. Tall bluffs rise on
both sides of the river here, and on the crest of one old David Grant
lived in his little house with his wife. Grant was too old to go to the
war, but he was not too old to resist the invaders. As soon as he saw
the masts of the hostile ships coming around the bend, he got out his
muskets and took up a good position in front of his house with a firm
rest to aim on. From his point of vantage he could command the decks of
the ships as they passed, and as soon as they came within gunshot he
began to blaze away with his old shooting-irons, aiming at the officers
who were gathered on the sterns of their vessels.

His wife stood by his side and loaded the guns as fast as she could. At
the third shot fired by the old man, the defenders of the hill-top saw
the man at the wheel of the foremost vessel throw up his hands and fall
backward. Immediately the war-ship swung its nose around to the tide,
and would have run ashore if the order had not been given to drop
anchor. Grant had badly wounded the Tory, and the second vessel in the
line had to take the lead of the fleet with a resident of the locality
who sympathized with the British for pilot. During all this
manoeuvring, old David Grant was pouring buck-shot and bullets upon
the ships, and both he and his wife shook their fists in defiance at the
surprised Englishmen.

Presently a gun loaded with grape was run out on the deck of the
flag-ship and fired at the house on the bluff, but the angle was too
steep, and the charge lodged in the bank below. The British then began
to clear away a boat, and a squad of marines gathered at the gangway to
embark. Something went wrong with the davits, however, for the tackles
did not seem to work easily, and Grant and his wife could see the
officers storming about the deck, while the boat hung several feet above
the river. When the old couple saw that they were about to be attacked
in earnest they withdrew into their little house and closed the door.
The house was built on the further side of a little field that sloped
down to the edge of the bluff, and at the rear of the building and on
both sides were thick clumps of trees. Shortly after Grant and his wife
had retired from view, the British saw a man carrying a gun over his
shoulder step out of the thicket on the north side and walk into the
house through the front door. He had hardly gotten in when two more men
fully armed stepped out of the trees from the other side and went into
the house. After this, at intervals of a minute or less, one or two men
came from the trees and went to Grant's assistance. All carried guns
over their shoulders. The British officers from the ship watched the men
as they came, and had counted fully fifty by the time the boat was ready
to clear away. This caused them to hesitate about making an attack, for
they realized that from the strong position on the bluff fifty armed
patriots could hold a whole ship's crew at bay, and kill them off one by
one as they struggled up the hill. The Commander, therefore, thought
better of this plan, and ordered the marines aboard again, and, hoisting
anchor, sailed off after the rest of the fleet up the river toward
Bangor.

As the ship passed through the Narrows old David Grant and his brave
wife ran along the bluff for almost a mile, shooting as fast as they
could, and when they had no more gunpowder left, they shook their fists
again at the invaders, and turned back toward their little home.

When the farmers gathered from all around to hear about the old couple's
battle with the British, Grant told them how he went out of the house by
the back door and skirted the clump of trees, and came out in front in
sight of the enemy, and walked in at the front door. His wife dressed
herself in some of her husband's clothes, and, taking a gun, performed
the same trick, and sometimes they came separately, and sometimes they
walked together; and sometimes they came from the north side, and
sometimes they walked out from the trees on the south. It was this
simple bit of strategy that saved the old couple and their home from the
destructive attack of the British.




THE TROLLEY SWIMMING TEACHER.

BY WILLIAM HEMMINGWAY.


Swimming on a trolley-line sounds like an impossibility. It is a very
real practical feat, nevertheless, and hundreds of New-Yorkers can tell
you all about it from their own experience. No other way of learning how
to swim is half so pleasant as the trolley-line plan. There is no fear
of bobbing under and losing your breath and swallowing a quart of water.
Once you buckle on your trolley belt, there you are, and there you stay,
right on the surface of the water. It is as safe as sitting in a
rocking-chair, and a thousand times more fun.

Fred L. Balmes, a young swimming-teacher, invented the trolley plan. He
found that the usual scheme of putting a belt around the pupil's chest,
running a line from the back of it to the end of a long pole, and then
towing the pupil along like landing a big fish, was not apt to encourage
learners. They always feared that the teacher would stub his toe, or
look around suddenly, or in some other way forget to hold up the end of
the pole. That, of course, meant a ducking; and a beginner in the gentle
art of swimming would rather suffer ten beatings than one ducking.
Nobody ever learned well by wearing an inflated rubber life-belt. The
belt has too much floating power, and boys who wear one when beginning
always kick too high thereafter, and send their feet splashing above the
surface, which is very bad form. When I was a boy we used to go down to
the Sandy Flats, where there was a long stretch of river only three feet
deep. An expert (a boy who could swim about ten yards) upheld the
pupil's chin on the palm of his hand, and yelled, "Now kick like a
bull-frog!" If the pupil was too embarrassed to do this immediately and
successfully, the expert always popped him under, and when he came up
spluttering and shrieking, sent him down again for luck. The system was
perfect--all but the cruel ducking.

[Illustration: HE MIGHT LIE THERE ALL DAY WITHOUT WETTING HIS MOUTH.]

That sort of thing would not attract pupils to a swimming-school, so
Fred Balmes tried to find the best substitute for the hand of the
teacher under the chin of the taught. At last he hit upon the idea of
running a wire along the pool two or three feet above the surface. Now,
if there were only some way to hang the pupil to this wire so that he
could move forward and backward and never be allowed to sink! A trolley
was just the thing for that. Balmes bought a small metal wheel, with its
rim deeply curved inward, so that it would not jump off the wire and
become clogged. Hanging down from the axle of this wheel was a piece of
brass that ended in a swivel. Balmes already had a broad canvas belt,
with a ring at the upper part of it. He hooked the end of the swivel
into the ring on the belt, and threw himself into the water. The
trolley-line was a success. He splashed both hands and feet above the
surface of the pool, but still he floated like thistle-down. Backward
and forward he swam. The trolley rolled and creaked along the wire, and
always held him up in precisely the right position. He might lie there
all day if he chose without wetting his mouth. Not only can one learn to
swim quickly by the trolley plan, but it is a fine way to learn how to
float. Some of us are too thin ever to learn this branch of the art, but
if any one possesses latent floating power, he may be sure that the
trolley will develop it.

The inventor of this delightful way to learn swimming has not patented
his trolley plan, so any one may use it. The wire can be rigged from
side to side of any swimming-bath. It is best not to have the line more
than fifty feet long, for a greater length than that will cause the wire
to sag at the middle and let the pupil sink. In rigging the wire only
one end should be wrapped fast around a post. The other end should be
hitched to a stout rope and pulley-block. Before using the trolley the
rope should be hauled as taut as possible and made fast securely. Then
there will be a straight tight wire and no sagging.

If enough care is used, there is no reason why a trolley swimming line
cannot be set up along a river-bank or the edge of a swimming-pond. In
doing this, however, boys should not depend upon their own judgment. It
is best by far to engage a competent man to set the posts and rig the
wires. No matter how clever boys may be, they are not cautious enough to
arrange against all the possibilities of danger. And it is necessary
always to remember that in water is the most dangerous place to play.




A VIRGINIA CAVALIER.[2]

[2] Begun in HARPER'S ROUND TABLE No. 868.

BY MOLLY ELLIOT SEAWELL.


CHAPTER V.

"You are asking me more, sir," said Lance, with something like a grim
smile on his countenance, "than I could tell you in a month, or two
months. But I can tell you how the Duke of Marlborough looked in battle,
for I belonged to the foot-soldiers, and we were generally standing
still for a time, until the cavalry had showed us where we were wanted,
and we could see the generals riding over the field. The Duke, you must
know, sir, was not so very young when I served under him, but he was
still the handsomest man in the British army. They say, when he was a
lieutenant, that all the great ladies fell in love with him, and the one
he married, I have read in a book, he was much in love with, but a deal
more afraid of her than ever he was of the Grand Monarque and all his
armies. They say it was a joke in England that the great Duke obeyed his
Duchess and trembled at her word. But I dare say he is not the only man
who ever ruled men and then let his wife rule him. The Duke was a noble
sight at parade, with his splendid chestnut charger, his uniform of red
and gold, his chapeau with plumes, and his great periwig. But, to my
mind, he was a finer sight when the French artillery-men were ploughing
up the ground--the French are monstrous good gunners, Mr. Washington,
and hang on to their batteries like the devil--and the musketry
screaming around, and that old fox Marshal Villars was hammering us in a
dozen places at once. Then the Duke was as calm as a May morning, and
was full of jokes with his officers, and whistling to himself a queer
kind of a tune with no tune to it. But old Villars never caught him
napping, and was caught napping himself once. That was the time we took
Bouchain."

"Oh yes--about Bouchain."

"Well, sir, in the spring of 1711 the great Duke arrived in the Low
Countries, and glad enough were all to see him--for not only, we knew,
we could lick the French and Bavarians if we were under him, but the
army was always paid when the great Duke commanded, and fed and clothed
too. I remember, when he came back that time, he brought us forty
thousand woollen shirts. The kings and queens thought that we, the
common soldiers, did not know what was going on, but we knew the
stay-at-homes were trying to ruin the Duke at court, and that he had
hardly been treated civilly when he got to England, and that three
colonels--Meredith, Macartney, and Heywood--had been cashiered for
drinking 'confusion to the enemies of the Duke of Marlborough.' It was
while he was away that the allied army--as ours and our allies was
called--had got a handsome drubbing at Almanza, in Spain, and I can't
say that any of us cried over it; only we thought we might get drubbed
ourselves if the Duke didn't come back. So you may be sure, Mr.
Washington, that when the news came that the whole army was to
rendezvous at Orchies, and the Duke had landed in Holland on his way to
us, we felt better.

"Marshal Villars had been all the winter throwing up redoubts and all
sorts of works along his lines, from Bouchain, on the Scheldt, which lay
here"--Lance stooped down at this and drew an imaginary line on the
floor, and George got off the bed, and taking the candle, sat down on
the floor, the better to understand--"along the Sanset, which runs this
way. Lord, Mr. Washington, I'll have to use the boot-jack to show you
about Bouchain and Arras."

"And here are the snuffers," eagerly added George, "for Arras; and here
is my pocket-rule and a piece of chalk."

Lance seized the chalk. "The very thing, sir!" And he drew a very fair
map upon the floor, George watching him with bright, intelligent eyes,
and afterwards taking the chalk, straightened up Lance's rude sketch.

[Illustration: "IT'S A PLEASURE TO SHOW A YOUNG GENTLEMAN LIKE YOU, SIR,
HOW IT WAS DONE."]

"That's right, sir," said Lance, getting down on the floor himself.
"It's a pleasure to show a young gentleman like you, sir, how it was
done, because you have the understanding of it, if I may make bold to
say so.

"Old Villars, then, being a monstrous sharp general, said to himself,
'Aha! I'll beat the long roll on Marlborough now,' and he had the
astonishing impudence to call his lines 'Marlborough's _ne plus ultra_,'
whatever that is; I don't know myself, but it is some sort of impudence
in French."

George laughed a little to himself at Lance's notion of the old Latin
phrase, but he was too much interested in the story to interrupt.

"Marshal Villars had near sixty thousand men, and such a gang of
ragamuffins, Mr. Washington, you never saw. But they'd rather fight than
eat; and let an old soldier tell you, sir, whenever you meet the French,
don't count on licking 'em because they are half starved and half naked;
I believe they fight better the worse off they are for victuals and
clothes. The Duke spent two or three weeks studying their works, and
when he got through with it he knew more about them than Marshal Villars
himself did. The summer had come, and the streams were no longer
swollen, and the Duke begun to lay his plans to trap old Villars. The
first thing he did was to have a lot of earth-works thrown up at the
place where he did not intend to break through the French lines. The
French, of course, got wind of this, and drew all their forces away from
Vitry, where the Duke really meant to break through and cross the
Sanset. All the Frenchmen were fooled, and Marshal Villars the worst of
all. So when, one bright morning in July, the French scouts reported
that Marlborough himself, with fifty squadrons of horse, was on the
march for the earth-works he had made where he did not mean to cross,
old Villars was cocksure he had him. The Duke with his fifty squadrons
marched a good day's march away from Vitry, the French scampering off in
his direction, and concentrating their troops just where the Duke wanted
them. Meanwhile every mother's son of us was in marching order--the
artillery ready, the pontoons ready, everybody and everything ready.
About mid-day, seeing the French had been fooled, the order was given to
march, and off we put for Vitry. As soon as we reached the river we laid
the pontoons, and were drawn up on the bank just waiting for the word to
cross. It was then late in the evening, but we had got news that the
Duke had turned around, and was making for us as fast as the horses of
his squadrons could lay their hoofs to the ground. About nine o'clock we
saw the dust of the advance-guard down the highway; we heard the
galloping of the horses long before. The instant the Duke appeared the
crossing begun, and by sunrise thirty thousand men had crossed, and had
joined General Hompesch's division of ten thousand between Oise and
Estrum; and now we were within Villars's lines without striking a blow.
'Twas one of the greatest marches that ever was, Mr. Washington--ten
leagues between nine in the evening and ten the next morning--thirty
thousand infantry, artillery, cavalry, miners, and sappers.

