Project Gutenberg's Harper's Round Table, January 28, 1896, by Various

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Title: Harper's Round Table, January 28, 1896

Author: Various

Release Date: August 7, 2016 [EBook #52746]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HARPER'S ROUND TABLE, JAN 28, 1896 ***




Produced by Annie R. McGuire








[Illustration: HARPER'S ROUND TABLE]

Copyright, 1896, by HARPER & BROTHERS. All Rights Reserved.

       *       *       *       *       *

PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, JANUARY 28, 1896. FIVE CENTS A
COPY.

VOL. XVII.--NO. 848. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration]

A BOX OF GOLD IN VENEZUELA.

BY WILLIAM DRYSDALE.


"I'm going to have a shy at that gold when we get up to Potosi, Jack. I
tell you forty thousand dollars in gold is worth looking for these
days."

Ned Peterson leaned back in one of the great rocking-chairs on the upper
gallery of the Hôtel de France, in Port of Spain, on the island of
Trinidad, and puffed his cigar as complacently as though the gold were
already in his trunk. He was fresh out of the School of Mines of
Columbia College, and so felt at liberty to lay down the law to his
fourteen-year-old brother Jack. They were both on their way into the
heart of Venezuela, to the gold-mines of Naparima, of which their father
was superintendent and part owner.

"Oh, that's just one of your romantic notions," Jack replied, standing
by his brother and looking through the jalousie-blinds at the coolies
squatting in the park across the street. "You want a chance to write to
your chums in New York that you're searching for lost gold in the bottom
of the Orinoco River. It sounds well, but it won't amount to anything."

"You don't know what you're talking about," the young man retorted, with
great dignity. "We know the gold is there, and it will be an easy matter
to find out just about where the canoe was when it capsized and dumped
it into the river. Of course there has been a great deal of searching
for it, but never under as favorable circumstances as we shall find.
Last November, when the gold was lost, the water in the Orinoco was
sixty feet higher than it is now. At this time of year, midwinter, it is
so low that the steamers cannot go further up the river than the City of
Bolivar. At Potosi the water is not more than three or four feet deep
just now, and by sounding in the mud we will have an excellent chance of
finding the box. Anyhow, it's worth trying for. Forty-one thousand three
hundred and forty dollars is the exact value of it."

"You have it down fine!" Jack laughed. "Couldn't you take off a dollar
or two?"

"Not a cent," Ned answered. "They send the gold down from the mines in
bars, two bars in a box, and each bar weighing exactly 1000 ounces. I
suppose you know that gold is worth $20.67 an ounce, always and in all
countries. That price never varies. So it is easy to calculate the
value of the two bars. It was a great setback to father's management,
the loss of those two bars right at the beginning."

"I've heard an awful lot about those two bars of gold," Jack said, "but
I never quite understood the thing. How did they come to be lost?"

Ned was quite willing to show his superior knowledge by telling the
story of the lost gold. "You see, father took charge of the mines at a
very bad time," he began. "It had been a gilt-edged investment for a
long time, and the two-hundred-dollar shares paid ten dollars a month in
dividends. But the veins of ore contracted, and dividends went down to a
dollar a month, and as father stepped in just at that time he got all
the blame for the reduction. Then came the loss of the two bars, and
that made matters worse.

"The mines, you know," he continued, "are on the Urubu River, a branch
of the Orinoco, forty miles above Potosi. Potosi is a little native
settlement at the junction of the two rivers, a hundred miles above
Bolivar, and Bolivar, as you know, is two hundred and fifty miles up the
Orinoco from here. They run the gold into bars at the mines, pack it two
bars in a box, and send the box in a big canoe down to Potosi, with a
guard of three or four armed men. From Potosi it goes in the steamer to
Bolivar, and from Bolivar it is carried, along with other things, by
great teams of forty and sixty bullocks over the mountains to Caracas,
the capital, where it is coined in the mint.

"There was where father met his great misfortune," Ned went on, "in the
shipping. The gold was all right, and the guard was all right, but
father didn't know that it was customary to lash the box to two big
timbers, so that if anything happened to the canoe the gold would float.
The men didn't care, and they came down the Urubu all right into the
Orinoco, and in five minutes more they'd have had the box aboard the
steamer. But the swift current or something else struck the canoe; over
she went, and down went the box like a flash, and it's never been seen
since. The question is how far the current would carry it in that swift
water, sixty feet deep, and how far it would sink in the muddy bottom.
They have spent a good many hundred dollars in searching for it, but not
a trace has ever been found, though that was several months ago, and the
water is low enough now.

"So you see," he concluded, "what a grand thing it would be if we could
find it on our way to join the folks. I wanted to try it sooner, but
they would not let us start till I had finished my course at the School
of Mines."

"It wouldn't belong to us if we did find it," Jack objected.

"No, nor to father either," Ned answered. "But they've offered two
thousand dollars reward for its recovery, and if we could find it, it
would smooth everything out. We've got to go past Potosi in a canoe
anyhow. The steamer that starts to-morrow evening goes only to Bolivar,
and there we are to buy a canoe and do the rest of the journey on our
own hook. Then you'll have a chance to show what you're made of, young
fellow, with a hundred and forty miles to paddle in a canoe."

"Don't brag, Mr. School of Mines," Jack laughed. "I guess when it comes
to paddling you'll find I'm with you."

The young Americans were surprised to find that it was a good American
steamboat that was to carry them up the Orinoco on Saturday evening--a
boat called the _Bolivar_, of about 600 tons. They knew that it was only
one section of the river they would see, for the Orinoco empties into
the sea through a hundred mouths, some flowing into the Gulf of Paria,
others emptying into the ocean as far down the coast as Point Barrima,
230 miles away. There was not much to be seen on Saturday evening, for
the boat had a long sail across the Gulf of Paria before entering the
river, down past San Fernando and the pitchy shores of La Brea, near the
great pitch lake. When Sunday morning dawned they were in one of the
many channels of the mighty Orinoco, and then there was even less to see
than before. The river was nearly a mile wide, but the shores were low
and covered with mangrove bushes, and there was no sign of life or
habitation.

"Say, Ned," Jack exclaimed, after they had gone through scores of miles
of this low wet country, "what do you think of Venezuela? It would be a
funny racket if two great nations should go to war over the boundaries
of a country like this."

"It's a matter of honor with us," Ned replied, still in his dignified
way.

"A matter of chills, I should say, here along the coast," Jack retorted,
"though it's hot enough to cook eggs in the sand. I don't think the
thermometer went below 90° all last night."

All the way up to the City of Bolivar the river was much the same,
except that occasionally they passed a bluff; and wherever there was a
bluff there was a little settlement, the houses having no walls but the
posts that supported the thatched roofs. Nowhere was there a sign of
cultivation or any land that looked as if it could be cultivated, and
the only human beings were the Guaranno Indians, who lived in the huts
on shore. The river water was thick with yellow mud, and well spiced
with alligators and giant lizards five or six feet long.

"It will be different when we reach Bolivar," Ned said, half
apologetically. "You know Bolivar is the fourth city of Venezuela, and
quite a large place."

At daylight on Monday morning the steamboat lay in front of Bolivar, or,
rather, at the feet of Bolivar, for the city is built on a bluff a
hundred feet high, and half-way up the hill is a strong stone wharf. But
the water was so low that the boat lay fifty feet beneath the wharf, and
it was hard to realize that in flood-time the water is almost up to the
top of the hill.

"So this is the great City of Bolivar, is it?" Jack exclaimed, after
they had climbed the steep hill and passed the city wall, and stood
among the yellow-walled, flat-roofed houses. "There's too much grass
growing in the streets to suit a New-Yorker."

There were few wheeled vehicles in the streets, but plenty of donkeys
carrying burdens. The principal buildings were the cathedral, standing
on the summit of a little hill, and the jail, about which some
red-capped soldiers were on guard.

