The Project Gutenberg EBook of Harper's Round Table, May 7, 1895, by Various

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Title: Harper's Round Table, May 7, 1895

Author: Various

Release Date: June 23, 2010 [EBook #32957]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HARPER'S ROUND TABLE, MAY 7, 1895 ***




Produced by Annie McGuire








[Illustration: HARPER'S

ROUND TABLE]

Copyright, 1895, by HARPER & BROTHERS. All Rights Reserved.

       *       *       *       *       *

PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, MAY 7, 1895. FIVE CENTS A COPY.

VOL. XVI.--NO. 810. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration]




HEROES OF AMERICA.

"MAD ANTHONY" WAYNE AT STONY POINT.

BY THE HONORABLE THEODORE ROOSEVELT.


[Illustration: Decorative O]

ne of the heroic figures of the Revolution was Anthony Wayne,
Major-General of the Continental line. With the exception of Washington,
and perhaps Greene, he was the best General the Americans developed in
the contest; and, without exception, he showed himself to be the hardest
fighter produced on either side. He belongs, as regards this latter
characteristic, with the men like Winfield Scott, Phil Kearny, Hancock,
and Forrest, who revelled in the danger and the actual shock of arms.
Indeed, his eager love of battle and splendid disregard of peril have
made many writers forget his really great qualities as a General.
Soldiers are always prompt to recognize the prime virtue of physical
courage, and Wayne's followers christened their daring commander "Mad
Anthony," in loving allusion to his reckless bravery. It is perfectly
true that Wayne had this courage, and that he was a born fighter;
otherwise he never would have been a great commander. A man who lacks
the fondness for fighting, the eager desire to punish his adversary, and
the willingness to suffer punishment in return may be a great organizer,
like McClellan, but can never become a great General or win great
victories. There are, however, plenty of men who, though they possess
these fine, manly traits, lack the head to command an army; but Wayne
had not only the heart and the hand but the head likewise. No man could
dare as greatly as he did without incurring the risk of an occasional
check; but he was an able and bold tactician, a vigilant and cautious
leader, well fitted to bear the terrible burden of responsibility which
rests upon a commander-in-chief.

Of course at times he had to learn some rather severe lessons. Quite
early in his career, just after the battle of the Brandywine, when he
was set to watch the enemy, he was surprised at night by the British
General Grey, who attacked him with the bayonet, killed a number of his
men, and forced him to fall back some distance from the field of
action. This mortifying experience had no effect whatever on Wayne's
courage or self-reliance, but it did give him a valuable lesson in
caution. He showed what he had learned by the skill with which, many
years later, in 1794, he conducted the famous campaign in which he
overthrew the Northwestern Indians at the fight of the Fallen Timbers.

Wayne's favorite weapon was the bayonet, and, like Scott, he taught his
troops until they were able in the shock of hand-to-hand conflict to
overthrow the renowned British infantry, who had always prided
themselves on their prowess with cold steel. At the battle of Germantown
it was Wayne's troops who, falling on with the bayonet, first drove the
Hessians and the British light infantry; and at Monmouth it was Wayne
and his Continentals who first checked the British advance by repulsing
the bayonet charge of the guards and grenadiers.

Washington, the great leader of men, was prompt to recognize in Wayne a
soldier to whom could be entrusted any especially difficult enterprise,
which called for the exercise alike of intelligence and of cool daring.
In the summer of 1780 he was very anxious to capture the British fort at
Stony Point, which commanded the Hudson. It was impracticable to attack
it by regular siege while the British frigates lay in the river, and the
defenses were so strong that open assault by daylight was equally out of
the question. Accordingly, Washington suggested to Wayne that he try a
night attack. Wayne eagerly caught at the idea. It was exactly the kind
of enterprise in which he delighted. The fort was on a rocky promontory,
surrounded on three sides by water, and on the fourth by a neck of land,
which was for the most part mere morass. It was across this neck of land
that an attacking column had to move. The garrison was six hundred
strong. To deliver the assault Wayne took nine hundred men.

The American army was camped about fourteen miles from Stony Point. One
July afternoon Wayne stalled, and led his troops in single file along
the narrow rocky roads, reaching the hills on the mainland near the fort
after nightfall. He divided his force into two columns, to advance one
along each side of the neck, detaching two companies of North Carolina
troops to move in between the two columns and make a false attack. The
columns themselves consisted of New-Englanders, Pennsylvanians, and
Virginians. Each attacking column was divided into three parts; a
forlorn hope of twenty men leading, which was followed by an
advance-guard of one hundred and twenty, and then by the main body. At
that time commanding officers still carried spontoons and other old-time
weapons; and Wayne, who himself led the right column, directed its
movements spear in hand.

It was towards midnight when the Americans began to press along the
causeways toward the fort. Before they were near the walls they were
discovered, and the British opened a heavy fire of great guns and
musketry, to which the Carolinians, who were advancing between the two
columns, responded in their turn, according to orders; but the men in
the columns were forbidden to fire. Wayne had warned them that their
work must be done with the bayonet, and their muskets were not even
loaded. Moreover, so strict was the discipline that no one was allowed
to leave the ranks, and when one of the men did so an officer promptly
ran him through the body.

No sooner had the British opened fire than the charging columns broke
into a run, and in a moment the forlorn hopes had plunged into the
abattis of fallen timber which the British had constructed just without
the walls. On the left the forlorn hope was very roughly handled, no
less than seventeen of the twenty men being either killed or wounded;
but as the columns came up both burst through the timber and swarmed up
the long sloping embankments of the fort. The British fought well,
cheering loudly as their volleys rang, but the Americans would not be
denied, and pushed silently on to end the contest with the bayonet. A
bullet struck Wayne in the head. He fell, but struggled to his feet and
pushed forward, two of his officers supporting him. A rumor went among
the men that he was dead, but it only impelled them to charge home more
fiercely than ever. With a rush the troops swept to the top of the
walls. A fierce but short fight followed in the intense darkness, which
was lit only by the flashes from the British muskets. The Americans did
not fire, trusting solely to the bayonet. The two columns had kept
almost equal pace, and they swept into the fort from opposite sides at
the same moment. The three men who first got over the walls were all
wounded, but one of them struck the British flag. The Americans had the
advantage which always comes from delivering an attack that is thrust
home. Their muskets were unloaded, and they could not hesitate; so,
running boldly into close quarters, they fought hand to hand with their
foes and speedily overthrew them. For a moment the bayonets flashed and
played: then the British lines broke as their assailants thronged
against them, and the struggle was over. The Americans had lost a
hundred in killed and wounded. Of the British sixty-three had been slain
and very many wounded, every one of the dead or disabled having suffered
from the bayonet; for Wayne's troops did not fire at all. A curious
coincidence was that the number of the dead happened to equal exactly
the number of Wayne's men who had been killed in the night attack by the
English General Grey.

There was great rejoicing among the Americans over the successful issue
of the attack. Wayne speedily recovered from his wound, and in the joy
of his victory it weighed but slightly. He had performed a most notable
feat. No night attack of the kind was ever delivered with greater
boldness, skill, and success. When the Revolutionary War broke out the
American armies were composed merely of armed yeomen, stalwart men of
good courage, and fairly proficient in the use of their weapons, but
entirely without the training which alone could enable them to withstand
the attack of the British regulars in the open, or to deliver an attack
themselves. Washington's victory at Trenton was the first encounter
which showed that the Americans were to be feared when they took the
offensive. With the exception of the battle of Trenton, and perhaps of
Greene's fight at Eutaw Springs, Wayne's feat was the most successful
illustration of daring and victorious attack by an American army that
occurred during the war; and, unlike Greene, who was only able to fight
a drawn battle, Wayne's triumph was complete. At Monmouth he had shown,
as he afterwards showed against Cornwallis, that his troops could meet
the renowned British regulars on even terms in the open. At Stony Point
he showed that he could lead them to a triumphant assault with the
bayonet against regulars who held a fortified place of strength. No
American commander has ever displayed greater energy and daring, a more
resolute courage, or readier resource, than the chief of the
hard-fighting Revolutionary Generals, Mad Anthony Wayne.




ONE BRAVE BOY OUT OF A THOUSAND.


Robert Bain recently prevented a serious accident in Public School No.
23, at Marion, near Jersey City. There were sounds of panic from the
room beneath his class-room, and no one can tell how many children might
have been injured but for his cool head and quick thinking. He did what
any bright American boy should have done, but what scarcely one boy in a
thousand would have done.

The two lower floors of the Marion Public School are occupied by the
classes of the Primary Department, and the top floor is occupied by the
Grammar Department. The building is heated by steam. One of the radiator
valves was broken off the other day. While waiting for a chance to
repair the break, the janitor carefully turned off the steam at this
radiator, and fitted a tight wooden plug in place of the broken valve.
Some very foolish person, either for the sake of a joke or from a habit
of meddling with things without asking leave, turned on the steam. The
radiator was in one of the class-rooms of the upper primary floor--that
is, the middle floor of the building.

The wooden plug was shot out of the radiator with a report like a
pistol shot at a quarter past ten o'clock in the morning. Every child in
the room rushed screaming toward the sliding-door leading to the
stairway. So fierce was the impetus of the crowd that the door was
twisted off its tracks and turned half-way around. Miss Agnes Carlen,
the teacher, was unable to control the children, for they had swept past
her before she really understood what had happened. She stood helpless,
half fainting, fearing that the heavy sliding-door would fall and crush
her pupils. Meantime great clouds of steam came hissing from the
radiators.

With a great clattering of many feet the frightened boys and girls
swarmed down the stairway, looking for places of safety. Forty of them
ran out into the school-yard, but forty more were kept in-doors by Miss
Searle, the principal of the Primary Department, and her aids. At the
moment of the explosion and panic the boys and girls of the Grammar
Department on the top floor were almost panic-stricken. They heard the
loud report beneath them, the hissing of steam, the screams, and the
swift trampling feet. Every one was scrambling up from his desk, when
Robert Bain jumped out into the aisle, and cried:

"Keep your seats! There's no danger if you stay where you are!"

Those words stopped the rush like magic. Seeing Bain's coolness and
courage, all the others were ashamed to show themselves cowards. It was
not so much the words he uttered as his manner in saying them that
swayed the crowd. His tone not only showed that he was not frightened,
but the order rang out sharply and confidently, as if the boy knew he
would be obeyed. A few moments later Miss Emma Johnson, the teacher in
charge of the class, learned all about the accident on the floor below,
and told the children of it. There was, of course, no possible danger of
panic now.

What would have happened if young Bain had not spoken at the right
moment? Very likely the children would have rushed out, like Miss
Carlen's pupils, before they could be checked. A steep stairway lay
before them, and probably many of them would have been badly hurt, if
not killed, in the wild downward flight. An accident somewhat like this,
in the Greenwich Avenue Public School in New York many years ago, had
the most serious consequences.

Robert Bain is fourth sergeant in one of the two cadet companies of the
Marion Public School. He was very happy, but also full of blushes, when
Mr. Du Rie, the principal of the school, complimented him before all his
friends. If every boy who reads of his brave act will make up his mind
to keep cool in any panic near him, he will have paid the best possible
compliment to Robert Bain.




THE TROLLEY BIKE OF 1900.

BY N. FREDERICK CARRYL.


"A letter, Uncle Tom! From the New Jersey Consolidated Traction Company,
as sure as I live. Now we can start any minute."

"Right you are, my boy," said the brisk old gentleman of close on sixty.

Joe heaved a big, contented sigh--not considered a very healthy
proceeding, by-the-way--and made a short speech. "Uncle Tom," said he,
"it may surprise you a little to hear that father has decided he must
stay home and attend strictly to business for at least a month. By that
time my vacation will be at an end. Now I have set my heart on this
trip, but who can I get for a comrade?"

"Well, Joe, what do you say to the idea of taking your old uncle along?"

"Why, Uncle Tom, you dear man, you are the very next best to father. My!
What a jolly time we will have!"

Joe's father and I had arranged it so that he could stay at home,
believing, as well he might, the boy was safe in my hands.

Since all traction companies are owned by States (and, of course,
subdivided into counties), it is a comparatively easy matter to get
permits to use the company's trolley-wires, have your meter inspected,
locked, and dated.

The universal application of electricity to the bicycle, tricycle, and
other road vehicles--not by batteries, which are still too heavy or
short-lived for long trips, but by the trolley-wire and connecting
track--is of very recent date. Minor difficulties still exist, and
should anything serious happen, I am mechanic enough to hope to repair
damages.

Our machine was a very simple affair--after all is said and left unsaid.
At first glance it looked not unlike an ordinary tandem--as in fact it
was, but with a very much wider tread forward, where the electric motor
was handily placed and most effective in operation. The treadles
remained connected, but could be operated in the forward direction only.
Coasting, with the pedals as foot-rests, whether going down hill or
driven at high speed by the motor, was thus possible and easy. The
electric head-light was supplied from the same source as the motor,
viz., the trolley overhead wire. Of course we had a kerosene lamp to use
when disconnected from the street current. Since 1896 the overhead
trolley has been abolished in large towns and cities in favor of the
underground method of electrical connection, while the overhead system
is still used (as so much cheaper for long distances) in the country,
between towns and all distant points.

We used a light bamboo pole, built up of five three-foot sections, to
reach the overhead wire. Inside was the connecting wire leading to the
starting, stopping, or reversing switch, thence to the motor. Another
wire, leading from the motor, passed through a light hinged shaft, upon
the end of which was a two-foot metal wheel, thus completing the circuit
with the rail. The current passed through a reduction coil before
reaching the motor, and was thus brought down to the proper resistance
at which the motor was built to run, otherwise a burned-out apparatus
would be the certain result.

This was not the first time I had handled the _Fleetwing_, having made
any number of short trips, none exceeding a hundred miles. Joe's route
was: Starting at Jersey City, New Jersey, we were to cross the State,
and keep as near directly West as the trolley-wire would take us, taking
in Chicago (now the first city in population in the United States) and
other important Western cities, with Denver our turning-point.

Joe kissed his mother, gave his father's hand a hard shake, jumped up
behind me, and we were off. Look back once more, my boy; a mother's
tearful eyes no longer see you, but your image is always in her heart!

We had been sadly mixed without our good map of all the trolley-roads.
They cross and recross, and seem to shoot out in every direction in the
eastern part of New Jersey.

[Illustration: AT THIRTY MILES AN HOUR.]

On a good straight road at last, with a clean run of thirty miles before
us! How we do spin! The motor hums not unlike a swarm of angry bees. For
a bright June morning the weather seems a trifle cool. A light overcoat
in summer? Well, just face a mild westerly wind, early in the morning,
sitting quietly on an electrically propelled bike at, say, thirty miles
an hour, and you will find an overcoat is not to be sneezed at, or,
rather, some sneezing will result if you try to do without it.

Space will not permit to give you many details of our trip, which caused
two weeks to pass so quickly. Mishaps we had, repairs to make, but the
same machine was bringing us nearer home each minute. Two o'clock now;
by six we are due in New York.

A Chicago chap--we met him--seemed rather smart and all that, had a
contrivance for working an air-ship by trolley-wire. His scheme was to
sail along near enough the ground to drop a trailer on the street wire,
and so obtain a current to run his aerial machine.

"My son," said I, "how do you expect to make a complete circuit with but
one wire?"

"That is part of my invention," said he.

Whether he made a success of it or not I have no means of knowing, but I
liked the idea.

We crossed the Pavonia bridge from Jersey City to New York on time, had
just reached the terminus when the Express Air-ship _Maxim_ rose from
the depot at Union Square and headed for Albany, looking very much like
an immense shooting-star.

The railroads have had a severe setback since Maxim has perfected his
aerial engines and light machinery. Freight they still carry, but
railway passenger traffic has fallen off to a marked extent, even with
trains running at one hundred miles per hour.