"Villars found out what was in the wind about midnight, and at two
o'clock in the morning he turned around, and the whole French army came
in pursuit of us; and if you will believe it, sir, they marched better
than we did, and by eleven o'clock in the morning the beggars were as
near Bouchain as we; for Bouchain was what we were after. 'Twas a strong
fortress, and the key to that part of France; and if we could get it we
could walk to the heart of France any day we liked.

"Old Villars wanted to bring us to fight, but the Duke was too wary for
him. He sat down before Bouchain, that had a large garrison of picked
men, commanded by the bravest officers in the French army, with stores,
guns, and ammunition in plenty. The Duke had to make a causeway over a
morass before he could get at 'em at all, and there was Villars behind
us, ready to cut us to pieces, and that stubborn fortress in front. It
was the hardest siege I ever knew, though it was not the longest. The
people at home were clamoring for the Duke to fight Villars instead of
taking Bouchain; but the Duke knew that if he could get the fortress he
would have the control of three great rivers--the Scheldt, the Meuse,
and the Lys--and then we could cut off any army the Grand Monarque could
send against us. 'Tis a deal harder, sir, to keep men's spirits up in a
siege than in a battle. The army would rather have been fighting Villars
any day; but there we were, laying trenches, mounting our guns, and
every day closing in on that town. The Duke was very anxious after a
while to know what the condition of the town was within the bastions,
and every young cornet and ensign in the army wanted to risk his skin by
sneaking in and finding out. But while the Duke was turning this over in
his mind it happened that the enemy sent us a flag of truce in regard to
an armistice. The Duke did not want an armistice, but he wanted mightily
to know how things were looking inside, so he agreed to send a flag of
truce back. The French, though, are not to be easily outwitted, and they
made it a condition that the officers sent with the flag be blindfolded.
Three officers went in; but they had their sashes tied around their
eyes, and the only thing they saw when they had been led blindfolded for
a half-mile through the town and into the citadel was a very handsome
room in which the commandant received them. They talked awhile, but did
not come to any terms; and then the commandant very politely invited
them to take some refreshment, and a regular feast was set out for
them--just to make them think that provisions were plenty--and the
French officers who dined with them ate scarcely anything. But they
looked gaunt and hollow-eyed enough, and I warrant they fell to as soon
as the English officers left. So, after all, Lord Fairfax was the one to
get in."

"Was anybody with him?" asked George.

"Well, sir--the fact is, sir--I was with him."

George jumped up off the floor, and seizing Lance's hand, wrung it hard
in his enthusiasm. Lance smiled one of his grim smiles.

"Young gentlemen are apt to think more of a little thing like that than
it's worth," was the old soldier's commentary on this, as George again
seated himself on the floor, and with eloquent and shining eyes besought
Lance to tell him of his entrance into the besieged fortress.

"It was about a week after that, when one night, as I was toasting a
piece of cheese on a ramrod over the fire, up comes quite a nice-looking
young woman and begins to jabber to me in French. She had on a red
petticoat and a blue bodice, like the peasant women in those parts wear,
and a shawl around her, and a cap on her head; but she did not look like
a peasant, but rather like a town milliner. She had a basket of eggs in
her hand, as the people sometimes brought us to sell, though, poor
things, they had very few eggs or chickens, or anything else. Now I
could speak the French lingo tolerably, for I had served so many years
where it was spoke, so we begun bargaining for the eggs, and she kept up
a terrible chattering. At last we agreed on two pistoles for the lot,
and I handed out the money, when suddenly she flew into a rage, threw
the money in my face, and, what was worse, began to pelt me with sticks
and stones, and even the eggs. That brought some of my comrades around,
and, to my surprise, she begun to talk in a queer sort of
French-English, saying I had cheated her, and a lot more stuff, and
stamping on the ground, demanded to be taken to an officer. Just then
two young officers happened to be passing, and they stopped to ask what
the row was about. The young woman then poured forth her story, and I
was in an ace of being put in the guard-house, when she whispered
something to one of them, and he started as if he had been shot. Then he
whispered it to the other one, and presently all three--the young woman
and the two officers--begun to laugh as if they would crack their sides.
This was not very pleasant for me, standing there like a post, with rage
in my heart; the more so, when one of the officers, laughing still, told
me it was all right, and I could go back to my cheese and ramrod, and
they went off in one direction in the darkness and the young woman in
another. They were hardly out of sight when back comes the young woman
again. As you may think, I never wanted to clap my eyes on her again;
but she slapped me on the shoulder and said, 'Lance, my man, don't you
know me?' and it was--it was--"

George was so eager at this point that he crawled on all fours up to
Lance and gazed breathlessly into his face.

"It was Lord Fairfax dressed up as a woman! And he says, when I had come
to myself a little, for I nearly dropped dead with surprise, 'If I can
fool my own men and my own brother officers, I ought to be able to fool
the Frenchmen into letting me into the town.' And sure enough, Mr.
Washington, that was exactly what he did."

Lance paused to get the full dramatic effect of this. It was not wasted
on his young listener, for George gave a gasp of astonishment that spoke
volumes, and his first words, when speech returned to him, were,

"Go on--go on quick!"

"Well, sir, Lord Fairfax told me that he had a scheme to get in the town
as a woman, and I was to go with him as his servant, because I could
speak the lingo; and on the frontier there they have so many accents
that they couldn't tell if you were a Dutchman or an Englishman or a
Russian or a Prussian; and, besides, my lord said, my French had a
High-Dutch twang that couldn't be excelled. He was a week thinking it
over and practising in his tent. Of course he didn't tell but one or two
persons what he was after; he meant it to be as secret as possible. So
when he would send for me to his tent at night every crack and cranny
would be stopped, and there would be just one or two young officers
putting the Earl through his paces, as it were. He was a slim, handsome
young man then, and when he got a woman's wig on, and a little rouge,
and was dressed in the latest fashion, with a great hoop--for he meant
to represent a lady, not a peasant woman--anybody would have taken him
for a pretty young lady. The hoop and the sack and all the fallals a
lady would wear were of real service to him, as he could wear his
uniform under them, and so, if he should be found out and arrested, he
would be entitled to be treated as a prisoner of war. If he had been
caught in the French lines without his uniform, he would have been
strung up in short order as a spy, according to the articles of war. I
kept my uniform on too, but that was a simple matter, as I was only
disguised by another suit of man's clothing put on over it.

"My lord had something else under his hoop besides his uniform--a good
rapier, with a Toledo blade; and his lace neck-handkerchief was fastened
with a jewelled dagger that was more than a toy. He was to be Madame
Geoffroy in search of her husband, who was supposed to be in the
garrison, and I was to be a great, stupid, faithful Alsacian servant,
and my name was to be Jacques; and my name is Peter, sir. I had no arms,
only a great stick; but there was a knob in that stick, and when I
pulled out that knob I had a sword.

"We used to practise of a night in the tent. My lord had merriment in
him then, and officers always like a lark; and it would have made you
laugh, Mr. Washington, to have seen my lord, all dressed up as a woman,
pretending to cry, and holding his handkerchief to his face while he
rehearsed the story he was making up to the two young officers. It was a
yarn all about the supposed Madame Geoffroy's travels in search of her
husband, and her delight when she heard he was one of the officers of
the Bouchain garrison; and of course she would be told by somebody that
there was no such officer in the garrison, and then she was to give a
screech and fall over, and I was to catch her and beg her to control
herself. Oh, it was as good as play-acting! Often, when I have thought
of that adventure, and have remembered how my lord looked then and how
he looks now--so serious and grave, and as if he never played a prank in
his life--I could hardly persuade myself it was the same man. Well, Mr.
Washington, after we had got it all straight, one dark August night we
ran the sentries--that is, we slipped past them in the dark. They
thought we were deserters, although why anybody should desert from our
camp, where we had both victuals and drink in plenty, to go to Bouchain,
where they had neither, nobody could make out. However, we heard the
shots cracking behind us as we managed to pick our way through the
morass, and truly, sir, I think we were in more danger of our lives
while crossing that morass in the dark between the English and French
lines than at any other time. It was terrible work, but we managed to
get to a solid piece of ground, covered with underbrush, where our
outfit was concealed. Luckily we had to conceal our clothes, for we were
covered with black mud, and we had a time scraping it off our hands and
faces. At last, though, after half an hour's hard work there in the
swamp, we were dressed. We then had to steal about a mile off, through
the undergrowth, to the right of the French lines. This would have been
easy enough for us except for my lord's toggery, but the little rents
and stains we got upon us gave the more color to the story we had to
tell of a long day's travel and many mishaps on the way.

"After a while, sir, we got out on the open highway, and then we took
breath and made for the French sentries. I tied a white handkerchief on
to my long stick, and we marched along until we got to the first
outpost; and when the sentry levelled his piece and asked us 'Who goes
there?' my lord advanced and said, in a woman's voice, 'A distressed
lady.' The night was dark, but the sentry could see it was a lady, and
then my lord said, 'I am Madame Geoffroy, the wife of a French officer,
and I desire you to bring the officer of the guard to me at once.' That
sounded straight enough, so the soldier took a little whistle from his
belt and whistled, and pretty quickly a smart young lieutenant stepped
up.

"The supposed Madame Geoffroy had then sunk upon the ground, pretending
to be almost fainting with fatigue. And after this, Mr. Washington, I
will make bold to call my lord Madame Geoffroy during the whole of this
adventure; for nobody thought he was anything but a woman, and sometimes
I had to rub my eyes and ask if I wasn't really named Jacques, and
Madame Geoffroy and her big hoop and her lost husband weren't real.

"The Frenchmen are monstrous polite, as you know, sir, and when the
lieutenant saw a lady sighing and moaning on the ground he took off his
hat and bowed low, and asked what he could do for her.

"'Let me see the commandant of the garrison for only one moment!' cried
Madame Geoffroy, clasping her hands. 'My husband--my poor, brave
husband! Oh, sir, have some pity on a distracted woman, who has
travelled nearly seven hundred leagues in search of her husband.'

"'Was your husband an officer in Marshal Villars's army, madame,' asked
the lieutenant, bowing again.

"'He was--and is, I hope,' said madame. 'He was one of the King's
Musketeers, but was taken prisoner at Oudenarde, and on being exchanged
he joined Montbrasin's regiment because it was on the frontier; and
since that day, a year ago, I have been unable to find any trace of him.
I have strong hopes he is living, for I have no proof that he is dead;
and knowing that Colonel Montbrasin is the commandant of the garrison of
Bouchain, I have made my way here, with incredible difficulty, even
through the English lines.' Now this was really a very clever speech,
for the King's Musketeers was a crack regiment, being the Grand
Monarque's own body-guard, and no man was admitted into it unless he was
of the best blood of France. So the lieutenant thought Madame Geoffroy
was a great lady.

"'Madame,' said he, 'it is not in my power to promise you an interview
with the commandant, but I will conduct you with pleasure to my superior
officer, who commands the main entrance to the town.'

"At that madame jumped up so sprightly and started to walk so fast that
I was afraid the lieutenant would suspect her. But that is just like the
French, Mr. Washington. One minute they are in the dolly dumps, so that
you would think they could not live, and the next they are capering
about and laughing and singing as if they never had the dolly dumps in
their lives. Off we set for the main gate. We walked along the
intrenchments, and I kept my eyes open, and in spite of the
half-darkness I saw a good many things that they would rather we hadn't
seen. Their works were in a bad way, and our siege-guns had done their
duty.

"Arrived at the gate-house, the young lieutenant asked for the officer
in command--Captain Saussier. So Captain Saussier came out, and madame
went through all her story again. The captain ogled her, and it was all
I could do to keep my countenance when I saw that the captain and the
lieutenant were trying to cut one another out. They made no bones at all
of taking her to see the commandant, particularly as she said she did
not wish to stay, except until daylight the next morning; for in a
besieged town they don't want any non-combatants to eat up the
provender. But although they were willing enough for her to go in, they
refused to let me. She made no objection to this, which surprised me;
but in a moment she fell into one of those fits we had rehearsed for the
commandant's benefit, when he should tell her, as we knew he would, that
he had never seen or heard of her husband. I came forward then with
smelling-salts, and presently she revived. That scared the officers a
little, for the bravest officer in the world would rather be out of the
way when a woman begins to cry and kick and scream. As soon as they led
her towards the gate she had another fit, and as good a fit as I ever
saw in my life, sir. Then I came running, of course, with the
smelling-salts. The captain evidently did not want her on his hands
entirely as long as she was in that condition, so he said
perhaps--ahem!--it might be better to take her servant along.

"'Oh, my good faithful Jacques!' cried she. 'It would be a great comfort
if I could have him with me in this trying time!' So they passed me in
the gates along with her.