"I did want to see one of those great teams of sixty bullocks starting
out," Jack said; "but now that we've seen the town, the quicker you can
get a canoe and let us be off, the better."

Ned was disappointed too in the appearance of Bolivar, about which he
had heard so much, and before the sun was high he had bought a small
dug-out canoe for eight dollars, about double its value, and the boys
were off for their hundred-mile paddle against the current to Potosi,
with canned provisions enough to last them all the way to the mines.

In the forty-eight hours that this journey consumed they saw just three
men, all half-breed Indians, out in canoes fishing; but they tired of
counting the alligators sunning themselves on mud banks. When at last a
turn of the river brought Potosi into view, they shouted with laughter
at the appearance of the place, though both were tired and disgusted.
The settlement stood on a high bluff, like Bolivar, but it consisted of
four houses or huts, all without walls, and roofed with thatch.

"No matter," Ned laughed. "If there was nothing here but a cave I should
stop, all the same, and find out where that gold was lost. You see there
is hardly any water in the river. We will go up to the settlement and
make inquiries, and it's a mighty good thing we have both studied
Spanish. Even these half-breeds speak Spanish after a fashion."

"I guess they'll speak it better than we do," Jack replied. "I can read
it all right, and I could understand them if they wouldn't talk so fast;
they seem to rattle off about two or three hundred words a minute."

When they climbed the hill they found that, poor as the settlement was,
it commanded a beautiful view of miles of the Orinoco and a long sweep
of the Urubu, a much smaller stream, but more picturesque.

The occupant of the hut nearest the edge of the bluff professed to know
all about the losing of the gold, and he agreed for a small
consideration to give what information he could. He was willing, too, to
take the young Americanos into his house to live during the two or three
days that they thought they might stay in Potosi. There was plenty of
room, for the cooking-place was a fire under the nearest tree, and the
beds were only hammocks swung from the wattles that answered for
rafters. The custom was to turn into the hammocks "all standing," as
Jack called it, without any change in the toilet, so that a large family
could sleep conveniently under the one small roof.

The boy's new landlord, who called himself Felipe, lived alone in the
hut with his daughter, a swarthy but handsome girl of about fifteen.
Maria, the daughter, did all the work of the house, even to cutting the
firewood; but the visitors soon had reason to believe that her father
did not treat her very kindly. She was much interested in the newcomers,
and did some little kindnesses for them. Of course Ned considered her
entirely beneath his notice; but Jack saw that she had the soft brown
eyes of her race, with the smooth copper-colored skin of our own
Indians, though with more red in her cheeks, and a profusion of straight
raven-black hair. He thought her a very pretty and intelligent-looking
girl.

"Now, then, young chap," said Ned, after they had taken a short rest in
the shade of the hut, "we're going to have a hunt for that gold. Felipe
has gone out to cut some poles, and he's going with us in the canoe to
point out the spot. It's a thousand dollars apiece to us, mind you, if
we strike it, and a great help to father. Two thousand ounces of gold is
only 125 pounds, and we can easily handle it if we can find it. Say," he
went on, "I believe you've made a conquest, Jack. I notice that young
Dago girl keeps looking at you and smiling at you half the time. I
suppose she's not used to seeing such handsome kids as you."

"Get out!" Jack answered, blushing. "She wants to be hospitable to us,
that's all. It makes me mad to see the way her father orders her around,
for she's much more intelligent than he is."

"Humph!" Ned grunted, "Always keep on the right side of the cook; that's
the advice of an old traveller."

Felipe was very liberal with his information when they went out in the
canoe. There the steamer lay, here the boat was capsized and the box
went down. The swift current was setting a little off shore at the time,
so he pointed out the likeliest places for sounding the mud. "But think
of sixty feet of water!" he exclaimed. The box might have been carried
half a mile down stream before it touched bottom at all. The only chance
was to make a thorough search over a large space.

"Say, Ned," Jack asked, in English, while they were prodding the mud
with their poles, "if this fellow knows so well where the box went down,
why didn't he get it himself?"

"I suppose because he couldn't find it, like the rest of them," Ned
answered. "He seems to be an honest sort of fellow."

They kept up the search till noon without finding anything more valuable
than a few big stones and water-soaked logs; and when they went up to
the house to dinner the little girl squeezed a lime into a cup of cool
water for each of the strangers, saying that they looked tired and hot.

"It's all on your account, Jack," Ned said, banteringly. "You're the
attraction."

Jack made no reply; but after dinner he ran his hands through his
pockets in search of some trifle that he might give the girl for her
attentions to them. He could find nothing more suitable than his silver
match-box; it made the little Indian's eyes sparkle when he handed it to
her.

The afternoon's search was no more successful than the morning's, and
early in the evening all the occupants of the hut lay down in their
hammocks. Jack found that a small piece of mosquito-netting, large
enough at any rate to cover his face, had been put in his hammock to
help keep off the mosquitoes, and he saw that there was none in any of
the other hammocks; but he made no remarks about it.

Before sunrise in the morning the others were all astir, but Jack felt
sore and stiff, and he lay still.

"I'm afraid that hot sun rather knocked me out yesterday," he said to
Ned. "I think I'll stay here a little while, and try to get another
nap."

Ned anxiously felt his brother's temples and pulse, for such symptoms
have to be watched in tropical countries; but finding no signs of fever,
he went out and down the hill to look after the canoe before breakfast.
Felipe also strolled out, leaving Maria in the hut getting the things
ready for breakfast. In a few minutes, however, Felipe returned, and
said something angrily to the girl. Receiving no reply, he seized her by
the arm and gave her a violent shake, and slapped her on the side of the
head.

Jack could not help seeing it, and his blood began to boil. He lay still
a moment longer, however, till Felipe reached up into the thatching and
drew out a long heavy switch that he had evidently used before. This was
more than Jack could stand, and he sprang out of the hammock.

"Hi, you Greaser!" he cried, in English, for he was too mad to bother
with Spanish, "if you hit that girl again I'll spread you all over the
bluff!"

Felipe did not understand the words, but Jack's attitude was plain
enough to him. The boy stood in front of him with fists clinched, ready
for instant battle.

Although only fourteen, Jack was several sizes larger and much more
muscular than the half-breed, and in a fist fight would have whipped him
in a minute. Besides, he was an American boy defending a helpless girl,
and his blood was up. But Felipe had no fancy for such an encounter. He
let go his hold and retreated a step, and with the instinct of his race
his right hand went up to his bosom, and he drew out a long knife.

For an instant Jack did not know what to do. He was entirely unarmed,
for Ned carried the only revolver they had, and Felipe with a knife was
a dangerous customer. But it was only for an instant, for his eye fell
upon a machete sticking in a leather cleat against one of the posts that
supported the roof.

A machete is a cutlass, a broadsword about two feet long, used by the
South Americans for scratching the ground and felling small trees, and
it makes a terribly effective weapon.

"That's your game, is it?" Jack exclaimed, snatching up the machete.
"Then come on!" and in his excitement he advanced upon the Venezuelan
without further ceremony.

Felipe's knife was a trifle compared with the machete; and with the
young Americano boiling over with rage, and the machete cutting circles
in the air dangerously near his head, it was no wonder that the
half-breed turned and fled ignominiously.

The flight gave the affair a humorous turn that Jack was quick to see,
and he followed the native at a lively pace, more for sport than in
anger, but shouting and waving the cutlass as if he intended to cut him
to pieces.

Down the hill Felipe ran like a deer, looking neither to the right nor
the left till he was by the side of Ned and under his protection.

"Never mind, Felipe," Ned said, with a sly look at Jack, after
explanations had been made; "if he should kill you with the cutlass I'd
give him a good trouncing for it, so you'd be avenged anyhow."

This was quite satisfactory to the Venezuelan, for he knew as little
about a joke as he did about using his fists. But as Jack turned and
went back to the house, Felipe cautiously waited to return with Ned.