Who would care nowadays to spend an hour and a half in the cars between
New York and Albany when the _Maxim_ will do it in forty-five minutes!

Strange creatures, to me, these women. I have never married. Joe's
mother wept when we left, and I am blamed if she is not crying this
minute. "What!"

"You too, Joe? I--"




OFF WITH THE MERBOY.

BY JOHN KENDRICK BANGS.


CHAPTER III.

UNDER WATER.

[Illustration: Decorative I]

sn't that interesting?" asked the Merboy when he had finished.

"Very," returned Jimmieboy. "But I don't see how it proves that the
Porpoise knew any more than the Professor. Did he know why men have
chins and why boys are noisy?"

"I don't suppose he did," returned the Merboy; "but even if he didn't
his ignorance wasn't any greater than that of the Professor, while the
Professor had to admit that there wasn't anything he could tell the
Porpoise that the Porpoise hadn't heard before. That proved that the
Porpoise knew quite as much as the Professor did; and the fact that the
Porpoise knew how to get the Professor home while the Professor didn't,
showed that the Porpoise knew more than he did. That simply proves what
I have already said, that sea creatures know more than land
creatures--even Porpoises, and they know less than any other kind of
fish."

"It looks true," said Jimmieboy. "But I hardly believe it, though."

"Well, you'd better," retorted the Merboy. "Why, people of your kind say
themselves that fish is good for their brains. Why should this be so if
fish weren't what I've said they are?"

"That's so!" Jimmieboy answered, convinced at last. "But it seems
queer."

"That's because you don't understand it," said the Merboy,
patronizingly. "If you were a fish you'd understand it, but being a boy
you can't be expected to. It's simple enough. You people on land are
kept so busy all day long earning your living that you don't have time
really to study. On the other hand, we sea people don't do anything but
swim about all day and think. Didn't you ever notice me up there in the
aquarium lying perfectly motionless in the water with my eyes gazing off
on both sides of me with a far-away look in them?"

"Often," said Jimmieboy. "And I've wondered every time what you really
were doing. Were you always thinking at those times?"

"Always," said the Merboy. "Always studying out something."

"And did you ever find out anything?" queried Jimmieboy.

"Yes," said the Merboy. "I've found out everything; but," he added,
hastily, "don't ask me to tell you everything now because these Dolphins
are a little skittish, and I've got to keep my mind on them or we'll be
upset."

Here one of the Dolphins, to show how skittish he could be when he
tried, stood erect on his tail, and then took a header deep down into
the water, and in a moment Jimmieboy found himself clinging in alarm to
the Merboy's arm.

"Don't do that!" cried the Merboy, "or you'll surely upset us."

"I was afraid he'd drag us under," panted Jimmieboy, releasing his hold.

"Drag us under?" repeated the Merboy. "Why, my dear boy, we are under.
We've been driving under water for ten minutes now. In ten more we shall
be on the ocean's bottom."

Jimmieboy pressed his lips as tightly together as he possibly could. If,
as the Merboy had said, he was under water and headed directly for the
bottom of the sea, he was not going to run any risks by opening his
mouth and getting it full of sea-water, which he knew from experience
was not the pleasantest-tasting stuff in the world. He was a cautious
boy too, Jimmieboy was, and he had a distinct recollection of having
heard his father warn a friend of his at the sea-shore one summer's day
not to open his mouth too widely when he was in bathing, for fear he
might take in the ocean at a gulp, which would be a dreadful thing to
do.

"Don't make such fearful faces," said the Merboy, noticing Jimmieboy's
efforts to squeeze his two lips into one. "You'll frighten the whales."

"Mwime mfwaid mgetting mwater in m' mouf," mumbled Jimmieboy.

"Excuse me," said the Merboy, looking at him as if he thought he was
crazy. "I never studied that language, and I don't know what you are
trying to say; open your mouth and speak English."

"Mwime mfwaid," mumbled Jimmieboy again, meaning to say "I'm afraid."

"Whoa!" cried the Merboy, reining in his Dolphins. "Now look here,
Jamesboy," he added, severely, as the carriage came to a stop, "I won't
take you any further if you don't stop that. My relatives down here have
been very anxious to meet you, because I've written to them several
times telling them all about you; but I can tell you just one thing. If
you are going to make faces like that, and talk with your lips tight
closed and your voice way down in your boots, not to mention the
horrible language you are using, they won't have anything to do with
you, and they'll think I got you out of a circus instead of at your
home. What's come over you all of a sudden, anyhow?"

Poor Jimmieboy didn't know what to do. He had no wish to offend the
Merboy or to frighten whales or to prove unpleasant to the Merboy's
friends, but he also did not care to get a mouthful of salt water.

Fortunately at this moment a Porpoise, who was on duty as a policeman in
that neighborhood came swimming up, attracted, no doubt, by the somewhat
angry tones of the Merboy.

"What's the matter here?" he said, frowning with his left eyebrow and
using his right eye to look pleasant, for if everything was all right he
wanted to look pleasant, while the frown was for use in case there was
danger of a disturbance.

"Nothing, Mr. Policeman," answered the Merboy, nodding familiarly at the
Porpoise. "I am afraid my little friend here isn't feeling very well,
and I was only trying to find out what the trouble was."

[Illustration: "IS HE TAKEN THIS WAY OFTEN?" ASKED THE PORPOISE.]

"He does look kind of queer like, doesn't he?" said the Porpoise, gazing
at Jimmieboy's lips. "He looks to me as if he were trying to swallow his
teeth. Is he taken this way often?"

"Never saw him like this before," said the Merboy, anxiously. "It's
something new for him to keep his mouth shut up so tight, and I can't
understand it."

"Perhaps--" the Porpoise began; "but no," he added, "I was going to say
I'd arrest him for being disorderly, for he certainly is out of order,
but I'm afraid the judge would fine me. I lost my last month's pay for
arresting a shark by mistake. Some shark swallowed a whole school of
whitebait last week, and as the teachers of the school complained about
having their business mined I had to arrest some one. These sharks are
all alike, you know, and I got hold of the wrong one, and the judge let
him off and made me pay the damages. I'm afraid we couldn't make out a
case against this young man."

"No; and we shouldn't try it if we could," said the Merboy. "I don't
want to get him into trouble. He's my friend."

"Well--say," said the Porpoise. "I'll tell you how we can find out
what's the matter. There's a bureau of information about two hundred and
thirty fathoms up the street. They know everything there. You might
drive up there and find out what ails him."

"That's a good idea," said the Merboy. "Who is in charge of the bureau?"

"Nobody. It just lies there at the side of the street. You'll find the
most interesting information in the top drawer. You can't miss the
bureau, because it's the only one in the ocean, and it has brass knobs
on it, and a brush and comb on the top of it. So long."

"Good-by," said the Merboy, as the Porpoise with another curious glance
at Jimmieboy swam away. Then the Merboy, turning the Dolphins' heads in
the direction of the bureau, started them along. "I shall feel very
badly if this is a case of lockjaw," he said to himself. "His parents
would drive me out of the house, and I don't think I'd be likely to get
as nice a place anywhere else."

"M-mwi a-went wot wock-waw," mumbled Jimmieboy.

"Don't say another word or you'll drive me crazy," returned the Merboy.
"This is simply awful as it is, but when you talk it's worse than awful,
it is horrific. Ah, I fancy this must be the bureau," he added, drawing
up alongside of a beautiful piece of furniture that stood at the
road-side and looked very much like a bureau. "Hold the Dolphins,
Jimmieboy, and I'll get out and see if there's any information to be had
in regard to your case."

[TO BE CONTINUED.]




MISS APPOLINA'S CHOICE.

BY AGNES LITTLETON.


Part II.

Miss Appolina Briggs was somewhat of a power in the Reid family. She was
a cousin of the fathers of Millicent, Joanna, and Peggy, their fathers
being brothers, and for many years when they were boys she had made her
home with their parents. She now, however, had a house of her own.

She was very wealthy, very aristocratic, and very eccentric.
Kind-hearted and charitable, she preferred to do good in her own way
only.

A month or two ago Miss Briggs had informed her relatives that she
intended to pass the summer in England, and that it was barely possible
that she would ask one of her young cousins to accompany her. Which
should be the fortunate one she should not decide until a week before
the date fixed for sailing. That would be time enough, she said, for no
preparations would be necessary. All the girl's wants could be supplied
on the other side.

This proposition sounded very attractive, for Cousin Appolina was
generous even though she was so peculiar, and there was no doubt that in
addition to having the pleasure of the trip, a well-stocked wardrobe
would fall to the share of the lucky recipient of her favor.

As Peggy had said, there was not much probability that she would be the
one honored. She had a habit of making all sorts of speeches in Miss
Briggs's presence which did not please the good lady at all. And yet no
one knew. It would be just like Cousin Appolina's unexpectedness if she
were to veer suddenly around and decree that Margaret, as she always
called her, should be the one to go to England.

Consequently, suspense and excitement ran high in the Reid family, and
in the intervals of study, fair work, and poetry-making there was much
discussion as to which of the three should be Miss Appolina's choice.

She herself had gone to Washington for a few weeks, and the family
breathed more easily for a time. When so much depended upon it the girls
were greatly afraid of doing something to offend their cousin, which
might very easily happen, and in that case she would sail alone with her
maid!

In the mean time preparations for the fair continued, and at last the
day arrived. Millicent, having convinced herself that this would be the
best means of securing the recognition of her powers as a poetess that
she wanted, the recognition which had hitherto been denied her by
unfeeling editors, had been reeling off verse by the yard.

Each poem had been printed in the form of a little fancy booklet, at
considerable expense to the author, it is true, but the girls had plenty
of pocket money, and Millicent had eased her conscience with the thought
that her object was charity as well as recognition, and each copy that
was sold would bring in twenty-five cents to the fair. She had raised
the price since the poems came home--she had no idea that they would
look so attractive, she said. They would be sure to sell.

Peggy had helped her with a readiness that would have appeared
suspicions if Millicent had not been too much absorbed in sentiment to
notice it. She had accompanied her cousin to make arrangements for
having the poems printed, and had inspected them on their return, and
now the morning upon which the fair was to open she offered to carry the
box which contained them to an office in the neighborhood, and have them
sent to Sherry's, where the fair was to be held, by a district telegraph
boy.

"It is much better than ringing for a messenger-boy to come to the
house," she said, "for then no one can find out in any way who 'Pearl
Proctor' is. I shall be on hand when the box arrives so that I can hear
what people say, but you had better not come until afterwards, Mill, for
your face would be sure to give it away."

The fancy articles, including Miss Briggs's slippers, had already been
sent.

Joanna went to school, longing for the morning to pass that she might
get to the fair herself. She and one of her friends were to manage the
"fish pond," while Millicent was to be an aid at the flower-table, and
Peggy would assist in selling some of the fancy articles.

Peggy left the package at the office, and then hailed a car, that she
might not fail to reach the fair in time to witness its arrival. She
looked forward to having some rare sport. She only wished that she could
take some one into her confidence, for it is always so much more fun to
laugh with a comrade than to laugh alone. However, a laugh is valuable
at any time.

So thought Miss Peggy as she made her way along Thirty-seventh Street in
her new spring hat and gown, her eyes dancing with anticipation.

The poem on Cousin Appolina had been tucked into the box along with the
rest, but very much underneath. In that way Peggy felt confident that it
would escape observation at the fair, and yet be among the poems to give
Millicent a shock when they came back.

"For of course no one is going to buy those silly things," said Peggy to
herself; "and I hope it will be a good lesson to Milly. Such conceit as
hers in regard to that poetry I never saw, and it ought to be taken
down."

She found the rooms in a state of disorder. Various fashionable dames
who had the fair in charge were running about in a vain attempt to bring
some degree of order out of the confusion, and Peggy's coming was hailed
with delight.

"Oh, Peggy Reid! Just the person I want. Peggy, dear, do hold the end of
this scarf while I fasten it here."

"Peggy, just see if you can find the tack-hammer."

"Peggy, you have just come, and can see things with a fresh eye. Tell me
the effect of this drapery."

But notwithstanding all these calls upon her, Peggy managed to be
conveniently near the door when a messenger-boy appeared, bearing a box
addressed, in a printed hand, to Mrs. Pearson, who had charge of the
fair. Peggy took the box, dismissed the boy hastily, and carried it to
Mrs. Pearson.

"Something else? Oh, do open it, Peggy! I am so busy," exclaimed that
lady, precisely as Peggy hoped she would do. She opened the box--that
which she herself had so carefully tied up not long before.

On the top lay a type-written card, which read, "Sent by one of the
congregation, who hopes that they may bring twenty-five cents apiece."
Beneath were a number of little booklets.

"Why, Mrs. Pearson, do look! Somebody has sent some poems to sell,"
cried Peggy, in tones of great surprise. "A member of the congregation,
and they are signed 'Pearl Proctor'! Who in the world can it be?"

Several people gathered about.

"How very funny! One of the congregation? Who do you suppose it is? I
wish I had time to read them," said Mrs. Pearson. "They are certainly a
novelty at a fair. Twenty-five cents she values them at? The lady is
modest. But take care, girls," she added, in a warning whisper,
approaching two young women who were laughing immoderately over one of
Pearl Proctor's productions, "you must be careful! No one knows who
wrote them, and the person may be in the room watching us at this very
minute. It will never do to hurt her feelings."

"Oh, but, Mrs. Pearson, if you could only read this! It is the funniest
thing I ever read, and the best part of it is, it isn't meant to be at
all."

"Never mind, don't laugh. I beg of you! How did they get here, Peggy?"

"A messenger-boy brought them," returned Peggy promptly, feeling very
glad that Millicent was not here to see the effect they produced. She
was almost sorry that she had urged her to send them. After all it
seemed a shame to make fun of the poor dear.

"Well, do be careful, girls," said Mrs. Pearson, as she moved away.

An hour or so later Millicent herself walked into the rooms. She looked
very lovely, for her beautiful golden hair had twisted into little curls
and waves, the morning being somewhat damp, and there was an unusual
sparkle in her dreamy blue eyes. It was very exciting to have one's
poems actually for sale.

The first thing that met her gaze was a large sign placed above a small
table. Upon the table lay the array of booklets, while the sign read
thus:

"A NOVELTY! POEMS BY PEARL PROCTOR.

A MEMBER of THE CONGREGATION.

_Twenty-five Cents Each._"

She did not have sufficient courage to walk boldly up with the air of a
stranger and inspect the wares thus offered for sale, so she turned
aside and began to talk to some of her friends, asking what she could do
to help.

"My dear," said Elsie Pearson, flying up to her, and speaking in a
whisper, "I am so glad you have come! I must tell you the greatest joke
in the world. Somebody has sent a lot of poems to the fair to sell! Did
you ever hear of anything so delicious? Mamma says we ought not to
laugh, for the person who wrote them may be in the room, but it is too
awfully funny not to laugh the least bit, and I know you are safe."

Millicent smiled stiffly. "Are they funny poems?" she asked. "You seem
to find them amusing."

Elsie would have noticed her tone if she had not been so excited and in
such haste.

"They are not meant to be," she said, aloud, as she moved away. "That is
the best part of the whole thing."

Millicent, left alone, felt as if she could cry with pleasure. How
perfectly outrageous it was in that odious Elsie Pearson to talk in such
a way! The only comfort was that Elsie was anything but intellectual,
and would not know good poetry when she saw it. She would probably fail
to see any beauty in Tennyson.

Peggy had watched this conference from across the room; and she now came
quickly over to her cousin. "Look out, Mill," she said in a low tone,
"you will have to be awfully careful that no one catches on. If I were
you I wouldn't stay so near the poetry table."

Peggy, already deeply regretting her joke, wished to spare her cousin as
much as possible. But her good intentions were frustrated by Mrs.
Pearson.