"She never stopped chattering for a moment while she was walking through
the streets with the captain, telling a long rigmarole about her
travels; but she used her eyes as well as I used mine. The town was
horribly knocked to pieces--houses falling down, the streets encumbered
with rubbish, and several breaches made in the walls. They had managed
to repair the breaches after a fashion, for the French understand
fortifications better than we do; but there was no doubt, from what we
saw in that walk at nine o'clock at night, that the town and
fortifications had suffered terribly. And there were no women or
children to be seen, which showed that they had sent them all away; for
some will remain in a besieged town as long as there is anything to feed
them on.

"When we reached the citadel we noticed there were not near enough
cannon to defend it; so we knew that they had been forced to take the
guns to place on the ramparts. At last, after going through many long
passages and winding stairs, we were ushered into the commandant's
presence. He was a tall, soldierly-looking man, and he received madame
very politely. The captain told the story of her tremendous efforts to
get there and her trouble, madame all the time sighing and weeping. But
here came in a frightful thing, sir. There had been a Captain Geoffroy,
an officer in Marshal Villars's army, and I felt myself turning pale
when the commandant offered to let madame remain in the town twenty-four
hours, until he could find out something about this Geoffroy. But
madame's wit saved her.

"'Pray,' said she, clasping her hands, 'what was this M. Geoffroy like?"

"'Tall,' said the commandant, 'with a swarthy skin and black hair.'

"'Ah,' cried she, muffling her face in her handkerchief, 'it could not
have been my husband. He was short, and had light hair, and had lost a
part of his right ear in a duel; it disfigured him very much.'

"'Then, madame,' answered the commandant, 'I can give you no further
information, for that is the only Geoffroy in the army of whom I know
anything, and from your description he cannot be your husband. I will
make inquiries among my officers, but I can give you but little hope.'

"Madame sighed and groaned some more, and then said she would be ready
to depart in the morning at daylight, to begin her search over again.
The commandant offered her a room in the citadel, warning her that it
would be necessary for her to get out before daybreak, as the English
began their cannonading as soon as it was light enough to see the French
lines. Madame agreed tearfully to this, and the commandant offered her
some supper, smiling when he told her it was not exactly the kind of
fare he was used to offering ladies. But she declined--we had not the
heart to eat up anything from those poor devils. So she was shown to a
room, and I lay down at the door and pretended to sleep; but you may
depend upon it, sir, that neither one of us slept a wink. Towards
daylight the captain of the guard came to waken us, and told us it was
time to leave. The commandant was up to bid madame _adieu_, as they call
it in the French lingo; and after thanking him for his politeness,
madame was escorted to the gate, I following her, and thence as far as
the picket-line. And here, after the officer had left us, for the first
time we aroused suspicion. We were walking pretty fast, and something in
the supposed lady's gait made the sentry suspect us. There was another
soldier, not a sentry, with him, and this fellow called after us to
stop. We were near the entrance to the bog then, and we knew the way
across it, particularly as there was now daylight enough to see, so the
only notice we took of him was to walk a little faster. The soldier
followed us clear into the underbrush, when my lord--for so I will call
him now--deliberately dropped his hoop and petticoat, revealing a pair
of legs that evidently belonged to the British army, and a rapier, while
from the waist up he wore a woman's sack, and had a hood on his head.
The apparition dazed the soldier for a moment, when my lord made at him
with the rapier, and he turned and ran--giving the alarm, however. We
took to our heels and gained the causeway, when the French fired a
regular fusillade after us, although not a shot struck; and our own
people, seeing us running towards them, thought we were escaped
prisoners, and we got within our own lines without trouble. My lord had
some valuable information to give the Duke, and the adventure got out in
the army and made a hero of him. The French kept monstrous quiet about
it; you see, sir, we had taken the commandant himself in. My lord repaid
his politeness, though, by sending him a box of wine, which we knew he
needed for his sick; but the commandant was the most chagrined man in
the French army. They made a sortie soon after that, but it did them no
good, and within a week they surrendered. The Duke granted them all the
honors of war, and the garrison marched out with drums beating and
colors flying. They had made a gallant defence, and had not surrendered
until they were starving. That was the end of my serving with the great
Duke of Marlborough, for that was his last campaign. And soon after my
lord left the army. And I'll be leaving his service by the toe of his
boot if I don't go to him now, so good-night, sir, and excuse me if I
have kept you out of bed too long."

With this Lance disappeared.

In a few minutes George was in bed, and for the first time a sudden
shock of homesickness came to him. His mother would not come to him that
night and kiss his forehead, as she always did. It almost drove away the
story of the siege of Bouchain; but in a little while he had lapsed into
a sleep, in which dreams came of Bouchain, and the Earl dressed up as
Madame Geoffroy, and his mother sitting by the fire smiling, and Betty
playing on the harpsichord, and then deep oblivion and the soundest of
sleep.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]




HOW TO START IN LIFE.

FRUIT-GROWING--BY KIRK MUNROE.


In no other civilized country of the world is there so much fruit eaten
as in the United States, consequently in no other is fruit-growing such
an important and profitable industry. In proof of this, the great State
of California is virtually given up to fruit-growing, and receives a
greater annual revenue from its fruit trees and vines than from its
gold-mines.

[Illustration: PACKING ORANGES IN CALIFORNIA.]

Any reader of this article who wishes to become a fruit-grower, and who
can have the use of a few square feet of ground, or even a box filled
with earth, may begin at once by planting seeds, and so starting a
nursery. Of course the first thing to be considered is the locality in
which the orchard or grove is to stand. If the young grower lives in one
of the Northern States, he will plant apple, pear, or cherry seeds. If
in one of the Middle States or on the Pacific coast, he will add to
these peaches, prunes--which are only a fine variety of plum--and
grapes. In the Gulf States he will substitute fig-cuttings for apples;
and in Florida, southern California, southern Texas, or southern Arizona
he will plant all the orange and lemon seeds he can obtain. Even if his
grove never gets beyond the nursery stage he may still reap a return
from his venture, besides the pleasure that it has afforded him, for in
every locality there is a steady demand for young fruit trees, which
thus have a cash value from the moment they are sprouted.

There is one section of the United States, not yet mentioned, in which
can be grown fruits rarer and more profitable than any of those already
noted. I mean "semi-tropical Florida," or that portion of the peninsula
lying below latitude 28°, which is the latitude of Tampa. North of this
even the orange and pomello, which latter is known also as shaddock and
grape-fruit, are not safe from cold, as was shown by the freezes of
1886 and 1895, while lemons and limes, which are even more tender than
oranges, may not be planted with any hope that they will yield cash
returns.

South of the 28° line orange groves have thus far been safe from
freezing, and with it begins the pineapple belt of Florida, that is
destined to make the State even better known than have its orange
groves. Below this line, too, guavas may be, and now are, grown at a
profit.

Strange as it may seem to those only acquainted with northern Florida,
this southern portion of the State is a very rocky country, and at first
sight appears valueless for growing anything; but the rock is old coral
filled with plant food, and so porous that tree roots penetrate it in
every direction. From this section of the country, which includes the
remarkable two-hundred-mile-long chain of islands known as the Florida
Keys, the very first vegetables of the year reach Northern markets,
shipments of tomatoes and egg-plants being made as early as Christmas.
From here, too, comes the bulk of our pineapple supply; and here limes,
guavas, and alligator pears grow with such readiness and luxuriance that
they require but slight attention after once being planted.

Although this only semi-tropical portion of the United States is just
now being penetrated by a railroad, its lands are already becoming very
valuable for fruit-growing purposes, and command from ten to fifty
dollars per acre; while to clear them in readiness for setting out fruit
trees costs about forty dollars per acre more, so that the would-be
grower must be prepared to spend nearly one hundred dollars per acre on
his land before his orange, lemon, or lime grove, his alligator-pear,
mango, or guava orchard, or his pineapple field, or "pine patch," as it
is apt to be called, can be started. Then at least as much more money,
and in some cases several times as much, must be expended on nursery
stock, fertilizer, and labor before any returns can be expected. So, you
see, fruit-growing is a business that requires capital to start it, the
same as any other.

I should say that no one could hope to make fruit-growing profitable,
and place it on such a footing that it would yield him an income for the
rest of his life, without an investment of at least $5000. People have
succeeded in making bearing groves for much less money; but they
obtained their land for little or nothing, cleared it themselves, lived
for years poorly housed, fed, and clad, and worked like slaves.

Even he who has the means necessary to make a grove must have enough
more to support him until his trees come into bearing, or else be able
to earn a living while waiting for that time to arrive. As I have
already said, the fruit-grower may do this by raising vegetables between
his rows of trees. By so doing he will not only gain a speedy return
from his land, but his trees will be benefited by the constant working
and fertilization of the soil. Better than vegetables, however, because
more profitable, and directly in the line of fruit-growing, are
strawberries. As I write, in January, the first strawberries are coming
in, and are being readily sold at sixty cents per quart even here in
Florida.

[Illustration: A PRUNE-TREE FARM.]

After the would-be fruit-grower has secured land and provided himself
with the means for making his grove or orchard, there are a few
cast-iron rules that he must learn and follow in order to insure
success. The most important of these is that no fruit tree will attain a
thrifty growth without constant attention and an ample provision of both
food and water. Young nursery stock should be at least two years old
before being transplanted, and when set out they should never be placed
less than twenty feet apart. The little trees should be set in
well-mellowed soil, to the exact depth that they attained in the
nursery. They should be given plenty of water to start with, trimmed of
all their leaves, and the earth should be packed solidly about their
roots. After this be careful not to give them too much water; just
enough to keep the earth about them damp is sufficient.

A year or so after being set in its permanent place, and after it has
put on a healthy new growth, all nursery stock should be budded from
well-known varieties of its own kind. After this the young tree must be
well fed at least once in six months; it must be protected from high
winds, and its delicate surface roots must be guarded against extremes
of either heat or cold. Both trunks and branches must be kept clean and
free from sap-sucking insects by occasional washings or sprayings, and a
thick body growth must be pruned out so as to insure a free circulation
of light and air, as well as to encourage a stronger growth of terminal
branches, which, in all trees, are the fruit bearers.

The South, including all the Gulf States, contains vast areas of cheap
lands available for fruit culture, while semi-tropical Florida, lying
south of latitude 27°, offers a vast and as yet but little developed
field for three fruit crops, the cultivation of which is but just begun.
Most important of these, at present, is the pineapple, which can be
raised in no other part of the United States, and which is grown in
fields or "patches" of five, ten, or twenty acres. The fruit, or
"apple," occupies the centre of a plant two or three feet high, having
bayonetlike spiny leaves. It is not propagated from seed, but by slips
or miniature plants that spring from the base of the apple, and which in
turn will bear fruit eighteen months after being set out. These slips
are worth one cent or one and a half cents each, and ten or twelve
thousand of them, of which two-thirds will produce fruit, may be planted
to the acre. The harvest, or cutting season, begins in April and lasts
until June, so that pineapples are brought into Northern markets at a
time when they are most nearly destitute of other fruits. Although the
pineapple is so perishable that, for shipment by sea, it must be cut
some two weeks before it is ripe, and so has come to be regarded in the
North as a sour, hard, and indigestible fruit, it is when allowed to
ripen in its native field, after being mellowed by weeks of a tropical
sun to a golden yellow, one of the richest, sweetest, and most luscious
of all fruits.

Another valuable fruit of this remote region is the guava, whose tree,
about the size of a peach, has straggling branches clad in a light brown
bark of satiny smoothness. One hundred and fifty trees may be set to the
acre. They require but little care, and will produce fruit when five or
six years old. A thrifty tree should yield at least one bushel of fruit,
worth from one dollar to one dollar and a half, while two and three
bushels to the tree are not unusual. The guava is yellow,
smooth-skinned, and about the size of a nectarine or a very large plum.
Its interior is pink, and is filled with small seeds. While most of us
are familiar with the dark-colored guava paste that, packed in small
wooden boxes, comes from Cuba, comparatively few have tasted the
delicious, beautifully clear guava jelly or the darker and richer guava
marmalades of Florida. The demand for these is rapidly increasing. Each
year sees the establishment of new factories for making them, and many
thousands of acres may still be set to guavas without overstocking the
market.

Most interesting of all South Florida fruits, because little cultivated,
almost unknown outside of the tropics, and most highly appreciated when
once introduced, is the alligator or aracado pear--the _aguacate_ of
Cuba. A very few alligator-pear trees are grown in sheltered spots of
southern California; but South Florida, below latitude 26°, is the only
section of the United States where it can be cultivated on a large scale
and as a profitable crop. Here it grows as luxuriantly and with as
little care as the guava, though it requires a greater depth of soil.
The tree is tall, slender, and covered with a dense foliage of dark
glossy green, while the ripened fruit, also green in color, is
smooth-skinned and as large as a man's two fists. Inside is a great
round stone or seed surrounded by a soft yellowish-green pulp, which,
sprinkled with salt and eaten with a spoon, or made into a salad, is
delicious beyond description. No one ever eats an alligator pear without
wanting another, and the taste once acquired demands to be gratified
regardless of expense. I have known fifty and even seventy-five cents
apiece to be paid for these pears, and when I once asked a Broadway
dealer which was the most expensive fruit in his store, he promptly
answered, "Alligator pears."