This caution of Felipe's meant a great deal to the young Americans,
though they little suspected it. It gave Jack five minutes alone with
Maria in the hut, and that five minutes was of great importance. She
thanked him with her velvety eyes for rescuing her, but said no word
about it; what she did say was of much more account.

"It's no use for you to look in the river where you have been looking,"
she said, keeping a bright lookout for her father's return. "He is
showing you the wrong places."

"Is that so?" Jack exclaimed. "Can you show us the right place?"

"It's no use to look anywhere," she answered, "for the gold is not
there."

"Not there? Then has it been found?"

"Yes," she replied.

"And do you know where it is?"

"It is here," she said, stamping her little bare brown foot upon the
earth floor of the hut near one of the posts.

"Buried!" Jack exclaimed. "Who found it?"

"You must not ask me that," the girl replied. "I suppose they will kill
me for what I have told you already."

"Not if I know myself, they won't!" Jack exclaimed. "Is this fellow your
father?"

"Not exactly," Maria answered. "My father died, and Felipe married my
mother. And he treats me very badly," she added.

"Then, we must get out of here to-night with the gold," Jack hurriedly
said, "and take you along. My mother will be glad to have a girl like
you in the house, and it is only forty miles up the river to the mines.
Is Felipe a sound sleeper?"

"I will see to it that he sleeps well to-night," Maria answered, with
more meaning in her words than Jack understood at the time. "Hush! They
are coming!"

While Felipe slept soundly in his hammock that night under the influence
of an herb that Maria added to his tea, the two Americanos paddled their
canoe rapidly up the Urubu River toward the mines. Maria sat demurely in
the bow; for she was not quite as heavy as the box of gold, so that was
put in the stern. The thousand dollars that was her share of the reward
made Maria one of the richest half-breed girls in Venezuela, and the
boys still delight in counting over the five hundred dollars that fell
to each of them. But Jack's mother says the greatest prize captured in
that expedition was Maria, the copper-colored little Venezuelan.




CIRCUMSTANCES ALTER CASES.

BY PATTY PEMBERTON BERMANN.


_Dramatis Personæ:_

  Madge.
  Bess.
  A Stranger.
  A Salesman.
  A Cash-boy.

SCENE.--_The Upholstery Department of a fashionable shop. Screens, piles
of rugs, sofa pillows, etc., in confusion. Three or four cane-seated
chairs placed about at irregular distances. Across left end of stage
extends a pole for the display of curtains. Behind these the actors may
retire. There should be a second exit opposite, near back of stage.
Right of centre an upright piano. As curtain rises, enter slowly,_
Cash-boy _bearing check and small change_.

[An impression of space may be produced in two ways, either by hanging a
background canvas, whereon is painted a perspective of counters,
draperies, potteries, etc., or by the use of mirrors. As scene-painters
do not grow on every twig, the better plan is to borrow long mirrors
from a house-furnishing establishment, and arrange them so that they
reflect a section of the stage behind the curtained pole. This section
can be made to look as if sales of small articles were going on at
another end of the shop from that in the foreground of stage. But take
care that no part of the real stage setting is reflected. A pantomimic
repetition of the play would bring down the house, and as certainly
disturb the performers. Do not crowd the stage.]

_Cash-boy_. Now where's 792 gone, I wonder? That's just the way with
'em; always yelling for "check," and when you come racing and tearing,
they ain't there. Glad I ain't down-stairs, to have them girls hollering
"Cosh! Cosh!" (_mimicking_) fit to bust your ears. Guess I better chase
after 792. (_Seats himself, and examines change._) I'll toss up to see
where he is--heads, he's skipped to lunch; tails (_enter_, R., Madge
_and_ Bess _unobserved_), he'll gimme ginger for keeping him waiting.

     [_Sees girls, closes his hand over penny, and exits, making wry
     face._]

_Bess_ (_sighing_). Poor boy! Evidently he has a cruel step-father who
ill-uses him.

_Madge_. His case is less pitiable than ours, for one can at least
occasionally escape the society of a man. Besides, men never make things
so unpleasant at home.

_Bess_. "Home!" Oh, Madge! I could weep to think how we have looked
forward to a home of our own, after ten years of boarding-school.
(_Enter_, R., Stranger. _She pauses on the threshold, listening._) And
now to have everything spoiled by this hateful step-mother. It is too
bad.

_Madge_. Papa writes that she is lovely, and will be as much a companion
to us as to him.

_Bess_. Nonsense. Who ever heard of a step-mother being a companion? I
am sure she is an ugly old maid who has no sympathy with anything under
fifty years of age.

_Madge_. It was rather nice of her to ask papa to let us furnish our
rooms in the new house, though.

_Bess_. Policy--mere policy. She wants to get rid of the trouble of
doing it herself.

_Madge_. Well, for papa's sake I think we ought to try to like her.

_Bess_. Oh, _you_ will like her fast enough, but I _never, never_ can!

_Stranger_ (_approaching_). There seems to be nobody in this department
to wait on me; or perhaps a clerk is attending to your orders?

_Madge_. No; we were so busy talking that we forgot how much we have to
do, and did not notice the absence of clerks.

_Stranger_. Ah! here is some one coming. Let us hail him at once.
(Cash-boy _loiters from behind curtains_, L.) Boy, please bring a
salesman as quickly as possible.

[Illustration]

_Cash-boy_. 'Ain't 792 come yet? Well, he is taking a corking feed. Wish
I was him.

_Bess_ (_compassionately_). Do not you have enough to eat at home?

_Cash-boy_. Do I look like I'm suffering?

BESS. No; but I thought perhaps your step-father--

_Cash-boy_ (_thrusting his hands in his pockets and laughing_). 'Ain't
got no step-father. The old lady, she's a step, though.

_Stranger_. Don't you think you should speak more respectfully of old
persons?

_Cash-boy_. I'm a jollying you. She ain't much older than you, and she
don't act a bit like a step. She's prime, I tell you.

_Bess_ (_impatiently_). Go call some one to wait on us, and don't stand
talking all day.

     [_Exit_ Cash-boy, _calling "Sales! Sales!"_]

_Stranger_ (_rising and looking behind curtains_, L.). It is provoking
to sit idle in this way when one has the furnishing of a house on hand.

_Madge_. I should think so. With only two rooms to fit up, Bess and I
feel our responsibilities weighing on us.

     [_Moves about among rolls of carpet, keeping near_ Stranger.]

_Stranger_. How sweet of your mother to allow you to select everything
for yourselves!

_Madge_ (_softly_). We have no mother.

_Stranger_. Poor children!

     [_Lays her hand on_ Madge's _shoulder. They return thus to their
     seats._ Bess _walks over to_ R., _and leans dejectedly against
     piano a moment, then turns impulsively_.]

_Bess_. Have you daughters?

_Stranger_. None of my own; but I'm going to adopt two in a few weeks.

_Madge_. Do you love them so much?

_Stranger_. I shall when we know each other better.

_Bess_. And they?

_Stranger_. I fear they are a trifle prejudiced at present, but love
begets love, and we shall eventually become friends.

_Madge_. It would be difficult not to become friendly with you.

_Stranger_. Thank you, my dear. (_Again goes to curtains_, L.) Here is
our salesman at last, and as we are all on the same errand, we may save
time by looking at carpets and hangings together. (_To_ Bess.) You shall
have first opportunity, however.

_Bess_. No, no; you are entitled to take precedence.

_Stranger_. Age before beauty--eh? Well, then we will collectively
examine rugs for your rooms. (_To_ Salesman.) Something in delicate
tints, please.

[Illustration]

_Salesman_. What size, madam?

_Bess_ (_aghast_). Size?

_Madge_. We did not once dream of measuring the floor.

_Stranger_. Never mind; we will not worry about such trifles as
measurements. Let me see (_reflecting_); twelve feet square--no, twelve
by fifteen will do. (Salesman _unrolls two rugs_.) That one is
charmingly suggestive of spring-time and flowers. Just the thing for a
débutante.