"Millicent," said that lady, "we have had some new wares sent in;
something I never saw before at a fair. Poems, my dear. Just think of
it; and by a member of the congregation! We can't imagine who wrote
them, and of course they are perfect trash" (this in a low voice), "but
we will have to do our best to sell them, so I want you to take charge
of that table. You won't mind changing, I know. And try not to let the
people laugh at the poems. They are absurd, I know, judging from one I
picked up. It was about a moth or an ant or something. I am not sure
that it was not a Croton bug," and with a laugh at her own wit Mrs.
Pearson led Millicent to the poetry table, and established her behind
it.

It was now twelve o'clock, the hour at which the fair was to be opened
to the public.

Two or three hours later the sale was in full swing. A great many people
came, for it was in every respect a fashionable function, and it was
considered quite the thing to be seen there. People bought largely also
of every variety of article--except poetry. That seemed to go a-begging.

There was always a crowd about the table, but no one felt inclined to
purchase. The little booklets were picked up, read, dropped again, with
laughter and comments, until Millicent felt that she would gladly sink
through the floor.

Even her own mother came, criticised, and moved on, with a whispered
question to Millicent as to what member of the congregation could have
been so conceited and so senseless as to do such a thing as this.

Millicent's head ached, and tears filled her eyes, and she thought the
climax had been reached when Elsie Pearson, picking one up at random,
said, laughingly:

"Just listen to this, Milly! It is the gem of the whole collection. I
can't help it if the 'member of the congregation' does see me. She
deserves to be made fun of." And Elsie in a whisper read the following:

"TO THE MARCH WIND.

  "Loud and shrill, loud and shrill,
    List to the wild March wind!
  And the heart of the mariner trembles
    As he sails his rudder behind.

"My dear, the 'member' is a little mixed! Does she mean the mariner
sails behind the rudder, or the rudder sails behind the mariner? Did you
_ever_, Millicent? I don't believe she knows which part of a ship the
rudder is. And this is the second verse:

  "And the bell on the bleak beach bellows.

"(There's alliteration for you. Fancy a bell bellowing!)

    "And the fog-horn lifts its voice,
  And the mariner goes to an early grave,
    He has no other choice.

"Oh, Milly! isn't it funny? Why don't you laugh?"

"I am laughing," said Millicent, in a hoarse voice; "it makes me
perfectly hysterical," and she hid her face for a moment in her
handkerchief. Fortunately Elsie was at that moment called away.

Millicent found to her cost, as the afternoon wore on, that the climax
had not been even then.

Joanna had come late to the fair, detained by school and luncheon until
four o'clock. She had found no one at home, not even her mother, but she
had heard from the maid a piece of news which caused her heart to bound
with excitement and consternation.

Cousin Appolina had returned very unexpectedly from Washington!

Joanna decided that she must tell Millicent as soon as she reached the
fair, so that the slippers might be removed at once. It would be better
to be on the safe side, although it was extremely improbable that Cousin
Appolina would visit the fair the first day of her return.

But just as Joanna came out of the front door Miss Briggs herself drove
up in her carriage, and learning that no one was at home in either of
her relatives' houses, but that all had gone to the fair, concluded to
betake herself there also, and forthwith invited Joanna to get in and
drive with her to Sherry's.

Joanna, nothing loth, accepted the invitation, feeling rather glad on
the whole that her cousin had returned in time, for she would be sure to
spend her money freely, and Joan was greatly interested in the success
of the sale. And, alas! she forgot all about the worsted slippers!

They presented their tickets, and entered the room just as Millicent had
buried her face in her handkerchief upon hearing the remarks of Elsie
Pearson. When she emerged therefrom the first thing that met her
astonished gaze was the tall and never-to-be-forgotten form of Cousin
Appolina Briggs, and her heart sank with apprehension. For a moment the
works of her unappreciated genius were forgotten. Her one thought was
"slippers!"

"Oh, that I had never sent those horrible slippers!" she said to herself
despairingly. "It will be just my luck to have her see them, and would
serve me right, too, for having given away a present. Yes, she is going
that way! Oh, if I could only make Peggy or Joan come here! They could
go and buy the slippers before she gets there."

But Peggy and Joan were not forth-coming. The latter, full of business,
had lost no time in retiring behind the screen which formed the
"fish-pond," and was already baiting the hook with ardor, and queerly
shaped packages, and Peggy had not yet seen her cousin, and supposed her
to be safe at Washington.

But Miss Briggs was not one to remain long unnoticed. She was of
commanding height and noble breadth. When she entered a room the rest of
humanity seemed to grow smaller by comparison. Her voice was deep and
had a penetrating quality which caused it to be heard at the unusual
distance, and the gold lorgnette, without which she was never seen, and
which she was in the habit of raising constantly to her short-sighted
and somewhat prominent eyes, flashed and glittered in the light.

Truly Miss Appolina's was a presence calculated to make itself felt. And
Peggy felt it, and she heard the voice, and a tremor that seemed like
fear filled her naturally courageous heart. She looked at Cousin
Appolina, and she looked at the poetry table. There was yet time.
Leaving abruptly a customer who was on the verge of making an important
purchase, who only needed a word of advice from Miss Peggy Reid as to
which was the prettier, a centre-piece embroidered in yellow, or a
table-cloth done in greens, she flew to the side of Millicent.

"The poems!" she gasped. "Have any of them sold?"

"Not one," said Millicent, "but oh, Peggy; there is Cousin Appolina!"

"I know," returned Peggy, breathlessly, as she turned over the
booklets--"I know! That's just it!"

"But the slippers, Peggy! Go and get them. I don't dare."

"The slippers! They are nothing to the poetry. Oh, where is it?"

And she tossed the poems hither and thither, looking first into one,
then into another.

"Oh, where is it?"

"What do you mean, Peggy? Don't waste time over the poetry. Do please go
and buy those slippers! Give any price. There, she is getting to that
table now! It is too late!"

There was a lull in the noise at that moment, and Miss Briggs's clear
deep tones could be distinctly heard by the two culprits.

"I want a pair of knit slippers. I make a great many myself, but I never
seem to have any for my own use. How much are these red and gray ones? A
dollar and a half? Give them to me, please, and never mind about the
change. I have not examined them thoroughly, but if they do not suit me
I will give them away."

It was too late. She had bought her own slippers. Millicent hoped that
the gold lorgnette would be smashed to atoms before the lady reached her
home; that her spectacles would lose themselves; even that the world
would come to an end before Miss Appolina found an opportunity to
examine those red and gray worsted slippers. That she would recognize
them Millicent felt no doubt, for they were knit in a fashion peculiar
to herself, the two colors forming a little plaid.

Meanwhile Peggy had tossed about the poems with no result. She had only
succeeded in bringing to the top those that had hitherto lain in safe
insignificance at the bottom.

Now she stood by the table as if turned into stone, and awaited the
approach of an avenging fate. The day of practical jokes was over for
her.

She knew, she felt absolutely confident, that just as surely as Cousin
Appolina had chosen the slippers of her own make, just so surely would
she pounce upon the poem that Peggy had written about her.

Miss Briggs drew near.

"Well, girls!" she said, in her great deep voice, the gold lorgnette
raised to her eyes--"well, girls, you did not expect to see me back so
soon, did you? Washington became insupportable. Too many odious-looking
people. I could not endure it. What have we here?" staring at the sign,
"'Poems by Pearl Proctor, a member of the congregation'? And who may she
be? Proctor--Proctor? I don't remember the name in New York. Proctor is
a Boston name. Who is it, Millicent?"

Millicent trembled.

"I--I--" she faltered.

"You!" thundered her cousin. "Never! What do you mean?"

"Milly didn't mean to say that," interposed Peggy. "She was probably
going to say she couldn't tell who it is. It is an assumed name, we
suppose, Cousin Appolina."

[Illustration: "IS NOT MILLICENT CAPABLE OF SPEAKING FOR HERSELF?"]

"Is not Millicent capable of speaking for herself?" inquired Miss
Briggs, severely. "Since when did she lose the power of speech?"

The girls shook in their shoes, and held their peace.

"What are these things?" continued this terrible person, picking up the
poems disdainfully, and again putting her lorgnette to her eyes: "'Ode
to a Firefly,' 'Sonnet on the Caterpiller,' 'Some Lines to a Beggar
Child.' Faugh! Who is the fool that is guilty of all this?
But--but--what have we here?"

It had come, then! For this is what Miss Appolina read, but not aloud:

  "Who is a dame of high degree?
  Who's always scolded little me?
  Who is a sight strange for to see?
                    Miss Appolina B.

  "Who cannot with her friends agree?
  Who loves to feed on cakes and tea?
  Who prides herself on her pedigree?
                    Miss Appolina B.

  "Who'll soon set sail across the sea?
  Who will not take her cousins three?
  Who is an ancient, awful she?
                    Miss Appolina B."

Miss Briggs looked from one to the other of the girls. The hum of the
fair went on.

"I will buy all of these poems," she said in a voice which filled their
souls with terror; "count them, and tell me the amount. And I wish to
see you both to-morrow morning at ten o'clock."

Wondering, Millicent obeyed.

Peggy turned and fled.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]




SNOW-SHOES AND SLEDGES.

BY KIRK MUNROE.


CHAPTER XIX.

A BATTLE WITH WOLVES.

The remainder of the journey up the Tananah was uneventful, but so long
that the new year was well begun ere the sledge party left it and turned
up the Gheesah branch, which flows in from the east. An Indian guide,
procured at the last village by the promise of a pound of tobacco for
his services, accompanied them on their four days' journey up this
river, and to the summit of the bleak wind-swept divide, five hundred
feet above timberline. This gave the dogs a hard pull, though Jalap
Coombs insisted upon lightening their load by walking; nor from this
time on would he again consent to be treated as an invalid.

The summit once passed, they plunged rapidly down its farther side
and into the welcome shelter of timber fringing a tiny stream,
whose course they were now to follow. Their guide called it the
Tukh-loo-ga-ne-lukh-nough, which, after vain attempts to remember, Phil
shortened to "Tough Enough." Jalap Coombs, however, declared that this
was not a "sarcumstance" to the names of certain down-East streams among
which he was born, and to prove his assertion began to talk glibly of
the Misquabenish, the Keejimkoopic, the Kashagawigamog, the
Kahwcambejewagamog, and others of like brevity, until Phil begged him to
take a rest.

That night, while the camp was buried in the profound slumber that
followed a day of unusually hard work, and the fire had burned to a bed
of coals, the single long-drawn howl of a wolf was borne to it with
startling distinctness by the night wind. As though it were a signal, it
was answered from a dozen different directions at once. The alert dogs
sprang from their snowy beds with bristling crests and hurled back a
challenge of fierce barkings; but this, being an incident of nightly
occurrence, failed to arouse the tired sleepers.

Within a few minutes the dread howlings had so increased in volume that
they seemed to issue from scores of savage throats and to completely
encircle the little camp. If was as if all the wolves of the forest,
rendered desperate by famine, had combined for a raid on the supper of
provisions so kindly placed within their reach. Nearer and nearer they
came, until their dark forms could be seen like shadows of evil omen
flitting among the trees and across the open moonlit spaces.

The dogs, at first eager to meet their mortal foes, now huddled
together, terrified by overwhelming numbers. Still the occupants of the
camp slept, unconscious of their danger. Suddenly there came a rush, an
unearthly clamor of savage outcry, and the sleepers were roused to a
fearful wakening by a confused struggle within the very limits of the
camp and over their recumbent forms. They sprang up with yells of
terror, and at the sound of human voices the invaders drew back,
snapping and snarling with rage.

"Timber wolves!" shouted Serge. "Your rifle, Phil! Quick!"

Emboldened by this re-enforcement, the dogs advanced to the edge of the
camp space, but with low growls in place of their former defiant
barkings.

Phil was trembling with excitement; but Serge, steady as a rock, was
throwing the No. 4's from the double-barrel and reloading with buckshot,
at the same time calling to Chitsah to pile wood on the fire, and to the
other Indians not to fire until all were ready. Jalap Coombs seized an
axe, and forgetful of the bitter cold, was rolling up his sleeves, as
though he proposed to fight the wolves single-handed. At the same time
he denounced them as pirates and bloody land-sharks, and dared them to
come within his reach.

"Are you ready?" cried Serge. "Then fire!" And with a roar that woke
the forest echoes for miles, the four guns poured their contents into
the dense black mass, that seemed just ready to hurl itself for a second
time upon the camp.

With frightful howlings the pack scattered, and began to gallop swiftly
in a wide circle about the fire-lit space. One huge brute, frenzied with
rage, leaped directly toward the camp, with gleaming eyes and frothing
mouth. Ere a gun could be levelled, Jalap Coombs stepped forward to meet
him, and with a mighty swinging blow his heavy axe crushed the skull of
the on-coming beast as though it had been an egg-shell. Instantly the
dogs were upon him, and tearing fiercely at their fallen enemy.

With the first shot Phil's nervousness vanished, and as coolly as Serge
himself, he followed with levelled rifle the movements of the yelling
pack in their swift circling. At each patch of moonlit space one or more
of the fierce brutes fell before his unerring fire, until every shot of
his magazine was exhausted.

[Illustration: "NOW," CRIED SERGE, "ALL MAKE A DASH TOGETHER!"]

"Now," cried Serge, "we must scatter them. Every man take a firebrand in
each hand, and all make a dash together."

"Yelling," added Jalap Coombs.

"Yes, yelling louder than the wolves themselves."

The plan was no sooner proposed than adopted. Musky, Luvtuk, big Amook,
and the rest, inspired by their master's courage, joined in the assault,
and before that fire-bearing, yelling, on-rushing line of humanity and
dogs the gaunt forest raiders gave way and fled in all directions.

The whole battle had not lasted more than five minutes, but it resulted
in the death of nineteen wolves, six of which were despatched by the
sailor-man's terrible axe after the fight was over, and they, more or
less wounded, were slinking away toward places of hiding. But the dogs
found them out, and they met a swift fate at the hands of Jalap Coombs.

As he finally re-entered the camp, dragging the last one behind him, he
remarked, with a chuckle: "Waal, boys, I ruther guess our boat's 'high
line' this time, and I'm free to admit that this here wolf racket beats
most kinds of fishing, for genuine entertainment, onless it's fishing
for sharks, which is exciting at times. I'm pleased to have met up with
this school, though, for it's allers comforting to run across fresh
proofs of my friend old Kite Roberson's knowingness. He useter say
consarning the critters, Kite did, that wolves was sharks and sharks was
wolves, and that neither of 'em warn't no fit playthings for children,
which it now seems to me he were correct, as usual."

"He certainly was," replied Phil, who, leaning on his rifle, was
thoughtfully regarding the shaggy beast that Kite Robinson's friend had
just dragged into camp. "But aren't these uncommonly big wolves? I never
knew they grew so large."

"They don't generally," answered Serge; "but these are of the same breed
as the great Siberian wolves, which, you know, are noted as being the
largest and fiercest in the world."

"I don't wonder now that the dogs were frightened," continued Phil, "for
this fellow looks twice as big as Amook--and he's no puppy. But, I say,
Serge, you're an awfully plucky chap. As for myself, I must confess I
was so badly rattled that I don't believe I should have even thought of
a gun before they were on us a second time."

"If they had made a second rush, not one of us would be alive to talk
about it now," remarked Serge, soberly; "and it was only the promptness
of our attack that upset their plans. In dealing with wolves it is
always safest to force the fighting; for while they are awful bullies,
they are cowards at heart, like all bullies I ever heard of."

"Captain Duff, for instance," said Phil, with a reminiscent smile. Then
he added, "Anyhow, old man, you got us out of a bad scrape, for it isn't
every fellow who would know just how to deal with a pack of wolves,
especially when awakened from a sound sleep to find them piling on top
of him."