I have said little concerning bananas, cocoanuts, or mangoes, all of
which are raised in South Florida, because they grow better in the West
Indies and Central America, where labor is much cheaper than in any part
of the United States, and from which they will safely bear
transportation by sea.

It is often asked by young would-be fruit-growers, "How much land ought
a grove to contain, and what will be the returns?"

A safe answer is that both of these things must be governed by
circumstances and conditions. As a rule, however, a thrifty five-acre
grove or orchard will yield a living, one of ten acres a competence, and
one containing one hundred acres wealth. This year Florida oranges are
worth, on the tree, from two to four cents each; alligator pears, from
five to ten cents apiece; limes, five cents; and lemons, ten cents per
dozen; while pineapples will average fifty cents per dozen in the field.
A twelve-year-old orange-tree properly cared for should yield one
thousand oranges; alligator pears and mangoes half that number; and
pineapples 600 dozen to the acre. In other words, fruit-growing ought to
average a net profit of from $150 to $300 per acre, while it is not
unusual for the profits to reach $500 per acre.

It must always be remembered, though, that such returns are only
realized after years of patient waiting, hard labor intelligently
applied, and under favorable conditions. Thus, while fruit-growing is a
pleasant and safe business for persons of all ages and both sexes, and
while the grove or orchard is better than a bank account as a pension
for old age, it must be studied and prepared for the same as any other
calling in life. For this reason I should strongly urge any young person
intending to embark in it to serve at least a two years' apprenticeship,
or while his nursery stock is growing, in some well-established grove of
the kind that he proposes to make. Here, in addition to familiarizing
himself with the routine work of the grove, he should study the
chemistry of soils and fertilizers, the habits of such insects as may
attack his trees, and the laws regulating the supply and demand of
markets. In other words, success in fruit-growing can only be attained
by following the self-same rules that lead to success in every line of
business under the sun, and by the practice of industry and
perseverance.




A VERY FISHY FARM.

ONE OF THE OLD SAILOR'S YARNS.

BY W. J. HENDERSON.


It was a sultry summer morning. The rays of the sun beat down with
merciless power through an atmosphere which was saturated with humidity.
The sea, flashing in long slanting lines of dazzling silver, melted away
in the distance into a cloud of thick yellowish haze. There was no
horizon-line, for this haze hung downward from the sky like a veil. It
seemed to grow thicker and more dingy in appearance from hour to hour,
and as it did so the atmosphere became more and more oppressive. The
sunlight, which had blazed in clear white glory early in the day, became
yellow and faint, but its heat did not diminish. On the contrary, it
seemed to grow greater every minute. The sky had been a deep luminous
blue early in the morning, but at eight o'clock great tufted white
clouds, looking like gigantic masses of white cotton sailing through the
air, began to rise out of the west. After a time they seemed to draw
parts of the low haze upward with them, and hence, now and then, a dark
shadow appeared among the expanses of white. The light breeze from the
west was soft and hot, as if it had passed over a great lake of warm
water.

In short, it was one of those mornings which precede an afternoon of
thunder-showers and squalls. The fishing-boats were close to the beach,
and the fishermen were watching the western sky closely, not wishing to
be taken unawares by some sudden development of troublesome weather.
Henry Hovey and his brother George voted that it was altogether too hot
and stuffy to stay in the house, and they felt sure that, with so many
indications of weather, their friend, the Old Sailor, would be down at
the pier gazing out upon the ocean. Accordingly they set out for the
pier, and there, as they had expected, they saw the experienced mariner
sitting in his accustomed place. About two miles off shore there was a
handsome iron bark drifting slowly along, clothed with snowy canvas to
the very summits of her tall masts. Her long powerful hull was painted a
light salmon tint, and was decorated with a broad lead-colored stripe
marked with false port-holes. The gilded figure of a rampant unicorn
could be distinguished under her bowsprit, while here and there along
her deck the glitter of brass-work told that she was a highly finished
craft. The Old Sailor was gazing at her intently, and, as the boys
paused beside him, without turning his head or seeming to know that they
were there, he suddenly said,

"An' wot kind o' wessel might that be?"

"That," answered Henry, "is an iron or steel bark."

"Werry good, too," commented the Old Sailor. "An' wot canvas are she
a-carryin' of?"

"Everything that will draw with a light wind abeam," said George, "even
to a main-skysail."

"Werry good, too," declared the Old Sailor. "An' w'ich way are she
a-headin'?"

"A little to the eastward of south, I should say," replied Henry.

"Not so werry good. She are a-headin' putty straight fur the Saragossa
Sea, but, ef her skipper aren't crazy, she won't go there; 'cos w'y, it
are not no place fur no sensible pusson to go, w'ich the same I know,
havin' bin there in a bark edzackly like that one; but I ain't goin' no
more, leastways not ef I know I'm goin', w'ich the same the other time I
didn't."

"Oh," exclaimed George, quite carried away by this unwonted flow of
eloquence, "please tell us all about that?"

"But wait a moment," interposed Henry. "Where is the Saragossa Sea? I
don't remember that in my geography."

"The Saragossa Sea, my son," said the Old Sailor, gravely, "are not one
o' them seas wot's surrounded by land. Contrariwise, it are surrounded
by water."

"A sea surrounded by water!"

"Them are it. This 'ere sea are jess a part o' the Atlantic Ocean to the
east'ard o' the West Injies. It are a place w'ere the current goes
around in a sort o' ring, an' the sea-weed an' decayin' wegetables an'
other sich truck out o' the Gulf gits out there, an' there it stays. It
ain't s'posed to be a werry good sort o' place fur sailin', an' Cap'ns
allers steers clear o' 't, onless, o' course, they gits blowed into 't
by a storm, an' then steerin' don't clear nothin'. Nobody don't know
werry much about that there place, 'ceptin' Cap'n Peleg Mahoney, Willum
Smitzer, fust mate, the crew o' the iron bark _Ham Bone_, an' this 'ere
werry identical Old Sailor wot are a-talkin' to ye."

The mariner paused for a moment to collect his memories, gazed keenly at
the western sky, muttered something about clewing up a "bloomin'
sky-scraper," and then started thus:

"The iron bark _Ham Bone_ were a most wonderful trotter off the wind;
but any other way she made so much leeway that she were mos' ginerally
occipied in climbin' up hill from the place w'ere she ortn't to be to
the place w'ere she ort, an' mos' ginerally not gittin' there. I shipped
on to her in Liverpool as second mate, Willum Smitzer, him bein' a
bloomin' Dutchman an' also fust mate. We wuz bound fur Jamaiky with a
cargo o' plum-puddin', bottled soda, an' misfit clothes."

"Misfit clothes?"

"Yep. Ye see, the Jamaiky people is so werry Henglish that they prefers
misfit clothes to any others, so them kind is allus sent there by the
mother country, an' so the colony are kep' in a contented state o' mind.
Waal, fur two weeks the _Ham Bone_ didn't git along much faster'n that
there yaller bark out yonder. The wind blowed mos'ly up an' down the
mast, an' we wuz a-wallerin' along with all our light canvas set, an'
not makin' more'n fifty to sixty mile a day. Howsumever, that were
better'n wot were a-cookin' fur us. One mornin' it were jess like it are
now, an' Cap'n Peleg Mahoney, w'ich the same he were a Frenchman, sez he
to me, sez he, 'Eet vill be some sqvalls soon, yes, eh?' An' I sez to
he, sez I, 'Oui, mownseer; you're dead right.' So he orders us to clew
up an' furl the royals, an' ginerally to git ready for misbehavior o'
the elements. Waal, sure 'nuff, 'bout six bells in the forenoon watch it
got blacker'n a coal-bunker in the nor'west, an' afore seven bells down
it came a-squealin' like ten thousand guinea-pigs struck by lightnin'.
We wuz under nothin' but torps'ls, but we heeled over till the water
were waist-deep along the lee rail. Then we righted, an' commenced fur
to go ahead at a tearin' speed, an' off to leeward like a horseshoe
crab. Waal, it jess blowed one squall arter another till four o'clock in
the arternoon, an' then it fell flat calm, with a great big greasy swell
a-runnin' out o' the no'theast, an' the byrometer indulgin' in
disgraceful low conduck. Sez Cap'n Peleg Mahoney to Willum Smitzer, sez
he, 'Eet vill be a bad gale, yes, eh?' An' Willum Smitzer, sez he to he,
sez he, me a-hearin' of him, 'Ja woll,' w'ich are good Dutch fur
'Betcher life.' An' both on 'em was a-tellin' the truth.

"At six o'clock there were a white streak along the horizon in the
no'theast, an' then the wind come, fust in little snorts, then in big
puffs, an' last in a straight, howlin' gale. Cap'n Peleg Mahoney he hove
the _Ham Bone_ to on the starb'rd tack, an' then the bloomin' old hooker
commenced slidin' off to leeward like a tissue-paper kite, only there
weren't no string to keep her from goin' furder an' furder. Cap'n Peleg
Mahoney he were on deck most o' the night, an' he talked a great deal o'
French, w'ich the same I are not goin' to repeat. An' Willum Smitzer,
the fust mate, he talked Dutch, an' there were a reg'lar Franco-Prussian
war o' words. Howsumever, it didn't kill the wind, fur that bloomin'
gale blowed right on end fur putty nigh a week. An' at the end o' that
time there were sich a sea runnin' as I don't perpose fur to tell ye
about; cos w'y, I ain't goin' to say nothin' wot might dammidge my
repitation as a puffickly truthful pusson. All I kin say are that w'en
the _Ham Bone_ riz to one o' them seas we could hear the bottles o' soda
fallin' over one another down in the hold, an' we had to lay flat down
on the deck to keep from tumblin' off over the starn. That ain't no
respectable weather fur to be out-doors in, but w'en the nearest port
are more'n a capful o' degrees away, w'y, there ye are, an' there ye got
to be, leastways till ye get blowed to s'm'otherwheres, an' that are
wot.

"O' course the _Ham Bone_ were hove to, but, bless ye! she made seven
p'ints o' leeway, an' her drift were somethin' no human bein' could
carkerlate. Waal, to git som'ers near to the crest o' this 'ere yarn wot
I'm a-tellin' ye, at the end o' a week o' drivin' to leeward the lookout
forrad sings out,

"'Land ho!'

"'Land! Pah!' sez Cap'n Peleg Mahoney, sez he. 'There ees not some land
for one t'ousan' mile. Pouf!'

"'Aber ja!' yells the fust mate, Willum Smitzer, him bein' a bloomin'
Dutchman; 'das ist land, nicht war?'

"The Cap'n he jumps to the lee bow, me a-follerin'. Waal, my son, ye
'ain't never seed nothin' like 't. The sea were full o' wegetables."

"Full of vegetables?" exclaimed Henry.

"Them's it. Onions an' beets an' pertaters an' queer fruits an' plants
like cabbidges, only with leaves ten times as big, was a-floatin' on top
o' the water. W'y, bless ye! a sea bruk over the starboard bow, bringin'
one o' them there cabbidges with 't, an' it hit Willum Smitzer, an'
knocked him down mos' beautiful fur to see. But that weren't the wust o'
't. Furder down to leeward we could see the waves a-breakin' in big
hills o' spray on to some sort o' a beach that were dead flat. There
weren't no hills nor nothin' behind it, but it looked jess like a
perairie growed right out in the middle o' the sea.

"'Wot 'n 'arth are it?' sez I to the Cap'n, sez I.

"'Ze Saragossa Sea,' sez he to me, sez he.

"'An' ef we gets in, how does we get out?' sez I.

"'How I tell that?' sez he.

"An' that bein' so, there weren't no more to say. Waal, the _Ham Bone_
druv down to leeward, an' the wegetables kep' a-gettin' thicker an'
thicker, an' all kinds o' sea-weeds an' other sea-garden truck were
mixed up with 'em. Ef the storm hadn' bin so heavy we'd 'a' stuck fast
then. But seein' as how 'twere such a powerful gale, one smashin' big
sea, about sixty feet high, picks up the old _Ham Bone_, an' carries her
clean away over the edge o' the aforesaid beach, an' sets her down
ca-plump about half a mile inland, w'ere she bruk through the crust, an'
were wedged in jess like she mought 'a' bin in the ice up north. An'
then we all seed that this 'ere perairie were nothin' but a bloomin' jam
o' sea-weed, land plants, dead trees, wegetables, an' truck--all worked
in so tight that they made a ginuwine solid crust on top o' the sea.