_Bess_. I think I prefer the other. What is the price?

_Salesman_. A hundred and fifty dollars.

_Madge_ (_springing up in surprise_). A hundred and fifty! Goodness
gracious! Why, we expected to furnish a whole room for less! How much is
the other?

_Salesman_. Twenty-five.

_Stranger_. Don't let me influence your choice.

_Bess_. Imagine trampling on a hundred-and-fifty dollar rug.

_Stranger_. People trample on more valuable things every day.

_Bess_ (_aside_). Now why should that speech make me uncomfortable?
(_To_ Madge.) Aren't we inconsiderate in taking the time of a stranger
for our affairs?

_Stranger_. That depends upon the stranger.

_Bess_. Then shall we look at curtains? Those are handsome--aren't they?

_Stranger_. I'm afraid they are more expensive even than the rug. You
might try dotted muslin, perhaps. I shall have them for my room.

_Bess_ (_reluctantly_). Well. What are you giggling about, Madge?

_Madge_. I was thinking that you said this morning nothing could induce
you to have dotted muslin curtains.

_Bess_. People may change their minds--mayn't they?

_Stranger_. I trust you may change yours some time when more is at
stake. (_To_ Salesman.) Will you kindly find some pale blue draperies
that I ordered from the fancy-goods counter down-stairs, and bring them
here?

     [_Exit_ Salesman.]

_Bess_ (_going toward piano_). I wonder if we shall have a piano at
home?

_Stranger_ (_absently_). Oh yes!

_Madge_ (_surprised_). Why, how can you know?

_Stranger_ (_recovering herself_). On general principles, my dear. Every
house must need a piano.

_Bess_. Of course you play or sing?

_Stranger_. My repertoire is limited, and not classical. Association
with young people has led me to devote more time than I ought to
dance-music and light opera.

_Madge_. Do play us a two-step now, just for fun.

     [Stranger _seats herself at piano and plays with spirit. The girls
     hesitate a moment, then push aside rugs and begin to dance._]

_Bess_ (_stopping breathless_). How sweet of you! Such a fascinating
two-step, and played as if you like to take a turn yourself.

_Stranger_. I _was_ quite devoted to it, but now that I am an old maid I
have no sympathy with anything under fifty years of age.

_Madge_ (_aside_). That's what Bess says about our prospective
step-mother.

     [_Enter_ Salesman _with draperies_.]

_Stranger_. Thank you. Yes, we have finished our shopping in this
department. (_To girls._) I must say good-by to you, as you probably
wish to purchase bedroom furniture, and I will first look after my
parlor.

_Madge_. I am so sorry we cannot go on as we have begun. We shall miss
having you to advise and consult with.

_Bess_. You have been so very kind to help us.

_Stranger_. Policy, my dear--mere policy.

_Bess_ (_aside_). How strange! She quotes my very words. (_To her._) I
will not believe there was a scrap of policy about it.

_Madge_. Nor I. You were simply lovely to two ignorant girls who thought
they knew everything.

_Stranger_. Well, good-by. Possibly we may meet again some day.

_Girls_ (_in unison_). I'm sure we hope so.

_Salesman_ (_as_ Stranger _starts to leave_). To whom shall I charge
your curtains and rugs, madam?

_Stranger_. To Charles Rockwood.

_Girls_. Why, that is papa's name.

_Stranger_. Yes? Quite a coincidence--isn't it?

_Salesman_. The address, please?

_Stranger_. Thirty-three West Blank Street.

_Girls_ (_in great excitement_). The number of our new house!

_Stranger_. Really?

_Bess_. What does it all mean?

_Madge_. How perfectly exciting!

_Bess_. Is it possible that--

_Madge_. This is our--

_Stranger_. Future step-mother? Who ever heard of a step-mother being a
companion, my dear girls?

_Bess_. Forgive me. I did not know--

_Stranger_. The marplot that was to spoil everything when her daughters
returned from boarding-school.

     [_Enter_ Cash-boy.]

_Cash-boy_. Sev--en--nine--ty--two!

_Salesman_. Here, check, take this to the office.

_Madge_. Wait a moment, boy. You see we have gained a "step," too.

_Madge_ (_embracing_ Stranger). I was sure I should like you.

_Bess_. And I--

_Stranger_. Never, _never, never_ can.

_Bess_ (_taking her hand affectionately_). I thought so once, but now I
know that circumstances alter cases.




JIM DANDY.


When I was last in the South, the gentleman at whose house I was
visiting asked a trustworthy old colored man to get him a green boy from
the country to be trained as a house servant. In a day or so the old man
drove up to the door and put out of his wagon a sturdy-looking lad of
fifteen or so, black as the ace of spades, and clad in raiment seemingly
made of selections from a rag-bag. With a small bundle in his hand he
approached the gallery--that is what a porch in some parts of the South
is called--where I was sitting with my host, Mr. Prettyman. The boy took
off his hat and made not a bow exactly but an inclination of his head,
grinning from ear to ear, and displaying as white and useful a set of
teeth as is often seen.

"What is your name?" Mr. Prettyman asked.

"Jim Dandy, sah," the boy answered.

"Whom do you live with?"

"I lives wid Aunty," the boy said, and his manner now showed that he was
getting embarrassed, for he did not giggle, but smiled nervously.

"Where does Aunty live?" Mr. Prettyman inquired.

I suspect that this question made Jim Dandy fear that Mr. Prettyman did
not have as much sense as a gentleman living in a fine house in town
ought to have. He hesitated a moment, and then, moving his head
sideways, said, "Aunty, she live over yonder."

This was most indefinite, but it was evidently the best that Jim Dandy
could do for the moment, so Mr. Prettyman took him round to the kitchen
at the back of the house and put him in charge of the cook, who was also
the old housekeeper. And so Jim Dandy was engaged. In the course of an
hour he was trying to learn his way about the house and feel comfortable
in a suit of blue clothes with many brass buttons. But there was another
ordeal for Jim Dandy. When Mrs. Prettyman reached home later in the day
she decided that the new "buttons" must be called James. And so he was
called on formal occasions, but with the children at least Jim Dandy
stuck.

In a few days the new boy began to feel at home, and then set about
justifying his worthiness of the distinguished name he had assumed. The
first time he was sent down-town he came back in such a hurry that it
seemed incredible that he could have done his errand. The next time he
staid longer, and the third time--that was after he had been in service
a week--he staid half a day. To one of the children he confessed that he
had spent all his time in looking in the shop-windows. Hearing this, I
felt a sympathy for Jim Dandy, for I waste much of my own time in that
same occupation. But the shop-windows of this little Southern city
seemed shabby and sorry to me after New York and Paris, and I felt sorry
for Jim Dandy that such cheap splendors should make him forget his duty.

The fourth time Jim Dandy was sent into town he was told that he must
not loiter on the way, but be back in a hurry. And, sure enough, he did
not stay long. In less than an hour he was back. But he was not the
smart-looking "buttons" who had started out shortly before. His clothes
were muddy, his coat was slit in the back, his cap was gone, and there
was blood on one of his cheeks. In appearance he looked sheepish and
crestfallen. "Jim Dandy has had a licking," I said to myself, for I felt
sure that some of the negro lads in town, envious of his whole clothes,
had given the country boy a beating for revenge and for the fun of the
thing. To inquiries Jim Dandy could make no intelligible reply. He went
to the back of the house and sat on the kitchen steps. Tears rolled down
his cheeks, and his great eyes were filled with trouble. Aunt Mandy, the
cook, evidently diagnosed Jim Dandy's trouble as I had done, and she was
voluble in her abuse of him for not "'tending to his own bizness."