"I don't believe it was quite as bad as that," objected Serge. "I expect
only the dogs piled on top of us when they were driven in. By-the-way,
did you know that four of them were killed and several others badly
hurt?"

"No, I didn't," cried Phil, in dismay. "What ones are killed?"

"Two from my team, one from yours, and one from Chitsah's."

"Oh, the villains!" exclaimed the young leader. "Another victory like
that would cripple us. Do you think there is any danger of them coming
back?"

"Not just now; but I shouldn't be surprised to hear from them again
to-morrow night."

"All right. I'm glad you mentioned it. Now we'll see if we can't have an
interesting reception prepared for them."

"Pizen?" queried Jalap Coombs, who had lighted his pipe, and was now
complacently watching the skinning of the dead wolves, which had been
undertaken by the three Indians.

"Worse than that," answered Phil, significantly.

By the time the Indians had finished their task and breakfast had been
eaten the usual starting-hour had arrived. Two of the wolf-skins were
allotted to the guide, who was to leave them at this point, and he set
forth on his return journey with them on his back. Rolled in them were
the single dried salmon, which would form his sole sustenance on the
journey, and the cherished pound of tobacco, for which he had been
willing to work so hard. In his hand he bore an old flintlock musket,
that was the pride of his heart, not so much on account of its shooting
qualities, which were very uncertain, as by reason of its great length.
It was the longest gun known to the dwellers of the Tananah Valley, and
consequently the most valuable, for the Hudson Bay Company's method of
selling such guns was to exchange one for as many marten, fox, or beaver
skins as could be piled from stock to muzzle when it stood upright.

"I hope the wolves won't attack his camps," remarked Phil, as they
watched the lonely figure pass out of sight on the back trail.

"Him no camp," declared Kurilla.

"But he must. Why, it's a four days' journey to his home."

"No. One day, one night. Him no stop. Wolf no catch um. Yaas."

And Kurilla was right, for the Indian would push on over mile after mile
of that frozen solitude without a pause, save for an occasional bite
from his dried salmon and a handful of snow to wash it down, until he
reached his own far-away home.


CHAPTER XX.

CHITSAH'S NATURAL TELEPHONE.

Seventeen green wolf-skins formed a heavy sledge-load, especially for
the weakened dog teams, but fortunately Jalap Coombs's feet were again
in condition for walking, and snow on the river was not yet deep. So it
was determined to carry them at least for the present. On the evening
following that of the encounter with wolves, Phil, leaving the work of
preparing camp to the others, unpacked the Eskimo wolf-traps of
compressed whalebone that he had procured at Makagamoot. He had twenty
of the ingenious little contrivances, and wrapped each one in a strip of
frozen wolf meat that he had saved and brought along for the purpose.
When all were thus prepared he carried them about a quarter of a mile
from camp, and there dropped them at short intervals in a great circle
about it. He knew the dogs would not stray that far, since their
experience of the night before, and so felt pretty certain that the
traps would only find their way to the destination for which they were
intended.

The first blood-chilling howl was heard soon after dark, and a few
minutes later it was apparent that wolves were again gathering from all
quarters. Then the anxious watchers caught occasional glimpses of dim
forms and sometimes of a pair of gleaming eyes, that invariably drew a
shot from Phil's rifle. Still, the wolves seemed to remember their
lesson, or else they waited for the occupants of the camp to fall
asleep, for they made no effort at an attack.

As time passed, the wolf tones began to change, and defiant howlings to
give place to yelps and yells of distress. Soon other sounds were
mingled with these--the fierce snarlings of savage beasts fighting over
their prey. The traps were doing their work. Those wolves that had
eagerly gulped them down were so stricken with deadly pains that they
staggered, fell, and rolled in the snow. At the first symptoms of
distress others sprang upon them and tore them to pieces, at the same
time battling fiercely over their cannibal feast. So wolf fed wolf,
while the night echoed with their hideous outcries, until finally the
survivors, gorged with the flesh of their own kind, slunk away, and
after some hours of bedlam quiet once more reigned in the forest.

So Phil's scheme proved a success, and for the remainder of that night
he and his companions slept in peace. At daylight they visited the
scenes of wolfish feasting, and found everywhere plentiful evidence of
what had taken place; but this time they gathered in neither rugs nor
robes, for only blood stains and bones remained.

For another week did the sledge party journey down the several streams
that, emptying one into another, finally formed the Conehill River, or,
as the gold-diggers call it, Forty Mile Creek, because its mouth is
forty miles down the Yukon from the old trading-post of Fort Reliance.
As the first half of their long journey drew toward a close they became
anxious as to its results and impatient for its end. When would they
reach the settlement? and could they get there before their rivals who
had followed the Yukon? were the two questions that they constantly
asked of each other, but which none could answer.

Phil grew almost despondent as he reflected upon the length of time
since they left old Fort Adams, and gave it as his opinion that the
other party must have reached Forty Mile, long since.

Jalap Coombs was firm in his belief that the other party was still far
away, and that his would be the first in; for, quoth he: "Luck allers
has been on my side, and I'm going to believe it allers will be. My old
friend Kite Roberson useter say, speaking of luck, and he give it as his
own experience, that them as struck the best kinds of luck was them as
worked the hardest for it, and ef they didn't get it one way they was
sure to another. Likewise he useter say, Kite did, consarning
worriments, that ef ye didn't pay no attention to one 'twould be mighty
apt to pass ye by; but ef ye encouraged it by so much as a wink or a nod
ye'd have to fight it to git red of it. So, as they hain't no worriments
hove in sight, what's the use in s'arching for 'em?"

As for Kurilla, whenever his opinion was asked, he always grinned, and
returned the same answer:

"You come pretty quick, mebbe. Yaas."

So each day of the last three or four brought its fresh hope; at each
succeeding bend of the stream all eyes were strained eagerly forward for
a sight of the expected cluster of log huts, and each night brought a
disappointment.

At length one evening, when Phil, who had pushed on longer than usual,
in an effort to end their suspense, was reluctantly compelled by
gathering darkness to go into camp, Chitsah suddenly attracted attention
to himself by running to a tree and pressing an ear to the trunk. As the
others stared a smile overspread his face, and he said something to his
father, which the latter instantly interpreted.

"What!" cried Phil, incredulously. "He thinks he hears the sound of
chopping?"

"Yaas," answered Kurilla. "Axe chop um white man. Plenty. Yaas."

"I too can hear something," exclaimed Serge, who had imitated Chitsah's
movements, "though I wouldn't swear it was chopping."

"Hurrah! So can I!" shouted Phil, after a moment of intent listening at
another tree. "First time, though, I ever knew that the public telephone
service was extended to this country. The sound I heard might be a train
of cars twenty miles away or a woodpecker somewhere within sight. No
matter. If Chitsah says it's chopping, it must be, for he ought to know,
seeing that he first heard it with the aid of the tree-telephone. So
let's go for it. We can afford to travel an hour or two in the dark for
the sake of meeting the white man who is swinging that axe."

"Of course we can," replied Serge.

"Ay, ay, sir!" answered Jalap Coombs.

"Mebbe catch um. Yaas," added Kurilla, sharing the general enthusiasm.

An hour later, as they rounded a projecting point, Phil uttered an
exulting shout. A cluster of twinkling lights shone dead ahead, and our
travellers' goal was won.

"Let's give them a volley," suggested Serge. "It's the custom of the
country, you know."

So the guns were taken from their deer-skin coverings, and at Phil's
word of command a roar from double-barrel, flintlock, and Winchester
woke glad echoes from both sides of the broad valley, and from the
rugged Yukon cliffs beyond. Then with cheers and frantic yelpings of
dogs, the sledge brigade dashed on toward the welcoming lights.

"Hello the camp!" yelled Phil, as they approached the dark cluster of
cabins.

"On deck!" roared Jalap Coombs, as though he were hailing a ship at sea.

"Hello yourself!" answered a gruff voice--the first hail in their own
tongue that the boys had heard in many a week. "Who are you? Where do
you come from? And what's all this racket about?"

"White men," replied Phil, "with dog-sledges, up from Yukon month."

"Great Scott! You don't say so! No wonder you're noisy! Hi, boys! Here's
the first winter outfit that ever came from Yukon mouth to Forty Mile.
What's the matter with giving them a salute?"

"Nothing at all!" cried a score of voices, and then volley after volley
rang forth, until it seemed as though every man there must have carried
a loaded gun and emptied it of all six shots in honor of the occasion.

Men came running from all directions, and before the shooting ceased the
entire population of the camp, some three hundred in number, were
eagerly crowding about the new-comers, plying them with questions, and
struggling for the honor of shaking hands with the first arrivals of the
year.

"Are we really the first to come up?" asked Phil.

"To be sure you are. Not only that, but the first ones to reach the
diggings from any direction since navigation closed. But how did you
come? Not by the river, I know, for when I heard your shooting 'twas
away up the creek."

"We came by the Tananah and across the Divide," answered Phil. "There is
another party coming by way of the river, though."

"Hark to that, boys! One train just arrived and another coming! I tell
you, old Forty Mile is right in it. Daily express from all points;
through tickets to Europe, Arup, and Arrap; morning papers and
opera-houses, circus and theaytres. Looks like the boom had struck us at
last. But say, stranger, what _is_ the news from below?"

"New steamer on her way up the river, with saw-mill, mining machinery,
and best stock of goods ever seen in Alaska," replied Phil, quick to
seize the opportunity, and anxious to make his business known while he
still had the field to himself. "We have come from her, and are on our
way to San Francisco to send up a new stock for next season. So we have
only stopped to take your orders and find out what will be the most
acceptable."

"Hurrah!" yelled the crowd, wild with excitement. "Send us a brass
band," shouted one. "In swaller-tails and white kids," added another.
"What's the matter with moving the Palace Hotel up here?" suggested a
third.

"Come, fellows, let up," cried the man who had been the first to welcome
the new arrivals, and whose name was Riley. "We mustn't keep these
gentlemen standing out here in the cold any longer. I reckon they're
hungry, too, and wondering why we don't invite 'em to grub. So, men,
just come into my shebang and make yourselves at home. There isn't much
to it, but such as it is it's yours, so long as you'll honor yours
truly."

"No, come with me," cried another voice. "I've got beans, Boston baked,
fresh from the can." "I've got molasses and soft-tack," and "I've just
made a dish of scouse." "Come with us," shouted others.

"No, you don't!" roared Mr. Riley. "They're my meat, and they are going
to bunk in with me."

[TO BE CONTINUED.]




[Illustration]

TYPICAL AMERICAN SCHOOLS.

ANDOVER.

BY WILLIAM PHILLIPS GRAVES.


About one hundred and sixteen years ago a small school was started in a
carpenter's shop on Andover Hill. This little school of about twelve
boys was the origin of the great Phillips Academy, which now numbers
about five hundred. Its founder was a certain Judge Samuel Phillips, a
prominent young lawyer and statesman in Massachusetts during the
Revolution. Besides giving much of his own money to the school, he
enlisted the aid of some of his relatives, all of whom were very rich
for those days, and soon had them so much interested in founding schools
that his uncle, John Phillips, started a similar one in Exeter, New
Hampshire, and named it Phillips Exeter Academy.

The little academy in Andover did not long hold its sessions in a
carpenter's shop. It was soon provided with a good building by its
wealthy founder; and, with an energetic principal and a fine set of
boys, many of whom afterwards became famous men, the school flourished
at once, and became widely known.

The location of the school has been shifted about on Andover Hill, for
its buildings were several times burned down. One of them, the Science
Building, is said to have been set on fire by a boy in revenge for
having been severely disciplined. Tradition says that he is still
living. If he should risk coming to Andover now, and could see the fine
new Science Building which replaces the one he destroyed, I venture to
say that his conscience would be immensely relieved.

[Illustration: THE PRESENT GYMNASIUM.

Where Oliver Wendell Holmes went to school.]

The present Gymnasium is the old school-house which Oliver Wendell
Holmes attended in his boyhood, and which he has immortalized in his
poem read at the centennial celebration in 1878:

  "The morning came. I reached the classic hall.
  A clock face eyed me, staring from the wall.
  Beneath its hands a printed line I read--
  Youth is Life's Seed Time;' so the clock face said.
  Some took its counsel, as the sequel showed,
  Sowed their wild oats, and reaped as they had sowed.
  How all comes back--the upward slanting floor.
  The masters' thrones that flanked the master's door,
  The long outstretching alleys that divide
  The row of desks that stands on either side,
  The staring boys, a face to every desk,
  Bright, dull, pale, blooming, common, picturesque."

The life at Andover is more like college life than at most schools. The
boys have their rooms in private boarding-houses, or small dormitories
on and near the Hill. Here they do all their studying during day study
hours, and here they must be at eight o'clock in the evening, for at a
quarter before eight the academy bell begins to toll warningly until
five minutes before the hour, when it rings rapidly. This means that
every boy not within walking distance of his home must run, and woe to
him who is discovered lingering on the street after eight!

Of course many of the teachers acquire great reputations as eagle-eyed
detectives or lightning sprinters, and traditions are not dead yet of
the hot races that have taken place between belated youths and some
sprinting instructor. Sometimes this pursuer is a real teacher, but
often he is only a boy theatrically made up to represent some dignified
teacher, and who is out for a little exercise. I can remember one
genuine race, when the culprit was discovered skylarking around the
enchanted grounds of the "Fem. Sem." His pursuer, though a heavy man,
and with the worst record in the faculty as a sprinter, maintained a
most lively pace, and the race never ended until our young friend was
dragged, panting and very much scared, from under his bed.

Besides these boarding-houses there are the famous English and Latin
"Commons." These are ranged in rows at each end of the campus or
playground. The houses, which resemble factory cottages, are not
beautiful architecturally; but boys do not care for that usually. These
rooms are very cheap, and are primarily meant for boys who cannot afford
the greater luxury of private boarding-houses. Yet they are very
comfortable, and, from the greater independence and pleasant dormitory
life, many richer fellows are found there.

[Illustration: AN ANDOVER ROOM.]

The life in these Commons is quite like college life. In front of each
row is a low fence, where, as at Yale, fellows gather of a warm evening
and sing songs and have a good sociable time generally. Each boy must
care for his own room; and every Friday noon an inspection of rooms is
made by the faculty, so that beds are made up and clothes put away once
a week at least.

[Illustration: THE ADMINISTRATION BUILDING AND ACADEMY HALL.]

The day's work at Phillips begins at 8.10 in the morning, when, after
much tolling and rapid ringing of the old bell, the whole five hundred
boys assemble for prayers in the great Academy Hall, where hang the
portraits of teachers and benefactors and founders of a century back.
Recitations are held during the day until half past four, when all hands
turn out for a good time. Every tennis-court and ball-ground is
immediately more than occupied. The first teams begin to practise on the
campus, the athletic team gets to work on the track, and bicyclers start
off in all directions. Others stroll off for a walk to Indian Ridge, or
the old railroad, or Sunset Rock, or Allen Hinton's. Allen Hinton is the
famous ice-cream man. No one can make better ice-cream than he. Besides
his fame as an ice-cream maker, he is the greatest fox-hunter for miles
around, and his stories of fox-hunting and his experiences in the war
are something worth hearing.

Then "Chap's" is a great meeting-place for those who like eating better
than exercise. Here boys have drunk soda-water and eaten candy and
griddle-cakes, and ruined their digestions for years and years. The
benches and stalls are so thickly inscribed with names that it is
difficult to find room to carve a new one.

Andover has always been noted for its fine athletic teams. The great
rivalry between Exeter and Andover has brought the standard of athletics
up very high, so that college Freshman teams are usually beaten by the
Phillips boys, and even the Yale and Harvard 'varsity teams often have
no easy task in overcoming them.