"'Sacré bleau!' sez the Cap'n, w'ich are French for 'I'm giggered'; an'
Willum Smitzer he jess remarked, 'Warum und wohin?' w'ich are low Dutch
for 'W'ere are I at?' An' me, I didn't say nothin'; cos w'y, there
weren't no use. The nex' mornin' the gale were all over, an' there we
was. I went to the mast-head fur to have a look, an' away down three
miles furder into the bloomin' stuff than we was I seed another ship
with her upper masts gone, w'ich the same I reported to Cap'n Peleg
Mahoney. With that he sez he b'lieves we could walk on the bloomin'
crust, an' he sends a hand over the side to try. Walk! W'y, blow me fur
pickles ef ye couldn't 'a' built a house onto it. So the Cap'n he allows
as how it were our dooty fur to l'arn wot we could about that there
other ship. Accordin'ly him an' me an' Willum Smitzer started off
together. We got about half-way w'en we seed men comin' from the other
ship to meet us. That were mos' supprisin', cos she looked so fur in we
thort she must 'a' bin there fur years. W'en the men come up one on 'em
sings out,

"'Wot ship are that?'

"Cap'n Mahoney told him, an' then sez he, 'You're not bound fur nowhere
now.' But Cap'n Mahoney sez he to he, sez he, 'We wuz comin' to see
you.' An' sez I to he, sez I, 'How d'ye git hove so fur in?'

"'Oh, that are easy explained,' sez he to me, sez he; 'we got in four
year ago, an' the bloomin' stuff are growed furder out since then.'

"'You bin here four years?' sez I.

"'Them's it,' sez he. 'Come along over an' see our farm.'

"'Your farm!'

"'Yep. We're farmers now, an' we raises crops as 'd make an Ohio
farmer's eyes fall out o' his head. Come along.'

"Cap'n Peleg Mahoney he looks at me an' I looks at he, an' then we
starts ahead fur to see this 'ere farm on top o' a crust o' wegetables
with two thousan' fathom o' water underneath.

"'Wot started ye to farmin'?' sez I.

"'Want o' grub,' sez he. 'I are the Cap'n o' the farm; cos w'y, I used
to be Cap'n o' the ship. W'en the grub commenced fur to run low, sez I,
we'd better see how we kin raise some more. Werry good. An' so I plants
a few seeds, an' there you are.'

"'An' they come up all right on this 'ere floatin' perairie?'

"'Come up! Wait till you see our farm.'

"So we walked on an' on, an' putty soon we see some stuff like grass
a-growin', only it were about six feet high, an' each blade as thick as
a six-inch hawser.

"'Wot are that?' sez I.

"'That are wheat,' sez the Cap'n o' the farm.

"'Fender Saint Grease!' sez Cap'n Peleg Mahoney, jess like that, the
same bein' French fur 'I sart'nly are supprised.'

"'How'd ye like to pluck some o' 't an' see the grain?' axes the other
Cap'n.

"'Goot!' sez Willum Smitzer, sez he.

"So the other Cap'n he pulls off a stalk an' han's it to Cap'n Peleg
Mahoney, w'ich the same he husks out a grain, an' we all stood a-starin'
at it as ef we see a ghost."

"Why?" demanded George.

"W'y, cos it weren't nothin' more or less nor a hard clam."

"A hard clam in wheat!" exclaimed both boys.

"That are wot," replied the Old Sailor, solemnly. "Every grain o' that
'ere wheat were a hard clam. The other Cap'n sez he to Cap'n Peleg
Mahoney, sez he, 'That are the way wheat comes up out here. We grinds
them grains up into flour an' makes reg'lar ginuwine sea-biscuit out o'
them. They tastes o' the sea fur sure. Come over this way an' I'll show
you our rye.' He tuk us along to a field o' rye, an w'en we opened one
o' them stalks wot d'ye s'pose were in 'em?"

"Oysters?" inquired George.

"Not so werry good," answered the Old Sailor; "sardines--bloomin' little
oily sardines. It were the ryest rye I ever see. Then the other Cap'n he
tuk us over to his orchard. He sez, sez he, 'I set out here some young
peach-tree slips wot I had aboard, an' the trees growed right up sixty
feet high in two days. The third day they was in blossom, an' in two
weeks they commenced fur to bear, an' they bin bearin' ever since. Have
a peach?' An' with that he reached up an' picked--wot d'ye s'pose?"

"What?" asked the boys, eagerly.

[Illustration: THE TOMATTER VINES RIZ YOUNG LOBSTERS.]

"A bluefish--a big fat six-pound bluefish. 'Name of grace!' sez Cap'n
Peleg Mahoney, sez he; an' Willum Smitzer he sez, sez he, 'Donner und
blitzen,' w'ich the same it are Dutch fur, 'Squalls to leeward.' Waal,
them sailor-farmers they tuk us all over the farm an' showed us the mos'
picooliar crops wot any one ever seed in this 'ere world, an' ye can see
a good many queer things 'ere ef ye jess keep your weather eye
a-liftin'. They had strawberry bushes wot gave boiled red snapper, an'
potato beds w'ere they dug up mussels. The tomatter vines riz young
lobsters, an' the cucumbers was eels. The cherry-trees gave shrimps, an'
scollops growed onto gooseberry bushes. Then the other Cap'n axed us fur
to go an' eat dinner with 'em aboard their ship farm-house. O' course we
accepted. But afore we got half-way through the dinner we was all sick;
cos w'y, everythin' tasted so all-fired fishy. Then the farmer Cap'n he
got mad, an' sez he to we, sez he,

"'Ef ye don't like our grub ye can go back to yer own ship.'

"'Three beans,' sez Cap'n Peleg Mahoney, that bein' French fur 'Werry
good.'

"'An' don't ye ever come here again,' sez the other Cap'n.

"'Nicht an sein leben,' sez Willum Smitzer, that bein' Dutch fur 'Not ef
we knows ourselves.' An' with that we went over the side an' started fur
home. An' them fellers throwed overripe strawberries an' termatters at
us till we looked like cod-fishermen. We went back to our ship an' told
our men about it, an' they sez that nex' day they was a-goin' over an'
break up that farm. But 'twarn't so to be. In the night it came on to
blow from the opposite quarter, an' the anchor watch called all han's,
sayin', the ice--the land--the wotever ye call 't are a-breakin' up.' We
all turned out an' found the ship in the water an' drivin' clear o' the
stuff. We got sail on her an' hove her to, but she jess blowed away to
leeward. In the mornin' we could make out the Saragossa Sea away up to
windward, an' could see the tops o' them bluefish-trees a-wavin' in the
gale; but we couldn't never git back there. An', my sons," added the Old
Sailor, very solemnly, "I don't b'lieve that no other ships 'ceptin' the
_Ham Bone_ an' that farm-house ship are ever bin there."




[Illustration: INTERSCHOLASTIC SPORT]


Our discussion of National I.S.A.A.A.A. affairs last week was closed
over the question of suitable grounds. As I said at the time, there are
so many factors which enter into this that we should be careful about
coming to a hasty conclusion, and whatever is said here on the subject
should be understood as coming without prejudice. The grounds of the
Columbia Oval do not seem to be so good, either from the point of view
of the athlete or from that of the spectator, as those of the Berkeley
Oval or Manhattan Field. I think that if the National games had been
held at either of the latter places the crowd would have been three or
four times as large. New-Yorkers are familiar with, and know how to
reach, both Manhattan Field and the Berkeley Oval; but there are very
few occasions that call them to the Columbia Oval. Many persons who are
more or less interested in athletics might have gone to the Columbia
Oval if they had known just where it was and just how to get there; but
they did not go because so few athletic events are conducted at Williams
Bridge that this class of spectators did not take the trouble to find
out where the Columbia Oval is.

It is important to have as large a crowd as possible at a National
Interscholastic meeting, and every effort should be made, therefore, to
secure such a crowd. If we believe that a larger crowd would go to
Manhattan Field or to the Berkeley Oval than to the Columbia Oval, we
ought to have the National games at one of these two places, unless the
expense of hiring the grounds puts them out of the question. It has
become a sort of tradition in and around New York that the Berkeley Oval
is the place to hold school and college sports. School and college
sports have been held on the Oval almost exclusively for the past ten
years, until this last spring, when the Intercollegiates went to
Manhattan Field. The latter place, however, would not be the best one
for interscholastic matches of any kind, for many reasons. No crowd that
an interscholastic event could draw would ever fill those stands, and
the expense of hiring Manhattan Field would doubtless be much greater
than any interscholastic association could afford.

[Illustration: Ingalls. Bradin. Luce (Capt.). Strong. Wolfe. Morris.
Blakeslee.

Sturtevant. Condon. Brown.

CONNECTICUT TEAM AT THE N.I.S.A.A. GAMES, 1896.]

The Berkeley Oval, however, can be secured for less money for school
games, because Dr. White is usually willing to meet school-boys
half-way. Furthermore, the Berkeley Oval, although within the limits of
New York city, is more or less in the country, and the atmosphere of the
place savors less of professional baseball and horse-fairs. There is
more of a lawn-party air about the Berkeley Oval than could be obtained
under any conditions beneath the elevated railroad station at 155th
Street, and there are lots of green trees and plenty of grass, and many
other advantages which one associates with field days and similar
events.

It may justly be said that for rural advantages the Columbia Oval can
hardly be placed second to the Berkeley Oval; but there is a line to be
drawn somewhere, even in rural advantages, and I think it is well to
draw that line at climbing over stone walls in Williams Bridge. But this
question of choice of grounds is so much entangled with the other
question--that of having the games conducted by a club--that it is
difficult, when discussing one, not to take the other into account. The
school-boys ought not to criticise the convenience of the Columbia Oval
when they consider that they were there by the courtesy of the
Knickerbocker Athletic Club (which, by-the-way, is the name by which the
New Manhattan Athletic Club is henceforth to be known).

It may be well to state, therefore, that whatever has been said in this
Department about grounds for next year's National meeting has been said
without any intention of reflecting in any way whatever upon the
Knickerbocker Athletic Club's position at this year's meeting, and
without any consideration whatever for what either Dr. White or Mr.
Freedman may think of the advisability of leasing their grounds next
season to the N.I.S.A.A. The question of advertising or of personal
interest does not come into this discussion at all.

As to whether it is a good plan for the National games to be again
conducted by a club, or by any organization other than the National
Association itself, is a question that cannot be decided without the
most careful thought and serious discussion. It was undoubtedly well to
have the first meeting of the N.I.S.A.A.A.A. managed by a club, for if
this had not been done, it is very probable that there would have been
no field day at all, or, at best, an unsuccessful one.

There was considerable opposition among the school-boys of New York
against having the Knickerbocker Athletic Club take charge of the event,
and I know that there is considerable dissatisfaction now over the way
the meet was conducted. The complaints, however, all come from those who
took no part whatever in the contests, and who had no further interest
in the games beyond being spectators; and their complaints, therefore,
deserve but little attention. The question is not so much to find where
the club fell short in its efforts, as to point out where matters may be
mended on future occasions. If the Knickerbocker A.C. did not carry out
the school-boys' ideas in the way the school-boys think this should have
been done, or if they believe that they themselves can do better, they
should attempt the entire management of the games next year.

It would be very much better, of course, not to have the games managed
by a club, if the officers of the National Association could spare the
time to look after the preliminary details of the meet. But there are so
many other things that must take up the attention of school-boys in the
spring months that it is difficult for them to spare the time necessary
for the successful management of so great an undertaking as a National
meet. We all of us recognize the fact that studies should come first.
But after the studies there is always plenty of time, and there always
should be plenty of time, for young men to indulge in other enterprises.
It is good that they should have divers interests. It is excellent that
they should go into the management of athletic organizations, and that
they should indulge in sports of all kinds, for in both these pastimes
they are gaining valuable experience,--experience which some people rank
equal in importance with book knowledge.

It is usually the case, however, that the young men who are officers of
the National Association are also officers of their own local athletic
associations. This gives them double work. They have plenty of time to
manage their own meets and field days, without being overburdened and
without taking time from necessary work. But when they add to these
responsibilities the management of a National Association, they are
taking on considerable extra responsibility, and unless the particular
young men have strong business capability, they are undertaking more
than they can accomplish. It might be well, for this reason, that the
officers of the National Association be chosen from men who hold no
offices in their own associations. From a practical standpoint, however,
this might not be a good plan, because the best workers and the men with
the greatest executive ability are chosen as officials of the local
associations, and it is most important that these men with the greatest
executive ability should also be at the head of the National
Association.

But there is another plan by which the National games might be managed
without the assistance of a club, and if this plan could be successfully
carried out, it would undoubtedly be better than any that I have as yet
heard mentioned. It is the old idea of graduate assistance. In every
city there are a number of college and school graduates who take a
lively interest in the sports of the schools and the colleges, and who
are always willing to give more or less of their time to the management
of athletics. Up to the present time, in school athletics, this interest
and assistance has largely been shown by the graduates acting as
officials, because the management of the games has not been complicated
enough to require their aid in the preliminary work. But in National
matters it is different.