It had not been long, however, before there was an explanation of Jim
Dandy's adventure. The Mayor of the town called at Mr. Prettyman's to
ask for the boy. As the Mayor was also a magistrate, we were afraid Jim
Dandy must have done something very dreadful. This is what the Mayor
said Jim had done:

A pony phaeton with four children in it was driving through Main Street.
A trolley-car was approaching, and the pony took fright and became
unmanageable, backing the phaeton on to the track. Jim was passing on
his errand. Seeing the danger, he got behind the phaeton, and pushed it
and the pony from the track. He was not so fortunate, for the fender of
the car caught him and rolled him over and over in the mud until the car
was stopped. This was how Jim Dandy's first suit of livery came to be
spoiled. We were proud of Jim, and spoke to him as kindly as possible;
but he was rather a sulky youth till his new suit of clothes arrived--a
suit paid for, by-the-way, by the Mayor himself, for it was his children
that Jim had saved from the trolley-car.

The first freshness had not been worn from Jim's new suit before we all
went to a picnic on the banks of the little mountain river that flowed
through the town. Jim was told to keep a sharp lookout on the younger
children, who were fishing from the bank in shallow water. One of the
little girls was a fidgety specimen of humanity, for she could never sit
still two minutes at a time. Before she had been fishing ten minutes she
fell into the river. The water was very shallow, but the current was
swift, and there was surely enough water to drown little Margaret
Prettyman, with a-plenty to spare. But Jim Dandy was there, and the
child had hardly touched the water before he was in after her and had
her in his arms. Not many seconds more had passed before Mrs. Prettyman
had the very wet and much-frightened Margaret in her arms, and was
weeping over that rescued infant.

Jim Dandy's smartness was again dimmed, and he was a sorry and
bedraggled looking darky. Mr. Prettyman looked his "buttons" over
carefully, and Jim was evidently embarrassed by the gaze.

"Well, James," his master said, "you are rightly named, for you are a
Jim Dandy--every inch a Jim Dandy."

This is what the country boy did to justify his name during the two
weeks that I staid at Mr. Prettyman's. It may be that he has gone on and
on from adventure to adventure, so that when I hear about them I will
have to send the record of them to Mr. Kirk Munroe, so that he may have
a biographer worthy of a daring career. When I left I gave some money to
little Margaret, to be divided among the servants. She came to the gate
just as I was going to the carriage, and said, "Aunt Mandy's obliged,
and Hannah's obliged, and Jim Dandy's obliged,' but Jim Dandy's obliged
the most, 'cause he stood on his head."




THE MIDDLE DAUGHTER.[1]

[1] Begun in HARPER'S ROUND TABLE No. 845.

BY MARGARET E. SANGSTER.

CHAPTER IV.

TWO LITTLE SCHOOLMARMS.


"And so you are your papa's good fairy? How happy you must be! How
proud!" Amy's eyes shone as she talked to Grace, and smoothed down a
fold of the pretty white alpaca gown which set off her friend's dainty
beauty. The girls were in my mother's room at the Manse, and Mrs.
Raeburn had left them together to talk over plans, while she went to the
parlor to entertain a visitor who was engaged in getting up an autumn
_fête_ for a charitable purpose. Nothing of this kind was ever done
without mother's aid.

There were few secrets between Wishing-Brae and the Manse, and Mrs.
Wainwright had told our mother how opportunely Grace had been able to
assist her father in his straits. Great was our joy.

"You must remember, dear," said mamma, when she returned from seeing
Miss Gardner off, "that your purse is not exhaustless, though it is a
long one for a girl. Debts have a way of eating up bank accounts; and
what will you do when your money is gone if you still find that the wolf
menaces the door at Wishing-Brae?"

"That is what I want to consult you about, Aunt Dorothy." (I ought to
have said that our mother was Aunt Dorothy to the children at the Brae,
and more beloved than many a real auntie, though one only by courtesy.)
"Frances knows my ambitions," Grace went on, "I mean to be a money-maker
as well as a money-spender; and I have two strings to my bow. First, I'd
like to give interpretations."

The mother looked puzzled. "Interpretations?" she said. "Of what,
pray?--Sanscrit or Egyptian or Greek? Are you a seeress or a witch, dear
child?"

"Neither. In plain English I want to read stories and poems to my
friends and to audiences--Miss Wilkins's and Mrs. Stuart's beautiful
stories, and the poems of Holmes and Longfellow and others who speak to
the heart. Not mere elocutionary reading, but simple reading, bringing
out the author's meaning and giving people pleasure. I would charge an
admission fee, and our dining-room would hold a good many; but I ought
to have read somewhere else first, and to have a little background of
city fame before I ask Highland neighbors to come and hear me. This is
my initial plan. I could branch out."

To the mother the new idea did not at once commend itself. She knew
better than we girls did how many twenty-five-cent tickets must be sold
to make a good round sum in dollars. She knew the thrifty people of
Highland looked long at a quarter before they parted with it for mere
amusement, and still further, she doubted whether Dr. Wainwright would
like the thing. But Amy clapped her hands gleefully. She thought it
fine.

"You must give a studio reading," she said. "I can manage that, mother;
if Miss Antoinette Drury will lend her studio, and we send out
invitations for 'Music and Reading, and Tea at Five,' the prestige part
will be taken care of. The only difficulty that I can see is that Grace
would have to go to a lot of places and travel about uncomfortably; and
then she'd need a manager. Wouldn't she, Frances?"

"I see no trouble," said I, "in her being her own manager. She would go
to a new town with a letter to the pastor of the leading church, or his
wife, call in at the newspaper office and get a puff; puffs are always
easily secured by enterprising young women, and they help to fill up the
paper besides. Then she would hire a hall and pay for it out of her
profits, and the business could be easily carried forward."

"Is this the New Woman breaking her shell?" said mother. "I don't think
I quite like the interpretation scheme either as Amy or as you outline
it, though I am open to persuasion. Here is the doctor. Let us hear what
he says."

It was not Dr. Wainwright, but my father, Dr. Raeburn, except on a
Friday, the most genial of men. Amy perched herself on his knee and ran
her slim fingers through his thick dark hair. To him our plans were
explained, and he at once gave them his approval.

"As I understand you, Gracie," Dr. Raeburn said, "you wish this reading
business as a stepping-stone. You would form classes, would you not? And
your music could also be utilized. You had good instruction, I fancy,
both here and over the water."

"Indeed yes, Dr. Raeburn; and I could give lessons in music, but they
wouldn't bring me in much, here at least."

"Come to my study," said the doctor, rising. "Amy, you have ruffled up
my hair till I look like a cherub before the flood. Come, all of you,
Dorothy and the kids."

"You don't call us kids, do you, papa?"

"Young ladies, then, at your service," said the doctor, with a low bow.
"I've a letter from my old friend Vernon Hastings. I'll read it to you
when I can find it," said the good man, rummaging among the books,
papers, and correspondence with which his great table was littered.
"Judge Hastings," the doctor went on, "lost his wife in Venice a year
ago. He has three little girls in need of special advantages; he cannot
bear to send them away to school, and his mother, who lives with him and
orders the house, won't listen to having a resident governess. All, this
is the letter!" The doctor read:

     "I wish you could help me, Charley, in the dilemma in which I find
     myself. Lucy and Helen and my little Madge are to be educated, and
     the question is how, when, and where? They are delicate, and I
     cannot yet make up my mind to the desolate house I would have
     should they go to school. Grandmamma has pronounced against a
     governess, and I don't like the day-schools of the town. Now is not
     one of your daughters musical, and perhaps another sufficiently
     mistress of the elementary branches to teach these babies? I will
     pay liberally the right person or persons for three hours' work a
     day. But I must have well-bred girls, ladies, to be with my trio of
     bairns."

"I couldn't teach arithmetic or drawing," said Grace. "I would be glad
to try my hand at music and geography and German and French. I might be
weak on spelling."

"I don't think that of you, Grace," said mother.

"I am ashamed to say it's true," said Grace.