For many years the great events of the school year have been the
football and baseball games with Exeter. For weeks before the game the
chief topics of conversation are the chalices of victory and the
prospects of this and that man for the team. As the day for the game
draws near, the excitement increases. Crowds watch the daily practice,
and under appointed leaders work up new cheers or practise on the old
ones, so that those who do not belong to the teams have at least a
chance to beat Exeter at yelling.

Finally the great day arrives. Every man in school who owns or can
borrow a couple of dollars has his excursion ticket, and eight or ten
yards of blue and white ribbon with which to decorate his cane, hat, and
button-hole. After the morning recitation the whole school, supported by
half the town of Andover and certain extraordinary mascots, board the
special train for Exeter, gay with flags and ribbons, and noisy with tin
horns. Even the cars and engine are draped with blue.

[Illustration: A "FOOTBALL" COACH.]

After reaching Exeter a rush is made for the campus, and a mad scramble
for seats ensues. Those who are fortunate enough to belong to the secret
societies have positions on gayly decked coaches. With Andover men
massed on one side of the field and Exeter men on the other, an
alternate contest of cheering at once takes place, like the Greek
choruses of old. While waiting for the athletes to appear, the
excitement is intense. For real genuine excitement a Harvard-Yale
contest is a dull affair compared with an Andover-Exeter game.

When you are sixteen years old or less, and at Phillips, you don't care
for close games. You want to see your own side make all the runs or
touch-downs possible, and although cheering of opponents' errors is
strictly against school courtesy, yet the more points your own team
makes, and the poorer the other plays, the more you feel like yelling
and waving your cane and slapping your friend on the back and
congratulating yourself that you went to Andover instead of Exeter.

Such a contest as this was the baseball game of '87. About the seventh
inning a mysterious-looking wagon containing something covered with a
canvas drove rapidly across the field and disappeared in the woods
behind. This strange appearance was soon forgotten in the interest of
the game; but the wagon bore the instruments of the Andover Brass Band,
who were concealed in the woods, and whom a loyal citizen had hired in
case of victory. At the end of the game, when all Andover was tearing
madly on the field and bearing off the victors on their shoulders, the
band appeared on the scene in full blare. Every one fell in behind them,
helping them out with tin horns and cries of "Left, left, left, the
Exeter men got left!" And each year some new feature like this is
introduced.

Then ensues the usual scene after a victory. The entire wild procession
moves to the depot, followed by the chagrined and more or less angry
Exeter men. At the depot, after some friendly scuffling and snatching of
canes and colors for souvenirs, and deafening cheering on the part of
everybody, the special train moves away for Andover, long before
stripped of its blue colors, to supply those who have failed to bring a
ribbon for themselves.

On the train the expressions of joy do not cease. Every brakeman or
conductor who ventures inside a car is immediately put up for a speech.
The brakemen often object, and smash their red lanterns about on the
heads of small boys, who do not mind it in the least. When Andover is
reached, all, tired and hoarse, but happy, make for their
boarding-houses for a rousing supper and a little rest before the
time-honored celebration in the evening. At half past eight this
celebration takes place, and all sally forth, armed with tin horns of
huge proportions. Study hours never count on celebration nights.

According to tradition, the members of the victorious team are drawn
about in a barge by a rope long enough for the whole school. They are
hauled about to the houses of the faculty. Each teacher is lustily
cheered by his popular nickname, and then called forth to make a speech.
After the round of the faculty houses, the whole mob, not a whit less
noisy for all its exertions, retire to the campus. In less than twenty
minutes a mass of oil-barrels and fence rails miraculously appears, and
is heaped to the size of an ordinary barn. After a bath of kerosene oil
a famous fire is set going. All join hands around the fire. The captain
of the team is mounted on the shoulders of two sturdy friends. Every one
gathers himself together for one last shout, and around they whirl in a
wild weird dance. Then the fire begins to die down; it is getting toward
midnight; the faculty begin to flit warningly about; all, tired and
scarcely able to talk, go quietly home, and the great celebration is
over.

This is a sample of what takes place after a victory. After defeat the
town in the evening is silent as the grave, and the depression for
several days is quite appalling. In these games feeling often runs high,
but such things as fights are very rare. At such times Andover and
Exeter men speak disrespectfully of each other, but the chances are that
one's best friends at college may be these very opponents, and perhaps
one likes them all the better for having once done them an injustice.

But Andover does not go in for athletics alone. In their studies the
boys are so well trained that at college they usually take high position
in their classes without any difficulty whatever. For those who are
inclined to literary pursuits there is the _Phillipian_ to try for. It
is issued twice a week, and it is considered a great honor to become a
member of the editing board. Then there is the _Mirror_ every month,
which contains literature of a more solid character. Besides these there
are yearly publications which offer prizes for drawings. The
Philomathean Society, which has held meetings for seventy years, is the
debating society. Those who are sensible enough to join this, and
practise speaking before a crowd, receive a training that helps them
wonderfully all their lives. This society and a flourishing branch of
the Y.M.C.A. are powerful influences in the school. What with the
different prize speakings, the glee and banjo clubs, the track-athletic
and tennis teams, and numberless other organizations, every boy has a
chance to distinguish himself.

Sunday is a delightful day at Andover. The afternoon stroll with one's
best friend in the beautiful country around is perhaps the pleasantest
experience in the week. Boys are obliged to attend church twice on
Sunday, but few of them object to this compulsory attendance, for the
services are conducted in turn by the professors of the Theological
Seminary, all of whom are very distinguished and interesting men, who
never fail to interest their hearers.

The Theological Seminary is situated near the school, and as is always
the case, the men are closer students and more devoted to their work
than are the members of the Academy proper. That does not mean, however,
that they do not join the latter in their social and athletic life. Once
they had a baseball team that could completely demolish the Phillips
nine. Their pitcher, a famous Yale player, was said to be the only man
in the country who could deliver a "snake" curve.

Near Phillips Academy also is situated the Abbot Female Academy. This is
a large girls' school. No uninvited boy is allowed on these sacred
premises, and all intercourse between the two schools is forbidden.
Nevertheless, the stories of midnight serenaders and of encounters with
Pat, the Fem. Sem. policeman, would fill a volume.

Every Andover man loves his school, not only for the fun and scrapes
that he had there, but for the good that he has received from it. Many
of his strongest friendships were formed there, and much of his success
at college and in after-life has depended on the associations made at
school, while those who have not gone to college feel that they gained
at Andover an education by no means scanty.




A REVENGEFUL WHALE.

BY W. J. HENDERSON.


The ship was under a cloud of canvas. Old Handsome lay on his side away
forward near the knight-heads, where the rhythmic rise and fall of the
bows lulled him like the rocking of a cradle.

"Say," he drawled, in a lazy voice, "the old ship looks very gay in the
sunset, doesn't she?"

"Waal," said Farmer Joe, "she dew look right peert. But all the same I
don't see no use o' wastin' a whole dog-watch a-lookin' at her."

"Who arst yer to?" said another sailor.

"Waal," continued Farmer Joe, "what I'm a-thinkin' of is that Handsome
ort to tell us some more o' his whalin' exper'ences."

Handsome uttered a feeble moan of protest. But the seamen gathered
around him and persisted.

"Well, well," he said at length, "hold on a minute till I overhaul my
recollection-lockers. Let's see; where was I? Oh yes; I'd got to where I
was lost from the _Ellen Burgee_, and was picked up by the whaler _Two
Cousins_. Well, that was a rum sort of a go. You see the Captain of the
_Two Cousins_ was very glad to get us, because he was short-handed, some
of his men having deserted at the last port. So we agreed to work in
with his crew until our own ship was sighted, when he was to put us
aboard of her. Of course we never had any sort of a notion that it was
going to be six months before we got back to the _Ellen Burgee_. Say, of
all the wearing, tearing things that can come to a man in this world
there's nothing more exasperating than waiting for whales. We pretty
nearly went crazy aboard the _Two Cousins_, for it was two weeks before
the masthead let go the mighty welcome yell,

"'There she breaches!'

"The skipper he jumped into the rigging and took a squint, and the next
minute he shouted:

"'There she blows--one--two--three! Three good whales. Lower away
lively, you shipkeepers!'

"Our crew had been put in one boat, because the Captain agreed that we'd
do better working together, and of course he knew we wouldn't run away,
because there wasn't any place to run to. Well, we lowered away and off
we went under oars, because the whales were dead to windward, and not so
very far away either. We had gone about half the distance, when the
boat-steerer said,

"'There goes flukes.'

"Which meant, of course, that the whales had sounded. There was nothing
to do except to wait for them to come up again. They staid down a pretty
long time, which proved that they were big ones, and then they came up
half a mile dead to leeward of us. We set our little boat sail, there
was a fairly good breeze, and we went dancing over the waves toward the
whales at a good pace. The first mate of the _Two Cousins_ had the
weather-gage of us, and he had the smallest whale. The one we were
heading for was a regular old leviathan.

"'Get in your sail,' whispered the boat-steerer.

"It was done with great caution.

"'Now a good stroke, starboard, to pull her round.'

"We were now in a position to go up to his whaleship without being seen;
so the boat-steerer says:

"'Now, lads, give way with a will. Jump her; jump her!'

"We dashed our oars, and the boat sprang forward.

"'Now!'

"The iron was thrown with a whiz, and as quick as a flash--yes, as quick
as a mouse could dart into his hole--the whale went down into the sea.
The line ran out of the tub fast enough to make you dizzy. All of a
sudden--how, I never could tell--there was a kink in the line, and it
fouled for a second in the bow chock. Such a thing meant destruction to
the boat, and as quick as thought I, being bowman, grabbed the axe and
cut the line.

"'Blast you!' yelled the boat-steerer; 'what did you do that for?'

"'Do you want to be towed under?' I said. 'I should think we'd had
enough towing.'

"'Well,' says he, cooling down a bit, 'there's a fine whale gone off
with a good iron in him.'

"The other boats did not have much better luck than we did, seeing that
their whales got frightened and began to run. They chased the brutes for
two hours, and couldn't get anywhere near them. Then it commenced to get
late, and the ship hoisted the waif--"

"What's that?" asked Farmer Joe.

"That's the boat recall in a whaler," answered Handsome; "and when it
went up we had to go back to the ship, where we were jawed by the
Captain, and made fun of by the rest of the crew. Still, we didn't mind
that so very much, because, you know, it's pretty likely to be turn
about in a whaler, and you can't ever tell when an accident is going to
happen to the oldest hand. It was three days before we saw a whale
again. I was on lookout, and I caught sight of a spurt of spray away
down to leeward. I was hardly sure of it at first, but the next second
the whale rose on a sea, and I caught the flash of the sun on his shiny
wet back. So I bawled away as usual,

"'There blows!'

"'Only one?' yelled the Captain.

"'That's all, sir,' says I.

"'Well,' says he,' we'll make sure of him, anyhow.'

"So he gives orders to lower away three boats. These boats were to
spread out in running down on the whale, so that if he sounded he might
come up so near one of the outside ones as to give it a chance to go on
before he could recover from his surprise. Well, we had the outside
berth on the port side, and the mate of the _Two Cousins_ he had the
middle. The orders were to keep abreast in sailing down, and by easing
and trimming sheets, according as we went ahead or not, we managed to do
it pretty neatly. We had got down within two hundred and fifty yards of
the whale, when he began to swim ahead. He didn't seem to go very fast,
but he managed to keep us all about the same distance astern of him. All
of a sudden our boat-steerer says,

"'I know him!'

"'Get out!' says I; 'how can you know a whale?'

"'But I tell you I do,' says he, 'and if you had any sense you'd know
him too.'

"'How would I?' asks I.

"'Don't you see the harpoon sticking out of him?'

"I looked pretty hard, and, sure enough, there was a harpoon, with a
line drifting from it.

"'That's my iron!' says the boat-steerer.

"'Get out!' says I.

"'I won't,' says he.

"'How do you know it's yours?' says I.

"'Because I made it myself, and I know my own work even when I see it
afloat on a whale's back away off in longitude and latitude something or
other.'

"'Then it's the same whale!' says I.

"'Right!' says he. 'It's the whale I struck the other day, and which got
away because you went out and cut the line.'

"'It would be a pretty good joke on the whale,' says I, 'if we could get
close enough to him to catch hold of the end of the line.'

"'It would,' says he,' and we could begin again where we left off
yesterday.'

"'Shall we try it?' I asks.

"'Of course,' says he.

"'He's stopped swimming ahead,' says I.

"'Then we'll soon be close to him,' says he.

"'But if he don't swim ahead the end of the line'll sink,' says I.

"'And we'll go on and heave a new iron into him,' says he, 'and so we'll
get him anyway.'

"Well, we sailed on, and occasionally the whale would swim ahead a
little, and then again he'd stop, and we'd gain on him. By-and-by we got
pretty close, and the boat-steerer says:

"'Let's make a dash now and make fast to him with the new iron.'

"With that we got the oars out, and with a jump and a snort we sent the
light boat boiling ahead. Now in all my life I never saw anything quite
as smart as that particular whale. The minute we began to go ahead, so
did he. But we were so close that old Bacon, the boat-steerer, made up
his mind that we could catch him.

"'Pull hard, lads!' he says; 'pull hard! We're gaining on him at every
stroke.'

"And now it came to be a regular race between us and the whale, which
was altogether out of the nature of things. The whale, if he'd been
scared, ought to have sounded. We thought of that afterward, but we
didn't think of it then. The other boats' crews didn't think of it
either, for they were pulling hard too. But owing to the whale's
starboarding his helm a little we were much the nearest to him. All of a
sudden I happened to look over the side of the boat, and blow me if I
didn't see the end of the harpoon-line dragging along in the water!
Quick as a wink I let go of my oar and grabbed that line. The next
second I had it in the boat, and had a turn around the loggerhead.

"'We're fast!' says I.

"'Bully for you!' says Bacon.

"'Hurrah!' says the rest of the crew.

"Then Bacon he sort of half stood up and waved his cap to the other
boats, and pointed to the harpoon and line. They waved back at us and
laughed. Then Bacon says,

"'Now I'm fast I don't hardly know what to do, because the whale is just
as cool as though he'd never been struck.'

"At that minute, as luck would have it, the whale seemed to find out
what had happened, and he ups flukes and sounds. He didn't stay down
very long, and when he came up Bacon says,

"'Now's our time. We'll go right in and give him the lance.'

"We bent our backs to it and dashed the boat ahead; but it was not to be
our luck to kill just then, for just as Bacon stood up with the lance
the whale hove his tail into the air and brought it down on the water
with a report like a cannon. At the same instant he sounded again.

"'He's a regular demon!' says Bacon; 'but we'll get him yet.'

"In a few minutes he came up again and lay perfectly still. Once more we
pulled up on him, and Bacon got ready to throw the lance. Again the
whale sounded. Down, down he went till the line was all out. And then he
didn't stop.

"'Great Scott!' yells Bacon, 'he's trying to tow us under.'

"Without a second's hesitation he grabbed the axe and cut the line. It
was lucky he was so quick, for the bow of the boat had been pulled down
till the water was flowing over the gunwales. Another second and we'd
all have been in the water. Again the whale came up and lay perfectly
still, with the tantalizing harpoon fast in his back.

"'Now we'll not fool with that any more,' said Bacon, the boat-steerer,
'but we'll go on and put in a new iron.'

"'We made a good approach, and got up within heaving distance. Bacon
stood up, and was just going to let fly, when Mr. Whale went down again.

"'Well, that's the most exasperating brute I ever met,' says Bacon, 'and
I'll never leave him till I see him dead.'

"I don't suppose a whale down under the sea can hear what a man in a
boat says, and I guess he wouldn't understand it if he did; but that
whale acted as if he knew a heap. The first thing we knew, the
stroke-oar, who was leaning over the side of the boat, let out a yell
and dashed his oar into the water.