If the schools of New York, and the schools of Boston and Hartford and
Philadelphia could get one or two graduates who would be willing to
assist the Executive Committee of the National Association in the
organization of the annual spring games, it is more than probable that
the event could be made a greater athletic and social success than in
any other manner. The graduates would have more experience in business
affairs than the school-boys, and business men would probably be more
willing to enter into contracts with the graduates than with the school
committee--and I am sure, from my own experience when I was at school,
that every scholar would much prefer to have the contracts undertaken by
others who would be willing to assume all responsibilities.

By dividing the preliminary executive work between the Executive
Committee from the schools and the graduate committee, no one would be
overworked, and everything necessary to the success of the day would be
done. This would be an ideal plan. The only trouble is to get the
graduates. This is an obstacle that can be easily overcome if the search
is begun at once. Mr. Evert Wendell, of this city, is a very good man to
go to first. He has had wide experience in interscholastic matters, and
there is no one who has better judgment than he in these affairs; and we
all know that no graduate has given more time and more valuable
assistance to school athletes than he has. He would undoubtedly be able
to suggest the names of other gentlemen in other cities who would be
willing to undertake to aid the Executive Committee of the National
Association.

If it should be found that this plan could not be carried out, then it
will be time to discuss the questions of club management and purely
school-boy management, but until the other scheme has been found
impossible, I think it would be well to keep it in mind. There is one
more subject that this Department wishes to touch upon in connection
with the National games, and that is the officials. But so much space
has already been taken up this week with N.I.S.A.A.A.A. matters that the
discussion of this question of officials will have to be postponed until
next time.

The athletes of the Berkeley School may justly feel proud of the record
they have made this year. They have taken every championship in the New
York I.S.A.A.--football, track athletics, tennis, and baseball. In
baseball the Berkeley nine was not defeated in any of the championship
games; and in addition to this, the team secured a number of important
victories over strong teams not in the League.

The result of the championship series is as follows:

  First Section.        Games Won. Games Lost.
  De La Salle                3          0
  Barnard                    2          1
  Cutler                     1          2
  Condon                     0          3

  Second Section.

  Berkeley                   3          0
  Columbia Grammar           2          1
  Trinity                    1          2
  Hamilton                   0          3

The championship game between Berkeley School and De La Salle was won by
the former.

[Illustration: Williams. Groom. Baugh. Willing. Graves.

Thackara. Fuller. Morris (Capt.). Seymour. Henry.

DE LANCEY SCHOOL, PHILADELPHIA, BASEBALL TEAM.]

The Berkeley nine was very strong in batting, its record being 107 base
hits out of 214 times at bat, or a base hit every other time. The best
individual batting average of the League, however, is held by Markell of
Trinity--1000. His nearest rival is Hetzel of Barnard, whose average is
778, and the nearest Berkeley man to the top of the list is Wiley, who
earned an average of 667. A number of players on the several teams
secured an average of 1000 in fielding, but the best showing made by any
individual was that of Gilchrist of De La Salle, who had 33 put-outs, 2
assists, and no errors. Berkeley's field-work was also very high, the
average for the season being 924.

The Long Island championship went to St. Paul's again this year,
although Brooklyn High-School and Adelphi both put up a strong
fight--much stronger than they did last year. Brooklyn High finished
second, and Poly. Prep., by making a strong brace, jumped into third
place, the result being as follows:

                          Games Won. Games Lost.
  St. Paul's                   5          0
  Brooklyn High-School         4          1
  Poly. Prep.                  2          2
  Pratt Institute              2          2
  Adelphi Academy              1          4
  Brooklyn Latin School        0          5

The batting averages of the Long-Islanders are not so high as those made
on this side of the river, the best being Griswold's of Pratt
Institute--600. Higgins, also of Pratt, was a close second, his figures
being 579. A Brooklyn High-School player, Mulvey, stands first on the
list of fielding averages with 1000, his chances having been 54 put-outs
and 1 assist, with, of course, no errors. Starr of St. Paul's comes very
near to Mulvey, with 47 put-outs and 2 assists. The batting average of
500, made by Berkeley in the N.Y.I.S.B.B.A., is approached only as close
as 301 by Pratt Institute, whose team made the best batting average in
Brooklyn. Pratt made 50 base hits out of 166 times at bat; the winning
team of St. Paul's made only 41 hits with 141 times at bat. St. Paul's,
however, took first place in fielding average with 925, making only 12
errors out of 159 chances.

Englewood High-School took the championship of the Cook County
(Illinois) High-School League at the annual field day held June 26. Out
of a possible 141 points the winners scored 44, and the scores of the
other contesting teams were as follows:

                    1sts.--5. 2ds.--3.  3ds.--1.   Total.
  Englewood             5         6         1        44
  English High          2         3         5        24
  Hyde Park             2         3         0        19
  Lake View             1         2         0        11
  South Division        2         0         1        11
  Manual Training       2         0         2        12
  Winnetka              1         0         1         6
  Austin                1         0         0         5
  Oak Park              0         1         1         4
  La Grange             0         1         1         4
  West Division         0         0         1         1
  John Marshall         0         0         0         0
  Jefferson             0         0         0         0

The feature of the occasion was the colossal mismanagement of
everything. In the first place, the gentlemen who had been selected to
act as officials were not notified of the day and hour of the games, and
were consequently not on hand when the contestants and the crowd
gathered at the grounds. It was some time before it was discovered that
this was the reason why the officials did not appear. Then a
professional sprinter, who happened to be training on the track, was
called upon to act as starter, and a miscellaneous lot of men and boys
were chosen from among the spectators to fill the remaining positions.

The result was, of course, to be anticipated. Few of the ready-made
officials knew anything about the duties required of them, and so the
professional became referee, judge, inspector, time-keeper, measurer,
and marshal. The events dragged and dragged, and it was dark before the
last one was finished. Under such conditions the performance credited to
the young athletes cannot be looked upon with much confidence, although
the published figures show a fairly good standard of attainment.

Several of the Association records were lowered. Bascom of South
Division and Pingree of Hyde Park made the best individual showing of
the day, each taking two firsts. Bascom won both the mile and the
half-mile runs, and Pingree took the mile and five-mile bicycle events.
Culver of Winnetka was responsible for all that went to his school. He
won first place in the pole vault and third in the running broad jump.

Another interscholastic meet of considerable interest was that of the
Washington High-Schools, which came off on the Georgetown College
grounds a few weeks ago. The schools which sent teams were the Central,
Eastern, Western, and Business High-Schools. Central won with 73 points
out of a possible 88, having everything practically its own way. The
Central representatives took first place in every event, and more than
half the seconds. The best showing was made by Curtis, who took the low
hurdles and the high jump; Stuart, who took the half and the mile; and
Ruff, who got first in the 220 and the quarter. These Central
High-School athletes of Washington are a promising lot.

In the table of performances made at the Pittsburgh Interscholastic
A.A., published in HARPER'S ROUND TABLE No. 869, Bell, S.S.A., is
credited with winning the half-mile run. This is an error; that event
was taken by Atkinson of Park Institute. Atkinson was the only man
entered from his school, and certainly ought to get the credit due him
for his win.

"TRACK ATHLETICS IN DETAIL."--ILLUSTRATED.--8VO, CLOTH, ORNAMENTAL,
$1.25.

  THE GRADUATE.




A BOY'S BRAVE ACT.


In one of the largest cities of the United States there is a trolley-car
line that crosses the tracks of a steam railroad. The usual rail gates
guard the crossing when trains are passing, but accidents have happened
there in spite of such precautions. Not long ago what would have been a
fearful catastrophe was narrowly averted by the presence of mind of a
little newsboy who sold papers at the station near the crossing. A
witness of the scene related the story to me. As in all cases of such
nature the facts are suppressed by the railroad companies, and it is
hard to obtain even the meagre details.

It was early in the morning, and a car with about twenty passengers on
board rolled up to the crossing, and proceeded to pass over the tracks
slowly, as they invariably do. The conducting-pole that extends from the
roof of the car to the charged wire overhead slipped from the wire when
the car was immediately over the tracks, causing it to come to a stop.
The conductor, who has charge of the rope that moves the pole, and hangs
down back of the car, vainly pulled it, trying to make the pole connect
with the wire. But the rope had caught in the roof of the car and jammed
itself in such a way that he was unable to see the cause of the trouble.
The passengers were growing nervous, and when the alarm-bell at the
crossing began ringing, announcing the approach of a train, they made a
wild stampede for the doors. They all tried to get out at once, but only
jammed themselves into a worse predicament.

A short distance down the track, and coming around the curve at full
speed, was a fast express, and it seemed but a question of a few moments
when the crash would come, and instantaneous death follow. The conductor
stuck bravely to his post, and the motorman, pale but firm, stood with
his hand on the key waiting for the electric current to start the car.
When the express was but a few yards distant, and amid the wild hoarse
screams of the frantic, struggling passengers, the car gave a sudden
bound forward over the crossing, and cleared the train by a foot or so.

The newsboy saw the danger of the car, saw the caught rope, and saw the
remedy. Close to the crossing was a pile of lumber, and climbing that he
leaped onto the roof of the car and released the rope guiding the pole
onto the wire. He took his life in his hands, for his brave act was all
enacted in the face of a fast approaching express, and the sudden start
nearly threw him from the roof. In the general excitement that followed
the little fellow slipped away, and for some time the impression
remained that the rope had loosened itself just in time. But the
railroad company knew of the boy's brave act, and he did not lose by his
courage.




ADVERTISEMENTS.




[Illustration: Royal Baking Powder]




[Illustration: Thompson's Eye Water]




[Illustration: BICYCLING]

     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 many 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.


Again it is necessary to give up the Department to answering questions.
There are many inquiries which can be and are answered by letter, and as
they are special requests on certain particular points not of any great
general interest, we do not mention them here. Some points are brought,
however, which are of such general interest that when it is possible we
mean to answer them in the ROUND TABLE. Many requests have come during
the last week or two asking how to keep a bicycle bright, what to put on
it, how to take it apart, and so on. In HARPER'S ROUND TABLE dated March
24, 1896, No. 856, there is a carefully prepared article, entitled "The
Care of a Wheel," answering most of these questions, and a copy of this
issue can be obtained from the publishers by sending five cents in
stamps. One or two correspondents mention one, two, and three week trips
which they are planning, and they ask what they should carry in the way
of luggage and hammock. Another article, published in the same issue of
the ROUND TABLE, entitled "Bicycle-touring During Summer Vacations,"
will be found to cover most of these points. Of course there are many
points which a wheelman most surely can learn for himself by experience.
At the same time the general suggestions made in these two articles will
be found useful to anyone who has either touring or the best care of his
bicycle in mind.

YOUR CONSTANT READER asks about the expense of touring. He is about
starting with his brother on a tandem to run from New York to Washington
and return, spending about two weeks on the trip. He asks if the Road
Book of the L.A.W. gives the best route. It certainly does. One may
find, however, a somewhat more detailed description, with map, in the
ROUND TABLE, Nos. 812, 820, 821, 844, 845, 846, 847, 848, 849, which can
be procured at the regular price from the publishers. Our correspondent
then asks about the price of such a trip. This is always a difficult
question to answer, since the amount of money spent depends more on the
man than on the trip. A trip from New York to Washington and return,
occupying two weeks, or any other similar trip occupying that extent of
time, may be done for $30 apiece, that is to say, about $2 per day for
each man. There is no question about it. Such trips have been made at
such rates. Of course that means a care in expenditures that is totally
beyond the capacity of some people. It would mean that meals should be
procured at farm-houses along the way, and that wherever possible nights
should be spent either in farm-houses or under the sky in the fields.
The last plan is often not the least interesting part of such a trip,
and if the bicyclists--if "Your Constant Reader," for example, who is
going on a tandem, and can thus carry a good deal of baggage--can
procure a bicycle camping outfit, such as is used in some of the
military bicycle companies, there will be few more comfortable beds
along the route. When it rains, the farm-house or inn can be resorted
to, but as a rule the out-door nights will be quite as pleasant. In
making such a fort-night's journey, however, the average young man will
do well to make an appropriation of about four or even five dollars a
day, and then he will not have much left when he gets home. Fifty
dollars would be a reasonably small amount. And that takes no account of
a bad fall and consequent fracture to the wheel.

L. E. BARNET asks how to join the L.A.W., what are its advantages, and
what its purposes. We have announced from time to time at the head of
this column that we would give information so far as possible concerning
the L.A.W., and this has been done in a great many cases. Mr. Barnet's
questions give an opportunity for us to say a word regarding the
purposes of the League. This organization is composed of men interested
in bicycling in all its many branches, in the construction of good
roads, and in the protection of the rights of all others who are riding
wheels. If you join the League you become a member of the division which
is composed of all the members residing in your State. This division
issues road-books of one kind or another, some containing maps, others
only description. By becoming a member and paying two dollars you
receive a copy of this book free and a ticket or member's card which
gives you somewhat reduced rates at hotels of standing all through your
State, and all through the United States for that matter to-day. In the
many League meets you may take part in racing and so on, and most
important of all, you become an influence for improving the roads of the
United States in a way that would be totally beyond your power as an
individual.