Amy interrupted. "How far away is Judge Hastings's home, papa?"

"An hour's ride, Amy dear. No, forty minutes' ride by rail. I'll go and
see him. I've no doubt he will pay you generously, Grace, for your
services, if you feel that you can take up this work seriously."

"I do; I will," said Grace, "and only too thankful will I be to
undertake it; but what about the multiplication table, and the straight
and the curved lines, and Webster's speller?"

"Papa," said Amy, gravely, "please mention me to the judge. I will teach
those midgets the arithmetic and drawing and other fundamental studies
which my gifted friend fears to touch."

"You?" said papa, in surprise.

"Why not, dear?" interposed mamma. "Amy's youth is against her, but the
fact is she can count and she can draw, and I'm not afraid to recommend
her, though she is only a chit of fifteen, as to her spelling."

"Going on sixteen, mamma, if you please, and nearly there," Amy
remarked, drawing herself up to her fullest height, at which we all
laughed merrily.

"I taught school myself at sixteen," our mother went on, "and though it
made me feel like twenty-six, I had no trouble with thirty boys and
girls of all ages from four to eighteen. You must remember me, my love,
in the old district school at Elmwood."

"Yes," said papa, "and your overpowering dignity was a sight for gods
and men. All the same, you were a darling."

"So she is still." And we pounced upon her in a body and devoured her
with kisses, the sweet little mother.

"Papa," Amy proceeded, when order had been restored, "why not take us
when you go to interview the judge? Then he can behold his future
schoolma'ams, arrange terms, and settle the thing at once. I presume
Grace is anxious as I am to begin her career, now that it looms up
before her. I am in the mood of the youth who bore through snow and ice
the banner with the strange device, 'Excelsior.'"

"In the mean time, good people," said Frances, appearing in the doorway,
"luncheon is served."

We had a pretty new dish--new to us--for luncheon, and as everybody may
not know how nice it is, I'll just mention it in passing.

Take large ripe tomatoes, scoop out the pulp and mix it with finely
minced canned salmon, adding a tiny pinch of salt. Fill the tomatoes
with this mixture, set them in a nest of crisp green lettuce leaves, and
pour a mayonnaise into each ruby cup. The dish is extremely dainty and
inviting, and tastes as good as it looks. It must be very cold.

"But," Doctor Raeburn said, in reply to a remark of mother's that she
was pleased the girls had decided on teaching, it was so womanly and
proper an employment for girls of good family, "I must insist that the
'interpretations' be not entirely dropped. I'll introduce you, my dear,"
he said, "when you give your first recital, and that will make it all
right in the eyes of Highland."

"Thank you, Doctor," said Grace. "I would rather have your sanction than
anything else in the world, except papa's approval."

"Why don't your King's Daughters give Grace a boom? You are always
getting up private theatricals, and this is just the right time."

"Lawrence Raeburn, you are a trump!" said Amy, flying round to her
brother and giving him a hug. "We'll propose it at the first meeting of
the Ten, and it'll be carried by acclamation."

"Now," said Grace, rising and saying good-afternoon to my mother, with a
courtesy to the rest of us, "I'm going straight home to break ground
there and prepare my mother for great events."

Walking over the fields in great haste, for when one has news to
communicate, one's feet are wings, Grace was arrested by a groan as of
somebody in great pain. She looked about cautiously, but it was several
minutes before she found, lying under the hedge, a boy with a broken
pitcher at his side. He was deadly pale, and great drops of sweat rolled
down his face.

"Oh, you poor boy! what is the matter?" she cried, bending over him in
great concern.

"I've broke mother's best china pitcher," said the lad, in a despairing
voice.

"Poof!" replied Grace. "Pitchers can be mended or replaced. What else is
wrong? You're not groaning over a broken pitcher, surely."

"You would, if it came over in the _Mayflower_, and was all of your
ancestors' you had left to show that you could be a Colonial Dame.
Ug-gh!" The boy tried to sit up, gasped, and fell back in a dead faint.

"Goodness!" said Grace; "he's broken his leg as well as his pitcher.
Colonial Dames! What nonsense! Well, I can't leave him here."

She had her smelling-salts in her satchel, but before she could find
them, Grace's satchel being an omnium gatherum of remarkable a
miscellaneous character, the lad came to. A fainting person will usually
regain consciousness soon if laid out flat, with the head a little lower
than the body. I've seen people persist in keeping a fainting friend in
a sitting position, which is very stupid and quite cruel.

"I am Doctor Wainwright's daughter," said Grace, "and I see my father's
gig turning the corner of the road. You shall have help directly. Papa
will know what to do, so lie still where you are."

[Illustration: GRACE'S FLAG OF DISTRESS.]

The lad obeyed, there plainly being nothing else to be done. In a second
Doctor Wainwright, at Grace's flag of distress, a white handkerchief
waving from the top of her parasol, came toward her at the mare's
fastest pace.

"Hello!" he said. "Here's Archie Vanderhoven in a pickle."

"As usual, doctor," said Archie, faintly. "I've broken mother's last
pitcher."

"And your leg, I see," observed the doctor, with professional
directness. "Well, my boy, you must be taken home. Grace, drive home for
me, and tell the boys to bring a cot here as soon as possible. Meanwhile
I'll set Archie's leg. It's only a simple fracture." And the doctor,
from his black bag, brought out bandages and instruments. No army
surgeon on the field of battle was quicker and gentler than Doctor
Wainwright, whose skill was renowned all over our country-side.

"What is there about the Vanderhovens?" inquired Grace that night as
they sat by the blaze of hickory logs in the cheery parlor of
Wishing-Brae.

"The Vanderhovens are a decayed family," her father answered. "They were
once very well off and lived in state, and from far and near gay parties
were drawn at Easter and Christmas to dance under their roof. Now they
are run out. This boy and his mother are the last of the line. Archie's
father was drowned in the ford when we had the freshet last spring. The
Ramapo, that looks so peaceful now, overflowed its banks then, and ran
like a mill-race. I don't know how they manage, but Archie is kept at
school, and his mother does everything from ironing white frocks for
summer boarders to making jellies and preserves for people in town, who
send her orders."

"Is she an educated woman?" inquired Grace.

"That she is. Mrs. Vanderhoven is not only highly educated, but very
elegant and accomplished. None of her attainments, except those in the
domestic line, are available, unhappily, when earning a living is in
question, and she can win her bread only by these housekeeping efforts."

"Might I go and see her?"

"Why yes, dear, you and the others not only might, but should. She will
need help. I'll call and consult Mrs. Raeburn about her to-morrow. She
isn't a woman one can treat like a pauper--as well born as any one in
the land, and prouder than Lucifer. It's too bad Archie had to meet with
this accident; but boys are fragile creatures."

And the doctor, shaking the ashes from his pipe, went off to sit with
his wife before going to bed.

"I do wonder," said Grace to Eva, "what the boy was doing with the old
Puritan pitcher, and why a Vanderhoven should have boasted of coming
over in the _Mayflower_?"

Eva said: "They're Dutch and English, Grace. The Vanderhovens are from
Holland, but Archie's mother was a Standish, or something of that sort,
and her kinsfolk, of course, belonged to the _Mayflower_ crowd. I
believe Archie meant to sell that pitcher, and if so, no wonder he broke
his leg. By-the-way, what became of the pieces?"

"I picked them up," said Grace.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]




FOR KING OR COUNTRY.

A Story of the Revolution.

BY JAMES BARNES.

CHAPTER XV.

A SAFE DISGRACE.


George was so near that the heavy man could have touched him with his
hand, but after scratching about the door, he found the latch at last,
and stumbled sleepily out into the hall. Owing to the darkness within
the room George could now see out of the curtainless window. There was
no one on the roof! However, he could not tarry where he was; he must
take the risk; and slipping the miniature and cipher into his pocket, he
opened the window and slid over the wall to the alley. It was turning
freezing cold; the ground crunched under his feet, and the little gate
to the widow's diminutive front yard creaked shrilly. The young spy
knocked softly on the door.