"'Pull for your lives!' says he."

[Illustration: SUDDENLY TWO GREAT WALLS SEEMED TO SHOOT UP OUT OF THE
OCEAN.]

"We didn't need any second invitation of that kind. We all dipped our
oars, but it was too late. Suddenly two great dark walls seemed to shoot
up out of the ocean, one on each side of the boat. The boat itself was
lifted bodily out of the water, bending and straining as if it was made
of straw. Looking over the sides, our blood just stood still at the
sight. The whale had come up under us straight up and down, as if he was
a-standing on his tail. He had opened his terrible cave of a mouth, and
had snatched the boat in it, and now he was holding the little vessel
and us in it a good fifteen feet above the water, while he sort of
rocked back and forward like a child playing with a doll.

"'Give him an iron in his beastly snout!' yelled one of the men.

"Too late; and it wouldn't have done any good anyhow. He moved his jaw a
little, and the sides of the boat bent in and creaked like paper. With
wild yells we all threw ourselves out of the boat, for in another minute
some of us would have been in his throat. He snapped his jaws together,
crunching the boat into kindling-wood. Then he threw himself end over
end, going down head first, and lashing out with his great flukes. Poor
Bill Johnson got a crack that broke one of his legs, and if it hadn't
been for Bacon, he'd have drowned. The other boats came dashing down to
our rescue, the boat of the first mate of the _Two Cousins_ leading the
way. She was nearest to us, and the mate was shouting words of
encouragement, when all of a sudden his cries changed to shouts of fear.
The next instant we saw the waters split wide open, and the whale came
up, back first, with a crash right under the boat. Boys, I hope I may
never see South Street again if he didn't drive the harpoon that was
still sticking in his back right through the bottom of her. There she
was pinned fast to his back.

"'Give him your lance'!' yells Bacon, who was swimming and holding up
Bill Johnson.

"'What! And be killed in his flurry?' shouted the mate. 'Not much!'

"With that he grabs the spars of his boat, throws them overboard, and
jumps after them, followed by all his crew. At the same instant the
whale lashed out with his flukes again and went down, taking the boat on
his back. This time, as good luck would have it, he didn't hit any one.
But we were all thoroughly terrified, for we knew now that the brute was
in a temper, and that he knew what he was doing. Meanwhile the ship was
bearing down on us, and we had hopes of being saved. The third boat,
too, was pulling up, but we had not much hopes of her, for we expected
to see the whale attack her. And, sure enough, he came up a few yards
away, without the mate's boat on his back, and waited for her. When she
was close to us he seemed to utter a snort as he plunged down and made
for her. The steerer of the boat was a cool hand, and he swung the boat
off with a powerful stroke just as the whale came up and tried to smash
her with his flukes. Curiously enough, the brute seemed to think he'd
done for her, for instead of coming back to take another shot, he
sounded, and we never saw anything more of him. Five minutes later we
were all safe in the third boat, and soon afterward we were aboard the
ship. But, I tell you, I don't care to have any more dealings with a
whale that's bent on revenge and seems to know just who it was that hit
him."




[Illustration: INTERSCHOLASTIC SPORT]


If the weather is fair next Saturday there ought to be some records
broken in the Interscholastic games, both at the Berkeley Oval and at
Eastern Park. The Oval's straightaway track is one of the fastest in the
country, and with the conditions in his favor Washburn should win the
100 in 10-2/5. Hall could take the event if he would train, but he seems
disinclined to put forth his greatest exertions, and so will probably
dispute second place with Moore. In the Juniors for the same distance
Wilson will pretty surely score five points for Barnard. Syme's injury
to his foot may prevent him from competing in any of the many events for
which he is entered, but if he recovers and gets into condition again
before Saturday he will doubtless be heard from in the 220 and the low
hurdles. He ought certainly to win the latter, with Harris behind him.
In the 220 Vom Baur will push his schoolmate, if he runs; but I should
not be surprised if Vom Baur staid out and reserved his strength for
other work. Wilson ought to win the Junior 220, if his first heat and
the two 100 heats don't tire him. Stratton will have a place. The
quarter-mile seems to be an easier riddle than most of the other events
on the card. Irwin-Martin will undoubtedly take first place, Syme second
(if he has recovered from the effects of his spiking), and Meehan third.
Another reasonable certainty is the high jump. Baltazzi is sure to take
the event for Harvard School, while Pell and Wenman will struggle for
second place, both being of about equal skill, with possibly a slight
advantage in favor of Pell. Irwin-Martin could win the half-mile if he
ran, but I do not think he will answer the call in this event. I
understand he will only enter the 440 and the hammer, and consequently
Pier may pretty safely be counted on to win, with Inman and Vom Baur in
the places.

[Illustration: BARNARD SCHOOL TRACK-ATHLETIC TEAM.

Winners of the N.Y.I.S. Championship in 1894.]

Tappen and Blair will have a chance to decide, in the presence of
competent judges, which one of them can run the fastest mile; and
although Blair deserved the prize at the Sachs games, I think Tappen
will lead in the interscholastics. The mile walk, in all probability,
will rest between Ware and Hackett; and if Powell can keep his seat in
the bicycle-race, the order in that event should be Powell, Ehrich,
Mortimer. But Powell may reasonably be counted on to slip or trip or
break something, and so Harvard School stands a chance of getting five
points there instead of three. Cowperthwait did 20 feet 4 in the broad
jump at the Trinity games, and ought to win the event Saturday; but
Beers will doubtless cover 20 feet; and I expect to see Batterman do
better than 19, with Pier close behind him. Between Batterman and
Irwin-Martin for the hammer it is hard to decide, but I am inclined to
give the preference to the former. He will have to do better than 106
feet to win, but I doubt if Irwin-Martin can throw 105. Ayers should
take third place, and he will doubtless get second in the shot, with
Bigelow ahead of him, and Batterman behind. The remaining events on the
programme are the pole-vault, which lies between Hurlbert and Simpson,
and throwing the baseball, which will be taken by Ayers. He will have to
better his last year's record of 325 feet, however, for Zizinia threw
330 feet in practice last week, and Elmer's arm is in good condition. It
looks now as if four schools were certain of scoring twenty points or
more each. These are Barnard, Berkeley, Harvard, and Cutler. Barnard's
chances of success will greatly depend on Syme's condition, for he is
their chief point-winner; and if he fails, then Berkeley will make a
strong bid for the championship.

At Eastern Park the performances will not be so good as at Berkeley
Oval, but several of the Long Island records will no doubt be
considerably bettered. The most promising candidates for the 100 are
Underhill and Stevenson. Litchfield is good at that distance, but he
will doubtless be reserved for the hurdles and the broad jump. In that
case Stevenson may be counted on to win. Stevenson will contest the 220
with Underhill and Jewell, and will probably take the 440. It will be a
hot struggle for the places among Goetting, Jewell, Foster, and Grace.
As the new rule shuts Bacchus out of the half-mile, Campbell, Bowden,
and Goldsborough will make a close race. If Bedford does not save
himself for the mile, he ought to be heard from; and he will undoubtedly
take the long-distance event, Romer and Beasly in the places. If Berger,
who won last year, is allowed to compete, he is a pretty sure winner for
the bicycle, and he will be followed closely by Roehr. Fomey ought to be
prominent in the pole vault, and if in condition, should win. Jewell and
Streeter will push him. Barker and Gunnison have been doing good work in
the high jump, but the event will probably go to Watt or Duval. I expect
to see Munson take the shot, with Badger and Milne in the places.
Herrick and Litchfield are the best men for the hurdles, and the latter
should easily win the broad jump. Munson and Bishop ought to rank second
and third. The Junior 100 will be decided among Richards, Rionda,
Robinson, and Liebman. These men are a good deal of an unknown quantity.
As the mile walk is a new event, no safe or just prediction can be made.

Some objection may be made by President Sykes, of the N.Y.I.S.A.A., to
Ehrich's riding in the bicycle-race Saturday, but Ehrich has just as
good a right to compete as any of the rest. If any protest is made it
will be based on the fact that Ehrich attended the College of the City
of New York last year, and as a member of the sub-Freshman class
competed in the Intercollegiate games last spring. But Section 2 of
Article X. of the constitution of the N.Y.I.S.A.A. expressly provides
that any boy having been a member of the sub-Freshman class at C.C.N.Y.
is not debarred from competing in games of the association provided he
is under age and a member of some school. This year Ehrich is at the
Harvard School. By riding in the Intercollegiates Ehrich classed himself
with college men, possibly without having any right to do so. That was a
question for the I.C.A.A. to settle last year. At the present time,
however, Ehrich is a _bona fide_ student at the Harvard school, he is
within the age limit required by the I.S.A.A., he has never "attended
any college," in the sense conveyed by the rules of the I.S.A.A., and he
has never been in business. It seems therefore that he should be
allowed to ride without protest, so long as there is no direct
legislation affecting the case.

Baseball is in a much more nourishing state of activity in New England
than it is in New York, although the N.Y.I.S.B.B. League games have been
under way here for two weeks or more. The championship season began in
Boston on April 25th, and will close on June 7th, when the Cambridge
High and Latin nine meets the English High-school team. The C.H. and L.
has held a leading position in the league ever since the organization
was started seven years ago, and the team has never finished lower than
in third place, and in four of the six seasons has taken the pennant.
This year the work of the players is well up to the standard set by
their predecessors, except that the batting is weak. The team work is
fair, and Stearns has good control of the ball, but little speed. The
English High-school also came into the league at the start, and has
played a close second to C.H. and L. ever since. Ward, who has been a
member of every football and baseball team since he entered school in
1891, has made an efficient Captain since the resignation of Dakin, and
will play in the box. He has speed and good curves, but he is liable to
lose control of the ball when touched up for consecutive hits. The
strength of the Roxbury Latin nine lies in Morse, the pitcher; but as
Captain Ewer is the only player left from last year, he will have all he
can do to mould his material for effective team work. Just at present
the Hopkinson team is weak. There is plenty of good material at hand,
however, and as Joe Upton, the old Harvard player, is coaching the boys,
it is possible that at the end of the season unexpected strength will be
developed. The Somerville High nine is somewhat of an unknown quantity
too. That school has always been unfortunate in interscholastic
athletics, never having finished higher than fourth place in baseball.
Last year every one expected to see S.H-S. win the series, after they
had defeated the Harvard Freshmen by a large score, but at the end of
the season Hopkinson was the only team in the league that had failed to
defeat them. As to the Boston Latin, there is a noticeable improvement
over the standard of former seasons, and if the students will only show
interest in baseball work, and support those who are striving to win
glory for them, such encouragement cannot fail to result in higher
achievements.

On the whole, the members and supporters of the N.E.I.S. Association
should feel well satisfied with the league's attainments. It has
certainly succeeded in the purpose for which it was formed--that is, to
train players for the Harvard 'Varsity nine. This year no less than
seven of the Crimson's players, including Captain Whittemore, are
graduates from the interscholastic ranks. Whittemore was a B.L.S. player
in 1891, and led the league in batting. On the several Harvard class
teams there is an aggregate of twenty-five or thirty men who got their
early experience in the league. To encourage sharp work in
interscholastic baseball the Boston A.A. has this year offered a silver
cup as a trophy to be played for during a term of five years.

Yale is just as much interested in interscholastic baseball in her
neighborhood as Harvard is in Boston and Cambridge, and in 1891 offered
to the Connecticut Interscholastic League a cup which was to stand for
three years, and which has now become the property of the Hartford
Public High-school by virtue of its successes in 1891, 1892, and 1894.
The Connecticut I.S. League has sent many prominent athletes to Yale,
some of the best known of whom are Corbin, who captained the '89 eleven;
Williams, who made the 15-4/5 seconds high-hurdle record at the Berkeley
Oval in '91; Cady, who is a star in the same event, but who failed to
come up to Yale's expectations in the international games with Oxford in
London last summer; and Gallaudet, who stroked the victorious crew at
New London in 1893. The field meeting of the Conn. High-school A.A. on
the Charter Oak track at Hartford next month promises to be one of the
most interesting contests of the interscholastic season.

In Brooklyn there is considerable dissatisfaction in certain quarters
over the recent ruling of the I.I.S.A.A., which debars from competition
in Saturday's games any student who ever attended collegiate exercises
at the Polytechnic Institute. Hitherto the law has always been against
any one who might have entered college and returned to school; but the
prohibition was never exercised against students of Poly. Prep., who,
from the nature of their preparatory work, took certain courses in the
collegiate department of the Institute. The new amendment specifies that
boys who do not spend twelve hours a week in school recitations, or who
have been in business or at college and have returned to school, shall
not be allowed to compete in scholastic events. Poly. Prep., the Latin
School, and Bryant & Strattons vigorously opposed the adoption of this
rule, because each one of them has candidates for interscholastic honors
who are affected by the new legislation. A moment's thought will show
that the question at issue is a very simple and a very clear one. A boy
is either at school or he is not. That is one of the elementary
propositions of logic. If he is at school, he should enjoy all
privileges in interscholastic athletics. If, on the other hand, he takes
certain courses at school and others at college, the determination of
his standing should rest on whether or not he enjoys, in other respects,
the privileges and advantages of a college man. If he is catalogued as a
collegian and is otherwise admitted to collegiate functions or
performances, he should be strictly excluded from everything scholastic.
Furthermore, if a boy has left school for business or for college, he
should not be allowed to compete in scholastic sports if he fails in his
attempts or ambitions and returns, whether to the original school or to
another. The new law will put a stop to this inducing of athletes to
attend certain institutions--a practice we hear a great deal about, but
the proof of which is difficult to obtain. Still, where there is so much
smoke there must be some fire, and, on the whole, I am inclined to
believe that the new rule will tend toward the purification of
interscholastic sport.

The severe rain-storm of April 13th served greatly to mar the success of
the first outdoor meeting of the season, held under the auspices of the
Columbia College Union. By the time the final heat in the bicycle was
due, the track was only lit for a boat-race, and consequently this event
was postponed. The field events were contested under difficulties, the
earth being so wet and soggy that creditable performances in the jumps
were of course impossible. I was surprised to see Simpson drop to third
in the pole-vault, but this weakness was undoubtedly due to the bad
weather. The feature of the Sachs School games on the 15th was the
inexperience of the judges. There being no referee it did not take long
for things to get pretty well muddled up. When the mile run was adjudged
to Tappen of Cutler's, there was plenty of loud talking. Tappen led to
the last lap, when he was passed by Blair of Barnard, whom he fouled.
Blair, nevertheless, beat him out, but the judges awarded the race to
Tappen. This decision caused a great deal of dissatisfaction, and no end
of disputing and protesting. The judges showed a certain amount of
indecision and lack of firmness, and the matter ended altogether
unsatisfactorily. The games, on the whole, were a perfect example of bad
management.

The Berkeley School games on the 20th offered no particularly notable
feature except in the matter of timing the winners. There was a strong
sentiment shown on the part of the officials to record the smallest
figures possible. Moeran was put down for 16-1/5, in the high hurdles. I
know he did not cover the distance in any such time, because I stood at
the finish line, and held my watch on him, and caught him at 16-3/5. In
most of the school games there is too much of a desire exhibited for
record-making, and the cry of "run for time!" is constantly heard. My
efficiency as a timer may be inferior, but it is certainly impartial. It
remains to be seen whether Powell can ride in 2 m. 32-2/5 sec. as he is
said to have done at the Cutler games on the 24th. His former record was
2 m. 36-4/5 secs.