THE HUNTER.

BY EMMA J. GRAY.


This very lively game is played by both boys and girls, and the more, of
course, the merrier. The hunter must be a boy, and to decide which boy
it is best to count out. Use for counting the old rhyme,

  "Ana, mana, mona, mike,
  Bassa, lona, bona, strike,
  Hare, ware, frown, stack,
  Halloka, balloka, wee, woe, why, whack."

Whoever is fortunate enough to have the word "whack" counted to him is
out, and then the rhyme must be repeated over and over, and finally the
hunter is left. It now becomes his duty to name the rest of the company
as his equipments as sportsman, and also as his game--for example,
pointer, setter, two species of hunting-dogs, and shot, belt, powder,
gun, powder-flask, rifle, cartridge, rabbit, squirrel, partridge,
kingfisher, etc., etc.

Put two rows of chairs back to back. There should be one chair less than
there are players. This done, each one of the company except the hunter
takes a chair. The hunter, standing before the rest of the players, then
sings, to the tune "I love a sixpence,"

  "I am a hunter, a jolly, jolly hunter;
  I love hunting as I love my life."

This he may sing over as many times as he likes, but finally stops short
in the middle or anywhere, and immediately calls out a name--for
instance, "Shot." The person bearing this name must at once rise, and
hurrying towards the hunter, must take hold of the back of his coat or
jacket. Then the hunter continues his song, and calls for each one,
until all are behind him, each holding firmly to the one in front. When
all are in place, the hunter starts running, all of the party following
and holding tightly together. He may run around the chairs or wherever
he pleases, provided he keeps in the room. For fully two minutes this
must keep up, when suddenly he will call "Bang!" and instantly sit on
one of the chairs. Of course there is a great scramble for every one to
do likewise, but as one chair is short, some one is necessarily left
out, and this person now becomes the hunter.

The game now continues as before, or it may be varied by the hunter
having to find something hidden.

Any object may be placed out of sight in the room, and when the hunter
nears it, the company may aid him by the usual words, "warm, warmer,
hot," or "cool, very cold, freezing, zero, below zero," etc. If he finds
it within five minutes, he may choose another hunter, but if not he must
pay a forfeit, to be determined by the rest of the players.

Or the game may be played in a similar way by the use of nautical
instead of hunting terms. Should this be preferred, the hunter becomes
the captain, and instead of singing to his company he may blow a few
blasts on a horn. He is supposed to be on shipboard, so he must have
ship equipment, crew, officers, passengers, cargo. Again the players
must be named, only this time call them life-boat, rope, anchor, sailor,
steward, captain's boy, purser, first mate, doctor, etc., etc.




[Illustration: THE CAMERA CLUB]

     Any questions in regard to photograph matters will be willingly
     answered by the Editor of this column, and we should be glad to
     hear from any of our club who can make helpful suggestions.


THE KALLITYPE PRINTING PROCESS.

The kallitype printing process was invented and patented by Dr. Nichol
of England, professor of chemistry in Mason College. The name
"kallitype" is often confounded with "calotype," the name which Talbot
gave to his paper negative process, patented in 1841. Both names are
derived from the same Greek words meaning "beautiful picture." Kallitype
paper is coated with two iron salts--ferric oxalate and ferric
nitrate--and with silver oxalate and silver nitrate. The action of light
on the ferric oxalate is to reduce it to ferrous oxalate. This paper is
not a printing-out paper, but must be developed. A developing solution
is prepared as follows:

  Rochelle-salt            1 oz.
  Borax                  3/4 oz.
  Water (filtered)        10 oz.

Make up a solution of 20 grains of bichromate of potash and 1 oz. of
water, and another solution of four drachms of ammonia to 1 quart of
water. When ready to develop the prints, add ten drops of the bichromate
of potash to the developer. Place the prints in the developer face down,
taking care that no air-bubbles form on the surface of the paper. When
the paper is thoroughly saturated it can be turned face up. Leave the
prints in the developing bath for at least twenty minutes, then, without
washing, place them in the dish containing some of the ammonia and
water. This is the fixing bath. Leave them in this bath for about ten
minutes, then turn out and cover with fresh ammonia and water. Let them
remain ten minutes in this second fixing bath, wash and dry.

The prints made on this paper closely resemble platinotype prints, but
the process is much cheaper. If purplish tones are desired, make up a
developing bath with a quarter-ounce of borax instead of three-quarters.
The developer containing the three-quarter ounce of borax gives black
tones. The bichromate of potash added to the developing solution keeps
the prints clean and increases contrast.

     SIR KNIGHT BERT A. PORTER, Strong, Me., asks if directions have
     ever been given for copying pictures and mailing interior views; if
     a brass plate can be prepared so that a picture may be printed on
     it; and the best kind of paper to use to obtain clear lights.
     Directions for making interior views will be found in Nos. 805,
     806. If one has not a copying-stand, the best substitute will be a
     board the width of the camera bed, and about five feet in length.
     At one end fasten a piece of board large enough to allow the
     picture being tacked to it, having it at exactly right angles with
     the long board. The camera is then attached to the board at the
     best point for making the picture. This simple method of arranging
     the picture and camera does away with the trouble of adjusting the
     camera and picture so that the lines will be parallel. Use
     orthochromatic plates if the picture is colored, but any good plate
     will do if the picture is black and white. Use a slow plate.
     Pictures may be made on wood, leather, porcelain, and textile
     fabrics, but pictures on metal are not successful by the ordinary
     process. Any good aristo-paper will give clear whites if properly
     toned and washed. Sir Knight Bert would like to correspond with any
     one who wishes to purchase a 5 by 8 camera.




[Illustration]

A SOLDIER OF NAPOLEON.


Most of us nowadays, when thinking of the Napoleonic wars, consider them
as a part of the remote past, and it is difficult to realize that there
may be people still living who took part in the battles of Marengo,
Jena, and Waterloo. But all of Napoleon's soldiers are not yet dead, and
one man who fought under the great French general is said to be living
now near Cleveland, Ohio. Whether that is true or not, it is a fact that
only recently one of Napoleon's old warriors died at the Soldiers' Home,
Kearny, New Jersey.

His name was Henry Mueller, and a picture of the old gentleman is given
herewith. He was born in Germany in 1794, and when the French armies
invaded Prussia Mueller was fifteen years old. With many of his
compatriots, he was drafted into the Grand Army, and marched off to
Russia to fight the Cossacks and the cold. He was at Moscow, and tramped
all the way back in the disastrous retreat, suffering untold tortures,
and seeing his fellow-soldiers falling in the snow almost at every step.
But Mueller kept up, and lived to get back into Germany, and to fight at
the battles of Bautzen, Leipsic, and finally in the great battle of
Waterloo.

After Napoleon had been captured by the British and sent to the lonely
island of St. Helena, and the great armies of Europe had been disbanded,
Mueller took ship and came to the United States. Not long after his
arrival in this country the Seminole and Mexican wars broke out, and the
old spirit of the soldier was reawakened in Mueller, and he went again
to the front, this time wearing the American uniform and fighting for
the American flag. So much warfare had now made a confirmed soldier of
the German, and so when the war of the rebellion broke out in 1861 he
again took up his musket and fought through the entire war.

One of the most wonderful things of all these experiences is that
Mueller was never seriously wounded, and managed to keep himself in such
good health that he lived to be over one hundred years old, and spent
his last days in peace and comfort in the Soldiers' Home, smoking his
long German pipe on the lawn under the trees, and telling of his own
personal experiences, which, to most of us, are part of a very remote
history.

       *       *       *       *       *

A POUND OF FACTS

is worth oceans of theories. More infants are successfully raised on the
Gail Borden Eagle Brand Condensed Milk than upon any other food. _Infant
Health_ is a valuable pamphlet for mothers. Send your address to N. Y.
Condensed Milk Co., N. Y.--[_Adv._]




ADVERTISEMENTS.




Postage Stamps, &c.




$117.50 WORTH OF STAMPS FREE

to agents selling stamps from my 50% approval sheets. Send at once for
circular and price-list giving full information.

C. W. Grevning, Morristown, N. J.




[Illustration: STAMPS]

100 all dif. Venezuela, Bolivia, etc., only 10c., 200 all dif. Hayti,
Hawaii, etc., only 50c. Ag'ts w't'd at 50% com. List FREE! C. A.
STEGMANN, 5941 Cote Brilliante Ave., St. Louis, Mo




STAMPS

=10= stamps and large list =FREE=!

L. DOVER & CO., 1469 Hodiamont, St. Louis, Mo.




[Illustration: Thompson's Eye Water]




[Illustration: COLUMBIA BICYCLES]




HARPER'S

PERIODICALS

Hold their place in the front rank of the publications to which they
belong.--_Boston Journal_, Feb. 19, 1896.

  MAGAZINE, $4.00 A YEAR
  WEEKLY, $4.00 A YEAR
  BAZAR, $4.00 A YEAR
  ROUND TABLE, $2.00 A YEAR




A Good Story about Mr. Blaine.


It often happens that men in public life find themselves in possession
of sources of power--or it may be of weakness--of which they did not
dream, and which, in not a few cases, they themselves maintain they do
not possess. Sometimes they are at a loss to know why the public insists
upon attributing the peculiarities to them.

During the political campaign of 1884 some gentlemen, serving on a
reception committee, met Mr. Blaine on a railway train journeying toward
the city at which a great meeting was to be held. Mr. Blaine was the
Republican candidate for President, and, of course, the centre of
interest. Always one of the most charming of conversationalists, he sat
in the centre of a group of admirers who, as the train sped on, asked
him questions of the campaign and of himself.

"May I ask you," interposed one young man, "if you know why people
insist upon cheering so wildly whenever you come in sight? Or, not to be
too blunt, do you know the secret of your magnetic power? This power you
possess more than almost any other man in our history, unless it might
have been Henry Clay."

"Now, frankly," said Mr. Blaine, "I do not. All I know about it is that
ever since, as a young man, I began speaking in public, people insisted
upon 'cheering wildly,' as you say, 'almost insanely,' I say. They did
it, too, before I had said or done anything, so it could not have been
my record in public life. I cannot explain it, though I have often been
asked to do so."

"Then you found it one of your assets as a public man, just as some
other men in public life have found a reputation for coldness a deficit,
so to speak," observed the chairman of the reception committee, an older
and a more experienced man than the first questioner.

"Exactly," responded Mr. Blaine. Then, thinking of his pending
candidacy, a cloud of trouble flitted over his face, long of a peculiar
whiteness, and he added, "I am trying to realize on that asset now."

Great as the "asset" was, he failed to realize his greatest hope upon
it.

       *       *       *       *       *

A Hammock Convenience.

     These summer nights I camp out often. The other night we told
     riddles, and I told this one. It was not guessed. The answer is
     "Hatteras."

  My first is an article of dress,
  One, two, is the man who will make it.
  My last is as-- But if I tell more
  You'll have no chance to mistake it.
  My whole is a point that can't be disputed;
  That its position's a sound one was never refuted.

  J. G. BATTERSON.
  ASBURY PARK, N. J.

       *       *       *       *       *

A Wonderful Look Ahead.

     My uncle is an electrical engineer, and he told me to-day something
     of the future, so wonderful that I send it to the Table. May I call
     it a prophecy?

     "The young person of to-day," said my relative, "who reaches the
     age of forty-three years--just my present age--will see, in that
     year of grace which will be 1925, a very different state of things
     from what I see at the same age. We talk of our own wonderful
     progress, but you, my young man, are destined to see changes in the
     next twenty-eight years that bring you from fifteen to forty-three
     beside which past changes are modest indeed.

     "To begin with, you will see people flying through the air--that
     is, there will be mechanical flying-machines, under perfect
     control, that will carry passengers and packages through from place
     to place by the 'air route.' There is no doubt of this. Flying is
     solved.

     "In the second place, you will see light not the expensive thing it
     now is, but as cheap as water, and turned on in every house at
     will, as water now is in towns and cities. It will be vacuum light.

     "In the third place, you will witness the passing away of the
     steam-boiler, the furnace, and the coal-dealer. In your city of
     1925 there will be no trolley poles, and, more startling still, no
     horses--or at least very few horses. The horse is doomed. Neither
     will there be screeching locomotives on the railways. Compressed
     air and electricity will take the place of steam and horses. People
     will not order coal delivered at their houses, nor will any ash man
     come around to make his morning litter. Your city of 1925, and your
     country, too, will be rather more desirable places to live in than
     they are to-day. I envy you your youth. I shall be, if alive, past
     eighty, and too old to enjoy such novelties."

     What does the Table think of this wonderful look ahead?