"Who's there?" came a voice from the second story.

"'Tis I, George Frothingham," he answered. "Mrs. Mack, I pray you let me
in."

The old woman in a minute admitted him into the hallway.

"You will have to hide me somewhere, my good friend," he said, "for I am
in great danger."

"The very place! the little room that you used to have," was the
whispered response. "No one would think of looking for ye there; and if
they did, there's a small attic over-head. Why should they think of my
house?" she added.

Once more George found himself in the little room where he had passed so
many lonely hours reading and writing, recalling pleasant scenes, and
drawing bright pictures of what he hoped might be, before the great
changes had arrived. Thinking that it might attract attention to have a
light burning in the room at such an hour, he refrained from trying to
read the despatches, putting it off until morning. He tumbled into the
little bed that he had slept in so often, and, despite the excitement of
the night, fell fast asleep. When he awoke it was broad daylight--such a
crisp sparkling day! Every twig on the trees shone like a branch of
diamonds. The pools in the road were filled with white brittle ice that
broke and shivered noisily beneath the feet of some school-boys going
down the road.

"Oh, that I was only one of them!" thought George, looking out of the
window. A curtain was tacked across the panes, and he could look out
without being seen.

Suddenly he stopped, half dressed, although the room was intensely cold,
and pulled out the despatch he had found in the hollow limb. There it
was, neatly written in the cipher, and that also was at hand. But where
were the magnifying-glass and the snuff-box? He could not find them, and
strain his eyes to their utmost, he could not make out clearly the
characters on the diminutive sheet of parchment. He hastily finished
dressing, and called through the hallway for Mrs. Mack. There was no
answer. Then he thought of a large round glass bowl that used to hang by
a chain in the window below-stairs. He remembered that when filled with
water it magnified extremely well. Mrs. Mack had evidently gone out, the
house seemed deserted, so he slipped down the stairs, and found the bowl
in its accustomed place. But as he reached it from the hook he paused.
Two persons were softly talking at the back of the hall. He could feel,
from the draught of air, that the door was open.

"'Tis very strange," said a man's voice; "but there's great excitement
at the City Arms. I was there with the milk this morning, and they say
as how a young gentleman from up the river has disappeared--murdered,
maybe, for all they know. They are looking in all directions for him."

"And what might be his name?"

George recognized Mrs. Mack's voice.

"I have forgotten," said the man; "but they say he was a handsome lad,
and scattered his money as if he expected it to grow again."

Then followed some conversation about the milk, and the door was closed.
Mrs. Mack started as she saw her guest approaching.

"You had better stay in your room, Mr. Frothingham," she said. "That is
my neighbor, the milkman, an inquisitive blackguard."

"Mrs. Mack," responded George, "I am the young man who is missing from
the City Arms. They must not find me."

"Shure you're safe here. But what are you doing with the bowl, sir?"
inquired the woman.

"I am going to read with it," said George. "Will you fill it with
water?"

Mrs. Mack looked at him as if she thought he had taken leave of his
senses, but she complied, and brought the bowl up to his room. In a few
minutes more George was easily able to decipher the despatch. It ran as
follows:

     "TO YOU,--Your number is four; initial B. Observe. We are glad to
     hear from our brother in New Jersey, and that he approves of the
     plan. It can be done. We are not suspected, and your arrival is
     most opportune. You have been seen by us; you are the young man for
     our purpose. It must be done on Friday night. A dinner will be
     given at a place to which you will receive an invitation. It is but
     a few steps from the river. After the dinner, cards will be
     proposed. Tables will be arranged in such a way that _he whom we
     wish_ will be seated near the door. A note will arrive requesting
     his presence with the fleet. There will be no moon. A man-of-war's
     boat will be waiting; once in mid-stream, _he_ will never reach the
     ships, for we know who mans the boat. The only difficulty will be
     to disarm suspicion of those who accompany him. They must be
     detained. You and another, who will be made known to you, will be
     playing at the farther table. You back him heavily with gold and
     lose your wager. This will keep the officers' attention. They will
     endeavor to stay after _he_ is gone. When we have ten minutes'
     start pretend to be enraged, upset the table. There will be great
     confusion. The party will break up at once. Leave through the alley
     behind the house; go to Striker's Wharf. There you will find an
     able skiff. New Jersey is to the westward. We leave the rest to
     you. If we can keep enough of _his_ friends from following him, it
     will be easy to accomplish our end of the undertaking. To-morrow at
     five o'clock be walking down the left-hand side of Johnson's Lane.
     Some one will pass you who will strike three times on the lid of
     his snuff-box. Turn and follow him. We hold no meetings, but he
     will give you some instructions. Final orders at the limb. You are
     number Four of Seven. Remember."

George read the strange epistle through. It was of little use to him
now; he could not show himself in his assumed character. Richard Blount
and the manner of his disappearance must remain a mystery. So far as he
was concerned, he could lend no assistance in the proposed scheme. He
tore the letter up, burning the scraps; but, after considering, he
determined, however, to keep the appointment with the man with the
snuff-box that evening.

At five o'clock, with a worsted shawl of Mrs. Mack's bound tightly about
his throat and a heavy fur cap drawn around his ears, he was stamping
his heels together like a butcher's apprentice, a basket on his arm, at
the corner of Johnson's Lane. Three or four people passed him, but he
saw no signs of a man with a tendency to tap on his snuff-box. At last,
as he looked down the lane, he perceived a small figure walking toward
him with a quick nervous step. George did not know what to do, for he
recognized at once that it was Mr. Anderson. Strange to say, as he was
approaching he drew a snuff-box from his pocket. Then with a flood of
light it dawned upon the lad that Mr. Anderson was one of the
"Seven," and he understood why he had not been recognized, and also knew
that there was an able hand at the helm.

As the little man approached, a tall figure also appeared about the
corner, and strode after the schoolmaster with long swinging steps.
George saw at once that it was the young officer who had breakfasted
with him the day before. They would soon be within speaking distance.
Taking a few hasty steps he darted about the corner, dropping his basket
as he ran. So quick had been the movement that he was not in time to
dodge a great lanky man who was walking quickly from the opposite
direction, and he ran right into his arms. So great was his impetus that
the man fell back against the wall of a brick house, and his huge watch
flew out of his pocket and was dashed to pieces.

[Illustration: "FROTHINGHAM! FROTHINGHAM!" THE OLD CLERK TRIED TO SAY.]

"You thieving villain! Stop thief--stop!" exclaimed the stranger, making
a grasp for George's shoulder. But now the lad's great strength once
more served him in good stead. He struck down the other's arm, and as he
did so gasped, for the person he had run into was none other than Abel
Norton, his old chief clerk. Abel's other hand had firm hold upon the
woollen comforter, and George caught him by the throat and twisted him
backwards across his knee. "Frothingham! Frothingham!" the old clerk
tried to say.

Here was an added danger. He was recognized! The two men must now be
almost at the corner. With a final effort George tore himself away, and
started down the alley at a run. He knew that farther on there was a big
lumber-yard that opened on the main street. If he could reach there
ahead of the others, he might manage to escape.

Abel's first cries, however, had brought a number of people from the
public-houses, and the young officer and Mr. Anderson came about the
corner of the lane. George's fleeing figure was in plain sight.

"Stop thief!" the officer shouted, and leaped forward with the stride of
a swift runner.

"Stop thief!" echoed Abel Norton, and strange to say, the old man caught
up with the redcoat easily, and, stranger still, appeared to slip and
fall upon his heels. Down they both went.