The baseball championship series of the N.Y.I.S.B.B.A. began two weeks
ago, but I regret to chronicle a lack of general interest on the part
of the schools in the games thus far. It is too early yet to judge of
the relative strength of the various nines, but it looks as if the
strongest teams had been placed in the first section, and so the winner
of that series may safely be looked upon as the probable holder of the
championship for 1895. In Brooklyn there seems to be more enthusiasm in
baseball matters, and good work is being done. Poly. Prep. will
undoubtedly develop a strong team, and, under the captaincy of
Stevenson, ought to earn the privilege of representing the Long Island
League at Eastern Park, on June 8th, unless they succumb to St. Paul's,
Garden City. In Hall, the latter have a strong pitcher, and the fielding
of the entire team is good. St. Paul's, however, has no excuse for not
making a strong bid for first place.

It looks again this year, as if Exeter and Andover would allow their
childish differences to interfere with the annual baseball game which
used to be considered one of the most important events of New England
scholastic sport. Both schools may have had very good reason, at the
time the breach between them occurred, to sever temporarily all
relations. I don't care to enter into the merits of the controversy at
present. But to allow the squabbles of one generation of school-boys to
be handed down and cherished by succeeding classes--like a Kentucky
feud--is unmanly, and decidedly unsportsmanlike.

  THE GRADUATE.

       *       *       *       *       *

LAUGHING BABIES

are loved by everybody. Those raised on the Gail Borden Eagle Brand
Condensed Milk are comparatively free from sickness. _Infant Health_ is
a valuable pamphlet for mothers. Send your address for a copy to New
York Condensed Milk Co., N. Y.--[_Adv._]




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[Illustration]

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[Illustration: Royal Baking Powder]




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[Illustration]

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OFFICIAL ANNOUNCEMENT

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[Illustration: If afflicted with SORE EYES use Dr ISAAC THOMPSON'S EYE
WATER]




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[Illustration: BICYCLING]

     This Department is conducted in the interest of Bicyclers, and the
     Editor will be pleased to answer any question on the subject,
     besides inquiries regarding the League of American Wheelmen, so
     far as possible. Correspondents should address Editor Bicycling
     Department.


[Illustration: Map]

The map this week is a road map from New York city to Tarrytown, and
return. The reader will notice at the bottom of the Tarrytown route map
that the route begins at 155th Street and the Boulevard.

The best route now open to a wheelman is to turn, as described last
week, from Broadway into 181st Street, and go over a bad bit of road
until he reaches Washington Bridge (2). On crossing the bridge turn
sharply to the left and go down Featherbed Lane, which is anything but a
featherbed road. There is a short winding hill as the road turns
eastward into Macombs Dam road. The latter is in a somewhat better
condition than Featherbed Lane, but it is irregular, narrow, and hilly.
It is short, however, and the rider should turn into Fordham Landing
road sharp to the left, going down an incline until he reaches Sedgwick
Avenue. Here he turns to the right northward, follows Sedgwick Avenue
for a few hundred yards, and then takes the left-hand fork where
Sedgwick Avenue turns to the right. The left-hand fork is Bailey Avenue,
and a somewhat long hill may tempt him to coast. On the whole, it is
wiser not to do so, however, as there is an extremely bad piece of road
at the bottom, where it is wiser to dismount and walk two or three
hundred yards.

After this the wheelman takes the first important turn to the left, goes
down a sharp incline and across two railway tracks. This is a bad place,
and should be taken slowly and with great care. Immediately after
crossing the track he comes into the Kingsbridge road, which is the
turnpike road to Albany. This is macadamized and in excellent condition,
and the run from there into Yonkers is a delightful one. As he passes
Van Cortlandt Park there are three or four long slight ascents, which,
though they do not look in the distance to be very difficult, are so
long that I would advise him to take them slowly. He will know when he
is approaching Yonkers by striking the asphalt pavement, which runs into
the middle of the town. The road through Yonkers is direct, passing by
the main square of the town, where the Getty House is the best place to
stop, and where bicycles are repaired, though Yonkers is not by any
means half the Tarrytown trip. Nevertheless, a short stop may be made at
Yonkers and another at Dobbs Ferry, which roughly divides the journey
into three parts.

The road from Yonkers to Hastings is almost straight, and in capital
condition, as, indeed, is most of the road up to Tarrytown. About a mile
from the Getty House the wheelman passes through Glenwood. Two and a
half miles out of Glenwood he should turn to the left at the fork in the
road, and keep on one mile to Hastings. There is a piece of hilly road
before running into Hastings. On leaving Hastings he should keep to the
left and run into Dobbs Ferry, a half-mile distant. If the wheelman will
take the time and turn to the left as he enters the town, he will be
shown upon inquiry the house of Judge Beach (3), which is the same old
manor-house in which Washington signed the treaty of peace with Great
Britain in 1783.

Returning from Judge Beach's house to the main road again, the wheelman
passes north out of Dobbs Ferry, and after travelling a half-mile, turns
to the right, runs a quarter of a mile further and turns to the left,
and the road is then direct to Irvington. It will well pay him to take
the road following the valley down towards the Hudson westward, and stop
a moment to see "Sunnyside" (4), the home of Washington Irving. Pulling
back to the main road, again up a hill, the wheelman will find the road
from here to Tarrytown, about two miles in length, well supplied with
hills.

On running into Tarrytown and inquiring for the road to the station,
which runs westward downhill, a rider can put up at the Mott House near
the river. Three courses are then open to him. He may either take the
train back, if the ride has been sufficiently long already, or he may
return by the same road, or on going up to the turnpike-road again,
turning left northward, he will come after a few hundred yards to the
André monument (5), which every bicycle rider who reaches Tarrytown
should not fail to see. Turning back again southward, he may take the
alternative road back to Yonkers. He may then take the main turnpike,
which he passed over early in the day, or, following the alternative
road marked on the chart, may come down through Riverdale and the
villages along the bank of the Hudson, meeting the Kingsbridge road at
Kingsbridge again.

NOTE.--Already published. Map of New York city, No. 809.




[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.


"Tell you what books I read when I was a little girl?" Molly E---- asks
the question. Why, I am delighted to answer you, Molly. I am very fond
of the little girl I used to be a long time ago. I can see her now,
merrily going to school, day after day, along a river road bordered by
tall willow-trees, crossing a bridge, and reaching a pretty little
school-house, with windows giving on the pleasant life of a river, which
all the year round was beautiful in the children's eyes, and which is
very dear in their memories.

In those days an enchanter, whose name was Jacob Abbott, was writing
wonderful books for young people. None of you will ever have greater
enjoyment in the books written for you now than we girls of that
period had in the Rollo Books, in which Rollo and Lucy, and a pearl
of a hired man named Jonas, and Rollo's father and Rollo's mother,
played important parts. We ate and slept and travelled with Rollo,
we breathed his mountain air, we studied with him, and learned a
great deal about both nature and morals, without suspecting that we
were being taught. Abbott's histories, _Charlemagne_, _Napoleon_,
_Charles I._, _Josephine_, ever so many of them were on my bookshelf,
where I had, a little later, the Waverley Novels; nor shall I ever
forget the breathless pace at which I raced through Macaulay's _History
of England_.

When I was fifteen somebody gave me _Leatherstocking_ and _The Last of
the Mohicans_, and these introduced me to Cooper, whose stories I found
entertaining and full of a feeling of outdoor life. But for sheer
pleasure in a book there never was anything so lovely as the experience
I had, when about ten, in reading Mrs. Sherwood's stories. You girls do
not know much about them, but there were _The Fairchild Family_, and
_Little Henry and his Bearer_, and a thrilling tale, the name of which I
have forgotten, all about a very naughty girl who went to live with an
aunt, who spoiled her to such an extent that when she came home she
couldn't live in peace with her brothers and sisters, and led the whole
family, including her papa and mamma, a perfectly dreadful life. I
remember this story with a great deal of affection, and I think the
heroine's name was Caroline, but I am not sure. _Anna Ross_ was a book
of this period, and it was followed by _The Wide, Wide World_, a _dear_
story, which I hope many of you will read, for it is probably in all
your Sunday-school libraries. It was the work of Miss Susan Warner, who
wrote _Queechy_ and other equally excellent books for girls, after Ellen
Montgomery, her heroine in the first, had stolen our hearts.

I trust none of you will ever be so impolite as I was when I went to
visit my girl friends. I blush to think of it now, after so many years;
but, do you know, if they had a new book, I simply seized upon it, and
never stopped till I read it through, so that as a guest I was of no
use, never waking from my trance until I had finished the last page of
the treasure. Finally one of my friends, Jenny V. G., devised this plan,
and carried it out successfully: When she expected me to visit her for a
week, she living in the country and I in town, she simply _hid_ all the
books which she knew I had not read, and never brought them out till I
had gone home again.

You see, my dears, I was not a pattern for you to imitate. There was not
a paper in existence in my childhood worthy of being compared with the
Round Table; but at our school we wrote a weekly paper, contributed to
it ourselves, and made a half-dozen copies to pass around. I began being
an editor quite early in life.

[Illustration: Signature]




ADVERTISEMENTS.




Awarded

Highest Honors--World's Fair.

[Illustration: DR PRICE'S CREAM BAKING POWDER]

MOST PERFECT MADE.

A pure Grape Cream-of-Tartar Powder. Free from Ammonia, Alum, or any
other adulterant.

40 YEARS THE STANDARD.

Price Baking Powder Co., Chicago.




[Illustration: If afflicted with SORE EYES use Dr. ISAAC THOMPSON'S EYE
WATER]




[Illustration: POND'S EXTRACT]

Impressed on

the Memory

_that POND'S EXTRACT is without equal for relieving pain, and that no
other remedy should be accepted as "just as good."_

Avoid substitutes; accept genuine only with buff wrapper and yellow
label.

POND'S EXTRACT CO.

76 Fifth Avenue, N. Y.




The price has nothing to do with the

FIT

For ALL of Dr. Warner's Corsets are fitted to living models.

Prices from one to six dollars each.




       *       *       *       *       *

Postage Stamps, &c.

       *       *       *       *       *




[Illustration]

=STAMPS!= =300= fine mixed Victoria, Cape of G. H., India, Japan, etc.,
with fine Stamp Album, only =10c.= New 80 p. Price-list =free=. _Agents
wanted_ at =50%= commission. STANDARD STAMP CO., 4 Nicholson Place, St.
Louis, Mo. Old U.S. and Confederate Stamps bought.




STAMPS!

=160 VARIETIES=, many rare. 25c.; 500 Mixed Foreign, 16c.; 50 varieties
United States, 27c.; 6 Peru, 8c.; 8 Brazil, 10c.; 9 Chili, 10c.; 3
Samoa, 8c.; 6 Servia, 10c.; 6 Egypt, 8c.; 6 Persia, 20c.; 10 Greece,
10c.; 7 Turkey, 10c.

=Edwards, Peeke & Co.=, 2728 Calumet Ave., Chicago. Ill.




[Illustration: STAMPS]

100 all dif. Venezuela, Costa Rica, etc., only 10c.; 200 all dif. Hayti,
Hawaii, etc., only 50c. Ag'ts wanted at 50 per ct. com. List FREE!

=C. A. Stegmann=, 2722 Eads Av., St. Louis, Mo.




=50= var., all dif., 5c.; 12 var. Heligoland, 15c.; 6 var. Italy, 1858
to 1862, 5c.; 3 var. Hanover, 6c.; 35 var. C. American, 50c. Agents
wanted.

F. W. MILLER, 904 Olive St., St. Louis, Mo.




=$3 worth of stamps for $1.= All perfect specimens selected from
collection; cannot be bought for twice our price. Satisfaction
guaranteed or money refunded. Send $1 bill. =Old Colony Stamp Co.,
Plainville, Mass.=




=FREE!= =8 Handsome Japan Postage Stamps= for 2c.; 100 all different,
10c.; 100 mixed, 5c.

J. A. WILSON, 1108 Fairmount Ave., Phila.




=POSTAGE DUES.=--50c. and 30c., at 70c. each; the pair for $1.25.
=Diamond Stamp Co., Germantown, Pa.=

       *       *       *       *       *


Varying Farm Life.

     I live on a farm twenty-four miles from New York city, but am
     fond, as you may see from my letter, of reaching out beyond the
     farm and farm life and making inquiries about other things. I
     collect stamps, and have some old coins, one, a 1720 piece, which
     I found in the field one day while cultivating corn. I am sixteen
     years old. Could you tell me how to make an induction coil for
     taking shocks? Could you also tell me how to make a blow-pipe? I
     am thinking of making an electric telegraph. Could you give me
     some points on it? I have the Morse telegraph alphabet, but don't
     understand it or know how to use it.

     Here is a game to be played when there are many to play it. Each
     one is provided with a slip of paper and a pencil. There are three
     persons who are in the secret--a confederate, the clairvoyant, and
     medium. Each one writes a word or short sentence on the paper. The
     clairvoyant seats herself before the writers, and the medium rubs
     her forehead with a handkerchief to put her in a trance. Then the
     medium collects the papers, takes any one of them (except the
     blank one, which must be left till last), and puts it on the
     clairvoyant's forehead. She makes up a sentence, which sentence
     must be claimed by the confederate, who really wrote nothing. Then
     the clairvoyant takes it from her forehead to see if she was
     right. Of course she reads it, and when the next paper is put on
     her forehead relates what she read on the preceding slip, greatly
     to the amusement and often the surprise of the writer.

     Do you want some riddles?

  H. A. KRETCHMAR.
  WEST NYACK.

You cannot make an induction coil save at considerable expense, and even
then it is not as good as the one you may buy for less money. Apply to
any dealer in electrical supplies.

A blow-pipe is simply a small pipe or tube a few inches long and bent at
a right angle very near one end. Insert one end in your mouth, the bent
end in a gas or even lamp flame, and blow gently. The effect is a flame
many times hotter than the still flame.

You can make a telegraph key. Make a walnut or oak base four by eight
inches. Erect two uprights in the centre, one inch apart and two inches
high. Put between them a wood lever six inches long. In one end of the
lever insert a common screw, and from the base raise a metal contact--a
common nail will do--about two inches back of the uprights. Any metal
surface, as two brass buttons, will do for the screw and nail to "click"
against, a hand-pin may be made from the end of a common spool. This
key, of a good pattern, may be bought for $2, in brass. You can get
along without a "sounder." Get some practical operator to show you about
the alphabet. Do not try to learn it from instruction books. If you do
you will be sure to learn at the same time many faults. We want good
riddles--new, not old ones.

       *       *       *       *       *


Costa Rican Country Life.

     Costa Rica, or, translated into English, "rich coast," is the most
     progressive of the Central American republics. The people are very
     home-staying, that is, they do not like to travel, as do the
     English and Americans. They all seem to like their country, and
     rightly too, for there are few prettier lands or more delightful
     climates. It is very mountainous, but not many very high peaks.
     All the way from the port at Limon to San José, the capital, there
     is grand scenery. Passing along on the train up a steep grade one
     looks back and wonders how the road-builders ever got up. In some
     places along on the mountain-sides, as the train passes, you can
     pick ferns out of one window and out of the other can see the
     valley far below, with little houses that look as if built for
     dolls. In some of these places it is very dangerous, and the train
     has to go very slowly.

     Arriving in San José and just leaving the station you can see the
     city lying below you. A little to the left, and at about the
     middle, you can see the large round dome of the cathedral, and a
     little way back the large red roof of the new theatre. To the
     right lie the new school building and the Plaza de Toros. Entering
     more into the city one is surprised and pleased at the numerous
     pretty parks that are scattered all through it. San José is called
     the "Little Paris," as here you can see the Spanish beauties
     dressed in the latest Parisian styles. Sunday afternoon is the
     time when the señoritas take a promenade in the Parque Central,
     where the music is playing and all is gay.