  ASHBEL P. JOHNSON.
  BUFFALO. N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

Kinks.

NO. 7.--POETICAL PICTURES.--BIRDS.

Fill the blanks with the names of birds answering to the description,
and find out the author's name. Answers will be published soon.

  "O *****, that dost wing
    Thy flight from the far away!
  Thou hast brought us the signs of the spring,
    Thou hast made our sad hearts gay." (1)

  "From post to thicket
  Hops the ******* blithe, sedate;
  Who, with meekly folded wing,
  Comes to sun himself and sing." (2)

  "The ***** and the ******** piping loud,
    Filled all the blossoming orchards with their glee. (3-4)
  The ******** chirped, as if they still were proud
    Their race in Holy Writ should mentioned be, (5)
  And hungry ***** assembled in a crowd,
    Clamored their piteous prayers incessantly." (6)

  "The noisy ******** twitter 'neath the eaves." (7)

  "The ********* beats his throbbing drum: (8)
  The ********** pecks and flits: (9)
  The ****** flashes by." (10)

  "The *** red-breast
  Peeps o'er her nest
  In the midst of the crab-blossoms blushing." (11)

  "From morn to morn a merry ******
  Sings hymns to sunrise." (12)

  "Yonder gaudy ******* harshly cries,
  As red and gold flash all the eastern skies." (13)

       *       *       *       *       *

Answers to Kinks.

No. 6.

1. Drum. 2. Assassin. 3. Bat. 4. Sole, soul.




[Illustration: THE PUDDING STICK]

     This Department is conducted in the interest of Girls and Young
     Women, and the Editor will be pleased to answer any question on the
     subject so far as possible. Correspondents should address Editor.


"How shall I perform an introduction?" inquires a girl who likes to do
things gracefully, and who is entirely right in her notion that for most
things there is a right way and also a wrong one.

Introducing people is neither difficult nor occult, and it requires no
special training. There are a few very simple rules to be observed. You
present a gentleman to a lady, and a younger to an older person. You are
careful to speak clearly and distinctly, for nothing is more
embarrassing than to have a stranger's name mumbled so that it remains
unknown, thus defeating the end of the introduction. You do not say,
"Mamma, let me present my classmate," leaving your mother to guess at
the part of your speech which was really the most important; you say,
"My classmate, Miss Leonard." And, equally, when you are introducing
Miss Leonard to your friend you do not say, "Alice, may I introduce my
cousin Sophie," in which case neither young woman would have the least
idea of more than the other's Christian name. If a person is a
personage--a professor, or doctor, or clergyman, or in any way noted or
famous--the tactful young girl makes the title a part of her
introduction, so that the people presented to him are aware that they
are honored by the new acquaintance.

When you ask your friends to a little informal tea, at which a visiting
friend in town, or an author, or artist, or distinguished stranger is
the guest of distinction, you simply write on your own ordinary
visiting-card: "Tuesday [or whatever day you select], July --, from four
to seven. To meet Madame Thus-and-so." No formally engraved invitation
is required for what is a purely spontaneous affair in which informality
is part of the attraction. The day and hour arrived, one stands near the
door of the drawing-room with her guest, and with any other lady who is
receiving with her. As they enter, friends who call are presented to the
guest; the guest is not presented to them; and here the rule about age
is waived, for the company are gathered for the express purpose of doing
the guest honor and giving her pleasure. Only light refreshments are
needed in summer--iced tea, coffee frappé, small cakes, and very thin
biscuits, with possibly an ice, are admissible at such a gathering.

To the girls of fourteen who anxiously inquire concerning the length of
their frocks I can only say that custom just now indicates common-sense
in this matter. Have your frocks to the tops of your boots, and enjoy
the freedom of walking, and playing games, bicycling, etc., which this
length gives. A girl of fourteen needs very simple frocks. She is not
out in society, and nothing in the way of costliness or great elegance
is expected of her, nor would it be appropriate.

The prettiest fashion in hair-dressing for very young girls is either to
wear the hair in lovely loose curls or else in long braids. One thick
braid is apt to be less comfortable than two braids, and as a girl can
seldom do her hair nicely herself, she should get her mother or sister
to help her, unless there is a maid who has time to give the hair the
careful brushing it needs. I do not advise shingled hair for girls of
any age. Sometimes, if the hair is very thin and dry, a little vaseline
may be rubbed into the scalp at night, but usually regular brushing will
be sufficient to keep it in nice order. Do not have a frowzy and untidy
appearance in any part of your dress. A little pains is well worth the
taking, for your friends' sake as well as your own.

[Illustration: Signature]




[Illustration: STAMPS]

     This Department is conducted in the interest of stamp and coin
     collectors, and the Editor will be pleased to answer any question
     on these subjects so far as possible. Correspondents should address
     Editor Stamp Department.


Interest in U.S. Revenues is growing rapidly. The great rarities, 6c.,
50c., $1, and $5 Proprietary, the $200 and $500, second issue, now
readily bring two or three times catalogue prices. Many millions of
these revenue stamps are on legal documents, agreements, contracts,
leases, insurance policies, conveyances, mortgages, wills, etc., which
are now out of date and of no legal value. All the U.S. Revenues were
used throughout the United States for about twenty years, consequently a
valuable lot may turn up any day in any part of the Union. During the
past week several new minor varieties have been found, notably an
unsevered pair of 10c. Power of Attorney, a stamp hitherto believed to
exist in this condition, but no pair had ever been seen.

The philatelists of New York contemplate a club-house, and the committee
is now asking for one hundred subscriptions of $25 each. They hope to
have the club-house ready this autumn.

A few years ago most collectors in Europe preferred cancelled stamps,
and several Americans exchanged many of their cancelled for unused
copies. Now the demand all over the world for unused specimens has
resulted in advancing the price of scarce stamps in this condition to a
prohibitive degree. Most of the stamps in the following list of English
could have been bought five or six years ago for one tenth the present
price or less:

  [3]2d. 1840                                    $40
  1d. huge crown water-mark, perforated, 16       40
  2d. huge crown water-mark, perforated,         125
  1d. red, plate 132                              10
  1/2d. red, plate 9                              10
  [3]1s. octagonal, 1847                          40
  [3]10d. octagonal, 1847                         25
  [3]6d. octagonal, 1847                          30
  2-1/2d. plate 3, orb water-mark                 20
  3d. plate 4, spray water-mark                   25
  4d. plate 10                                    15
  6d. plate 6, four flowers water-mark            20
  10d. red-brown                                   5
  2s. blue                                        40
  5s. plates 1 or 2, Maltese cross water-mark     15
  5s. plate 4, anchor water-mark                  75
  10s. Maltese cross water-mark                  125
  10s. anchor water-mark                         175
  £1 brown, anchor water-mark                    150
  £1 brown, Maltese cross water-mark             300

[3] Practically unobtainable.

     H. L. WATSON.--Stamps surcharged "specimen" are exactly what they
     purport to be, genuine stamps whose postal value has been destroyed
     by the government's action in printing the word "specimen" on face.
     As a rule such stamps are worth about the same as the same stamp
     cancelled, but in the case of U.S. stamps they are frequently worth
     as much as unused stamps.

     STURGIS BODINE.--The wrapper is common, and is worth 5c.

     J. C. L.--In hinging unused stamps with original gum be careful to
     cover up as little of the stamp as possible. Many advanced
     collectors will not "collect gum." They carefully scrape off all
     the gum.

     DIANA VANDELEUR.--I regret to say I know nothing about the value of
     old newspapers. They are very interesting independent of any money
     value, and therefore worth keeping.

     J. WALL.--No U.S. stamps were ever so surcharged. The 3c. and 10c.,
     1851, which you have, surcharged "3" and "10" respectively, are
     simply stamps cancelled by a hand-stamp, "Paid 5" or "Paid 10," in
     such a way that the figure came on the stamp. Previous to 1851
     letters could be sent either prepaid or not. Paid letters were so
     marked. The others were delivered to the addressee on payment of
     the postage.

  PHILATUS.




[Illustration: Ivory Soap]

Why not wash with pure, white Ivory Soap and have pure, white linen?
"Whatever is worth doing at all is worth doing well!"

THE PROCTER & GAMBLE CO. CIN'TI.




JOSEPH GILLOTT'S

STEEL PENS

Nos. 303, 404, 170, 604 E.F., 601 E.F.

And other styles to suit all hands.

THE MOST PERFECT OF PENS.




_Drink HIRES Rootbeer when you're hot; when you're thirsty; when callers
come. At any and all times drink HIRES Rootbeer._

Made only by The Charles E. Hires Co., Philadelphia.

A 25c. package makes 5 gallons. Sold everywhere.




[Illustration]

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.




[Illustration]

EARN A GOLD WATCH!

We wish to introduce our =Teas and Baking Powder=. Sell 50 lbs. to earn
a =Waltham Gold Watch and Chain=; 25 lbs. for a =Silver Watch and
Chain=; 10 lbs. for a =Gold Ring=; 50 lbs. for a =Decorated Dinner Set=;
75 lbs. for a =Bicycle=. Write for a Catalog and Order Blank to Dept. I

W. G. BAKER,

Springfield Mass.




[Illustration: Thompson's Eye Water]




TRACK ATHLETICS IN DETAIL

Compiled by the Editor of "Interscholastic Sport" in HARPER'S ROUND
TABLE. Illustrated from Instantaneous Photographs. 8vo, Cloth,
Ornamental, $1.25. In "HARPER'S ROUND TABLE LIBRARY."

     The best short book we have seen dealing with this phase of
     athletics.--_Independent_, N. Y.

     The young athlete who cannot secure instruction at the hands of a
     professional trainer will find this book invaluable.--_Boston
     Herald_.

     A good book to put into the hands of the athletically inclined. It
     is capitally illustrated with instantaneous photographs, and is
     full of expert and sound advice and instruction.--_Outlook_, N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

BY HOWARD PYLE

  =THE WONDER CLOCK.= Large 8vo, Cloth, $3.00.
  =PEPPER AND SALT.= 4to, Cloth, $2.00.
  =THE ROSE OF PARADISE.= Post 8vo, Cloth, $1.25.
  =TWILIGHT LAND.= 8vo, Half Leather, Ornamental, $2.50.
  =MEN OF IRON.= 8vo, Cloth, $2.00.
  =A MODERN ALADDIN.= Post 8vo, Cloth, $1.25.

       *       *       *       *       *

HARPER & BROTHERS, Publishers, New York.




[Illustration: THE INTERSCHOLASTIC FIELD DAY IN AUSTRALIA.]

       *       *       *       *       *

LONG-DISTANCE SHOTS.

Whenever the possibility of war with a foreign power is discussed, the
subject of the range of heavy ordnance comes up, and the question is
asked as to how close a fleet need come to our coasts in order to
bombard our cities. It is therefore of interest to know just what the
facts of the case are, and to set down in a few words the greatest
achievements recorded for modern artillery. The longest distance a shot
has ever been fired was from the 130-ton Krupp steel gun "Monster." This
projectile weighed 1890 pounds, and traversed a distance of 15 miles and
a few feet. The charge was 960 pounds of powder. Few cannon of the size
of the "Monster," however, have been manufactured. It was found by
experiment that such big guns are too expensive luxuries, as they can
only be fired from 75 to 100 times, and then become useless. The
Armstrongs, English gun-makers, build a 90-ton cannon that can fire a
solid projectile about 12 miles. A city or fort into which one of these
cannon-balls might be dropped would not even hear the sound of the
discharge of the cannon that sent it. No guns that would be used in
modern warfare can carry much farther than this, and even to achieve
this range the pieces have to be elevated to an angle of 45 degrees.
There are very few ships, too, even in the British navy, that could
stand the shock of serving as carriages for such heavy ordnance, for the
recoil after a few shots would almost shake the rivets out of a vessel's
plates.

       *       *       *       *       *

Many people in society invite artists and musicians to their houses
simply because they hope to have them entertain their other guests. A
story is told of Signor Paganini, the violinist, who was asked to dine
at the house of a person of this nature. When he entered the
drawing-room the hostess looked somewhat disappointed, and exclaimed,
after a short pause,

"Oh, Signor Paganini, you have not brought your violin with you!"

The virtuoso smiled, and shrugged his shoulders, and replied, "Ah,
madame, I really regret very, very much, madame; but my violin never
dines out."

       *       *       *       *       *

TOMMIE'S AMBITION.

"I tell you, my mamma's the best person alive," said Tommie. "And when I
get to be a great big man--"

"Well, what will you do?" asked Uncle George.

"I'm going to be a _great big man_ like mamma!" said Tommie.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE SHEEP. "WHEW! BUT IT IS HOT!"

THE BOY. "I SHOULD THINK IT WOULD BE. YOU HAVEN'T TAKEN OFF YOUR
WOOLLENS YET."]





End of Project Gutenberg's Harper's Round Table, July 14, 1896, by Various



*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HARPER'S ROUND TABLE, JULY 14, 1896 ***


    

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