     Let us leave the city life and people and look at the poor folks
     of the country, who toil that all these city people may be
     comfortable. The average country people can neither read nor
     write, because until quite a recent date schools have not been
     general. Although they cannot read or write, most of them have
     very intelligent faces, and are well informed about their
     position. The houses of these people are very mean structures,
     built of only rough boards lapped over and nailed. The roof is of
     sugar-cane leaves, or, at the best, tiles made out of mud and clay
     baked. Inside the houses there are rarely more than two rooms,
     neither of them having other floor than the bare ground. The
     cooking range is only a platform covered with sand. There are
     three stones to set the kettles on. The smoke wanders off through
     the roof or door, for as a rule there are no windows. The
     furniture is not very extensive, and consists of a table and one
     or two "taburetes" (chairs covered with the skin of an ox).

     In every house you enter you will find some corner or shelf
     whereon is placed some image or saint. The picture of their patron
     saint is hung on the wall. The house is as free to the chickens,
     pigs, and dogs as to the people themselves. The pigs run around,
     picking up what can be found to eat on the floor, and then crawl
     away under the bed or table and sleep the sleep of the--pig.

     The people are generally strong and healthy. Their food consists,
     year in and year out, of rice and frijoles (black beans), and the
     great Costa Rican bread called tortilla. A tortilla is dried
     hulled corn ground on a stone and made into a sort of pancake,
     which is laid amongst the ashes and baked. When one has learned to
     eat it, it is very good. The people are not such thieves as they
     have been represented to be by many. To be sure, they will steal
     food, eggs, vegetables, and firewood, but nothing more. I have
     known a mill to be open for over three months, with valuable tools
     lying around, but never a one missing. The people are very polite,
     and when passing one in the road they always say adios (good-by),
     or buenos dias (good-day). The men all carry a large knife
     suspended at the belt, but it is for such use as we make of a pen
     or pocket knife.

  Sir L. E. TOWER.
  SAN JOSÉ, COSTA RICA.

       *       *       *       *       *


The Helping Hand.

A friend of the TABLE and of the School Fund wrote recently to Jules
Verne, telling him about Good Will Farm, and asking him for a letter to
be sold to that American admirer who would bid highest for it. The great
novelist readily responded, and the letter, wholly in Mr. Verne's own
hand, is now in our possession. Of course it is in French, but here is a
translation of it:

  _March 27, 1895._

     DEAR SIR,--I hasten to reply to your letter, which is inspired by
     such a touching idea. I should be happy if these few lines, which
     you request, could contribute, in some slight degree, to the
     success of your charitable undertaking. I believe that I have in
     your country many friends, unknown but sincere, judging from the
     letters I receive. This will afford me an opportunity to pay my
     tribute of gratitude to them, and I beg you to accept, with my
     entire sympathy, the assurance of my sincere regard.

  JULES VERNE.

The TABLE much appreciates the gentleman's kind act, and warmly thanks
him. The original of the letter is to be used in an exhibition of other
similar letters, and at the close of that exhibition will, with some
other rare manuscripts, including one by James Russell Lowell, kindly
given to the Fund by Professor Charles Eliot Norton, and original
letters by Sir Walter Scott, Victor Hugo, Alexander Hamilton, Charles
Dickens, William M. Thackeray, Louis XV. of France, and Emperor Napoleon
I. and others, all belonging to the Fund through the kindness of its
friends, be offered for sale to the highest bidders.

Our Fund grows slowly. Have you helped it along yet? We reprint the Mite
for your use. Any one of any age may contribute. Write plainly that no
errors may be made in the Honor Roll.

GOOD WILL MITE

HARPER'S ROUND TABLE

INDUSTRIAL SCHOOL FUND

  _Amount_, $.....................

  ...............................
  _Contributor._

If you use this Good Will Mite, simply pin it to your letter, in order
that it may be detached for filing. If the amount is given by more than
one contributor, add blank for their names, but attach the added sheet
firmly to the Mite, that it may not become detached and lost. Include a
given name in each case, and write plainly, to avoid errors on the Honor
Roll.

       *       *       *       *       *


Want Corner.

John Frame, 926 Main Street, Stevens Point, Wis., wants to trade pressed
flowers and to correspond about botany. G. Edward Harrison, room 708,
Fidelity Building, Baltimore, is interested in amateur journalism and
wants samples. Similar requests are made by Claude Reno, 399 Chew
Street, Allentown, Pa., who wants to contribute essays and funny
paragraphs; and by F. R. Pyne, 717 Grove Street, Elizabeth. N. J., who
wants to join a Chapter that publishes a paper and that trades stamps.
Bert Segal sends money for a badge, but sends no address.

We should like to oblige Lantie V. Blum by telling the TABLE about his
store, but cannot well do so. Josephine Moulton Shaw sends a diagram
about the familiar bird-case and bird illusion. She also sends "Kink"
answers which are correct. She may write again.




[Illustration: STAMPS]

     This Department is conducted in the interest of stamp collectors,
     and the Editor will be pleased to answer any question on the
     subject so far as possible. Correspondents should address Editor
     Stamp Department.


It is stated that Germany issued a special postal card to commemorate
the birthday of Bismarck. Some think the cards were issued by private
parties, as was the case of the Columbian cards issued at Chicago.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

The new stamps of Mexico were given to the public on April 2d, there
being thirteen adhesives in the set, of which two are here illustrated.
Four of the designs represent the different modes of carrying the mail
in Mexico, and the other design shows the statue of Montezuma.

     L. DORR.--The United States stamps of current issue break when
     folded, because the paper is brittle. The thirty-cent State
     Department stamp is sold at $4, the fifteen-cent Justice at $3.

     JAMES EDMONDS.--The Confederate States 1862, ten cents, is sold at
     $3, the others have no value.

     EDWARD TATNALL.--The Hartford die of the United States Centennial
     envelope has a double line under the word "Postage" The
     Philadelphia die shows only a single line.

     S. H.--The set of Columbian postal cards is sold for about fifty
     cents.

     E. P. TRIPP.--The blue Special Delivery stamp was brought out
     again after the orange color was retired from use. It is the same
     plate as formerly used, and is practically the same stamp as was
     issued before the orange color.

     A. S. S.--The stamps used at the period of the celebrated "Stamp
     Act" were for the collection of revenue. The stamp dealers may be
     able to supply them, but it is hardly probable.




ADVERTISEMENTS.




WALTER BAKER & CO.

[Illustration]

The Largest Manufacturers of

PURE, HIGH GRADE

COCOAS AND CHOCOLATES

On this Continent, have received

HIGHEST AWARDS

from the great

Industrial and Food

EXPOSITIONS

In Europe and America.

       *       *       *       *       *

Unlike the Dutch Process, no Alkalies or other Chemicals or Dyes are
used in any of their preparations.

Their delicious BREAKFAST COCOA is absolutely pure and soluble, and
_costs less than one cent a cup_.

       *       *       *       *       *

SOLD BY GROCERS EVERYWHERE.

       *       *       *       *       *

WALTER BAKER & CO. DORCHESTER, MASS.




[Illustration: Ivory Soap]

Dingy carpets can be cleansed and brightened on the floor. Sweep
thoroughly, spread a stiff lather of Ivory Soap over a small surface at
a time, scrub with a clean scrubbing brush and wipe off with a damp
sponge.

THE PROCTER & GAMBLE CO., CIN'TI.




[Illustration]

Gallons for 25c.

Not of the preparations of coloring matter and essential oils so often
sold under the name of rootbeer, but of the purest, most delicious,
health-giving beverage possible to produce. One gallon of Hires' is
worth ten of the counterfeit kind. Suppose an imitation extract costs
five cents less than the genuine Hires; the same amount of sugar and
trouble is required; you save one cent a gallon, and--get an unhealthful
imitation in the end. Ask for HIRES and _get_ it.

[Illustration: Hires' Rootbeer]

THE CHAS. E. HIRES CO., Philadelphia.




HOOPING-COUGH

CROUP.

Roche's Herbal Embrocation.

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

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




_FALSE MUSTACHES and GOATEES._

[Illustration]

Fun for the boys, a complete disguise. Fine hair goods. As Sample of our
1000 Novelties, we send one of each with large Catalogue for l0c.

R. H. INGERSOLL & BRO., 65 CORTLANDT ST., N. Y. CITY.




WANTED. 100,000 BOYS,

to sell the =EUREKA MARKING TAG= for marking hats, etc., now and in
Summer vacation. Sells at sight. Send 10 cents in coin for samples.
Address =Eureka Marking Tag Co., Cedar Falls, Iowa=.




FISH

CATCH 10 TIMES AS MANY with CAPE COD COMPOUND; used for fresh or salt
water, put a little on your bait and it attracts fish quickly. We have
received hundreds of testimonials; $100.00 Guarantee that it is as we
claim, try a p'kge, will last all Summer. SURPRISE EVERYBODY by your big
catches. A 50 CENT PACKAGE will be sent postpaid for ONLY 10 CENTS,
(silver or st'ps) if you mention this paper. ARGO MFG. CO., Box 1207,
BOSTON, MASS.




[Illustration]

CARD PRINTER =FREE=

Sets any name in one minute; prints 500 cards an hour. YOU can make
money with it. A font of pretty type, also Indelible Ink, Type Holder,
Pads and Tweezers. Best Linen Marker; worth $1.00. Sample mailed FREE
for 10c. stamps for postage on outfit and large catalogue of 1000
Bargains.

R. H. Ingersoll & Bro., 65 Cortlandt St., N.Y. City




[Illustration]

=SEND for Catalogue= of the =Musical Instrument= you think of buying.
=Violins repaired= by the Cremona System. C. STORY, 26 Central St.,
Boston. Mass.




=BOYS & GIRLS= ARE MADE HAPPY by sending their name and address on a
postal card to BOORMAN & PARKER, 173 5th Ave., Chicago.




PLAYS

Dialogues, Speakers, for School. Club and Parlor. Catalogue free. =T. S.
DENISON=, Pub. Chicago, Ill.




[Illustration: If afflicted with SORE EYES use Dr ISAAC THOMPSON'S EYE
WATER]




[Illustration]

Commit to Memory

the best things in Prose and Poetry, always including good Songs and
Hymns. It is surprising how little good work of this kind seems to be
done in the Schools, if one must judge from the small number of people
who can repeat, without mistake or omission, as many as =Three= good
songs or hymns.

Clear, Sharp, Definite,

and accurate Memory work is a most excellent thing, whether in School or
out of it, among all ages and all classes. But let that which is so
learned be worth learning and worth retaining. The Franklin Square Song
Collection presents a large number of

Old and New Songs

and Hymns, in great variety and very carefully selected, comprising
Sixteen Hundred in the Eight Numbers thus far issued, together with much
choice and profitable Reading Matter relating to Music and Musicians. In
the complete and varied

Table of Contents,

which is sent free on application to the Publishers, there are found
dozens of the best things in the World, which are well worth committing
to memory; and they who know most of such good things, and appreciate
and enjoy them most, are really among the best educated people in any
country. They have the best result of Education. For above Contents,
with sample pages of Music, address

Harper & Brothers, New York.

[Illustration]




[Illustration: SISTER SUE'S DREAM ABOUT BROTHER TOMMY.]




AN IRON PLUM.


The London coster has become a very interesting character, and many
songs, and good ones too, have been written about his virtues and his
weaknesses. Some of these street venders have made fortunes, and have
retired to live the balance of their days in ease. One of these retired
gentlemen was interviewed not long ago by a London newspaper, and in the
course of the talk he showed how some of them had managed to grow rich
so speedily.

"The costers wot sold plums made the money," he said, "an' a bloomin'
big part of it came from wot they calls the iron plum. A fair take in
that was. You wouldn't have known it from a real 'un--colored just the
same, and with a good bloom on it. Course you took care to keep it close
at hand, and at your side of the heap you was selling from. 'Come and
have lumping weight,' says you, and you popped the iron 'un in among the
others, and wallop went the scale, with p'r'haps no more than half a
p'und instead of a p'und in.

"All you had to do was to take just one--the one, as being rather too
much of a good thing in the way of overweight, just as you were handing
the plums to the customer, and the trick was done. It was bowled out,
though, in a rum sort o' way before it had been in use long enough to do
any of 'em so much good. I had a pitch in Leather Lane at the time, and
it being plum season, I was working the bullet, as we used to call it,
and so was the woman who kept the stall next to me. There used to be a
beadle sort of chap to keep order in the lane, and he was always
uncommon handy at spotting the finest fruit on a man's barrow and
whipping it into his mouth without so much as asking for it. Course you
couldn't say anything against it, or you might set up his back against
you. So one day he was coming round as usual, and he spies that
particler fine black plum on the woman's stall, and before she could
prevent it he had hold of it. I s'pose it was her pouncing on him so
quick confused him, and prewented him feeling the extra weight of it.
'Don't take that 'un, Mr. Grabbum,' she said; 'it isn't ripe. Let me
pick you out a ripe 'un.' But old Grabbum he only grinned and winked,
and popped it into his mouth. But he didn't keep it there long. He made
one bite at it, and then he began to dance and splutter, which, being an
uncommon thing for a beadle to do, soon brought a crowd round him. But
it was wuss than we had first thought it was. We didn't know that the
greedy old warment had false teeth, but he had, and he broke 'em all to
shivereens along with the iron plum, which fell with such a whack on the
pavement that there was no mistaking what it was made for."




A SMALL BOY'S ANSWER.


At a country school in England it is said that one of the examiners in a
general exercise wrote the word "dozen" on the blackboard, and asked the
pupils to each write a sentence containing the word. He was somewhat
taken aback to find on one of the papers the following sentence, "I
dozen know my lesson."




A STUPID BUTLER


Spanish people seem to suffer from the stupidity of some of their
servants as much as we do in America, if the following story, which
appeared in a Madrid journal, is true. It seems that a lady ordered her
butler one morning to tell all visitors that she was not at home. At
night, when enumerating the persons who had called during the day, he
mentioned the lady's sister, when his mistress exclaimed: "I told you,
man, that I was always at home for my sister! You ought to have shown
her in."

Next day the lady went out to make a few calls, and during her absence
her sister came to the house.

"Is your mistress at home?" she asked the butler.

"Yes, madam," was his reply.

The lady went up stairs, and looked everywhere for her sister. On coming
down stairs she said to the butler, "My sister must have gone out, for I
could not find her."

"Yes, madam, she has gone out, but she told me last night that she was
always at home for you."




STRUCK TOO SOON.


Napoleon Bonaparte at one time contemplated an invasion of England, and
so certain was he of success that he had a medal struck in Paris in
honor of the event. Only one specimen has been left to posterity,
because at the failure of the bold enterprise he expressly ordered the
medals and dies to be destroyed. On one side is the Emperor's
half-length portrait, on the reverse is the image of Hercules stifling
the giant Antæus in his arms. On the top are the words, "Descente en
Angleterre," and underneath, "Frappé à Londres" (Struck in London). This
remarkable bit of coinage is said to be still preserved in the Paris
Mint.




AN INDEPENDENT BARBER.


Here is an entertaining story about a Frenchman who was too proud to do
things which were against his principles. The story is vouched for as an
actual fact by the man to whom the incident happened. While travelling
in Europe he stopped overnight at Caen, and noting that his hair was
unduly long he went to have it cut by the local barber. He told the
barber to take off very little, but before the scissors had been at work
many seconds he noticed a favorite lock fall on to the calico jacket in
which he had been arrayed. Whereupon he reproved the barber for not
following his instructions, upon which the man observed, in mingled
tones of reproach and dismay,

"Monsieur must permit me to do my work in the way which seems best to
me; and what is more, I shall take off some more."

"Not at all," said the traveller; "I tell you I want very little taken
off, and must insist upon your doing as I direct you."

The barber, however, was not to be put down in this way, and said,
"Monsieur, it is possible that this is how things may be done in
England, but here in France we are not slaves. I shall cut off as much
as I please."





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