Schoolmaster Anderson in the mean time was at the head of four or five
other pursuers, who had run from the tap-rooms. Before he reached the
spot where the two leaders were gathering themselves together, he also
tripped, and the two next fell over him. There was a general laugh, and
by this time George had turned through the gateway into the lumber-yard.
Here again he had to adapt himself to circumstances, for at the farther
entrance was standing a group of soldiers throwing horseshoes at a peg
in the frozen ground. He could not go out of that opposite gate without
exciting suspicion. There were only two things left him to do; one to
jump the fence to the left, or try to scale the high wall to the right.
A glance at the latter decided matters. There was a clumsy-looking
ladder leaning against the wall. He hastened up, and threw himself over
the top, kicking the ladder from beneath him as he jumped. He came down
in a little garden. He had doubled on his tracks, and could hear the
pursuit going down the road behind him. Suddenly he glanced up at the
small house; it bore a sign over the front door:

MADAME LUCILLA BONSALL,

DRESSMAKER.

ROBES ET MANTEAUX.

He tried the door, it was unlocked, and he stepped in without knocking.
A strange-looking woman with a long face and pale blue eyes was sitting
there. George knew her at a glance to be Luke Bonsall's mother. She
looked up from her sewing.

"What means this?" she asked, in a deep, hollow voice.

"I am a friend of your son's in the army. I have a message--a message
from him to you," said George, panting. "Take me where we can be alone,
and I will tell you."

The woman got up and slipped the bolt into the door.

"A message from my son!" she repeated. "He is dead."

George started. There would be no necessity to break the news. "I have
a letter here," he said, fumbling in his pocket, "How did you know he
died, might I ask, madam? It is true, and I was sorry to bear the
tidings."

"I dreamed it," said the woman. "See, I am in black."

George handed her the letter. She read it carefully, but did not weep or
show that it had touched her.

"It's good news," she said. "I told him that I could not be the mother
of a coward."

"Indeed he was none such," answered George, quickly. "He died like a
brave soldier, and would have made his mark."

"It was not to be," responded the woman. "The Fates would not have it
so."

"What a strange creature is this!" thought George to himself. But had he
known all, it would have seemed stranger still, for Mrs. Bonsall was a
believer in occult signs, and long ago she had had her son's horoscope
cast. She had been informed that the sickly, pale-eyed youth was to die
in battle. The idea then would have seemed most amusing to any one else,
but to Mrs. Bonsall it had been a reality, and Luke himself had gone to
the front with this cloud about him. He was brave indeed.

George suddenly remembered his own position, and extended his hand.
There had come a confused babble of voices out in the yard.

"Do you hear that, Mrs. Bonsall? They are after me! See," he said, "you
must assist me. I must hide until dark, for if I am found my life is not
worth a pine-tree shilling. They think I am a thief. I am not."

"Come," the woman said; "walk softly." She took him by the hand and led
him back to a small stairway. They went up two flights until they
reached a large empty hall. George stumbled over a heavy pair of boots,
and looking through an open doorway on the right, he could see a cavalry
sabre leaning against a chair.

"Sh! they have quartered them upon me," whispered Mrs. Bonsall. "But
it's not for long, for despair and defeat await them. Ah yes! I know, I
know!" Mrs. Bonsall pushed the fugitive into a little room beyond, and
locked the door behind him.

He sat down on a chair near the window and looked out. He could see over
the top of the wall that he had scaled. There were some soldiers and a
number of men rummaging about the heaps of lumber. Then he heard a thump
of the knocker on the door below. A rumbling sound followed. The strain
was frightful on George's nerves.

"And think you I would shelter a pickpocket?" asked the woman, plainly.

George could not make out the reply, for a loud voice shouted, in a rich
brogue: "Out, you fools! There's no one here. What do you take this
spacious mansion for--a thieves' den? By the powers!"

"Don't let them in, Corporal Shaughnessy," pleaded the widow's voice.

The loud voice was now rumbling from below again. Some one in the crowd
laughed, and George breathed easily as he heard them go out into the
road.

It seemed to him now that it never would grow dark. He realized that he
was very hungry, and he tried the door, but it was firmly locked. He was
in Mrs. Bonsall's power, but he felt somehow that he could trust her. As
he was deliberating whether to try the window or not, he heard the sound
of footsteps.

"By the gun of Athlone!" said Corporal Shaughnessy's voice, "we will be
moving soon, and sorry will I be, for though our landlady is the only
female who ever failed to smile upon me, our quarters here are
comfortable, and I would hate to be losing of them for a bed in the
snows of the wilderness."

"They do be saying," put in another voice, "that it will be decided at
the meeting to-night."

"And where's that to be held?" said the first speaker.

"At the Fraunces House. They always hold them there. I have been upon
guard there."

"Come into me spacious apartment and have a pipe, McCune," said
Shaughnessy.

The tones of the two men talking were familiar to George somehow. But
when he heard the name "McCune," he recalled the whole thing to his
memory. They were the two soldiers he and his brother had talked with
years ago on that memorable day of parting.

The door closed behind them, and it had hardly done so when a soft
grating of the key in the lock was heard. Mrs. Bonsall opened the door.
Once more she took him by the hand and led the way down the stairs.

As they went through the front room the woman picked up a candle and
looked intently at George's palm.

"Tribulations," she said; "but do not despair; success awaits you."

George did not smile, but gravely thanked her for all that she had done,
and slipped out of the house.

It was pitch dark, and he remembered as he went along that he was far
from accomplishing anything that he had made the perilous trip for. All
his fine castles had tumbled about his ears, the smooth pathway that
appeared to stretch before him had vanished, and nothing but obstacles
loomed before his eyes. However, if he could not assist in the wild
scheme of gaining possession of such a powerful hostage as Lord Howe or
his brother, the General, any news that he could bring concerning the
probable destination of the army would be of inestimable value to
General Washington at Morristown. Why not find out as much as he could
and get away?

So intently was he thinking, that he did not notice a figure that had
stepped out of the doorway of a house and was walking, close at his
heels.

  "Oh, de ham fat it am good, an' de 'possum it am fine,"

hummed a voice.

George turned. "Cato, you imp of darkness," he said, "where did you come
from?"

"From de State of New Jarsey," responded the old man, his white teeth
gleaming plainly in the darkness. "Well, Mas'r George, I's done followed
you, and it took de best horse on de place. I tink you mought need me."

"Then it was you that dodged over there in the road near West Point?"

"Yes, sah, I 'spect so. You come purty nigh gitting away from me once or
twice, sah."

"How did you cross the river? How in the world?" exclaimed George, his
astonishment driving all other thoughts out of his head.

"On a log raf, youn' mas'r, and it was purty col' work," answered the
old negro.

"Cato," said George, impressively, "you must keep away from me, and you
must get back as soon as you can."

"Can't I stay wid you, sah?" answered the old darky. "I'll be deaf,
dumb, and blind. I knows you are here on some business dat--"

George interrupted him. "I hate to do it, Cato," he said; "but do you
see that corner? You get back and around it as soon as you can, and if
you meet me again, don't appear to know me, for by doing so you may
place a rope around my neck."

The old man did not say another word, but scuttled off.

Now George determined upon a bold line of action. So well had he known
the ins and outs of the town that he knew at once the room in which the
officers were to meet, at Fraunces Tavern. He knew that through a stable
in the rear he might gain a position from which he could hear or see
something of the proceedings. But why not first go to the orchard? He
had no sooner determined upon this plan than he had walked quickly to
the north, and taking several short-cuts, reached the tree.

In the last few hours he had memorized the cipher until it was almost
perfectly imprinted on his mind. There was a paper in the limb addressed
to "No. 4." He drew it out, and finding where a fire had smouldered in
the street, he picked out an ember and blew it into a flame. He made out
the words: "B., Number Four, make your escape. Use all caution. We do
not know you. It is for the best that you should be a stranger to us."

[TO BE CONTINUED.]




[Illustration]

THE PROPOSED TRIP TO THE NORTH POLE.

BY WILFRID DE FOUVIELLE.


Twelve months have scarcely elapsed since Mr. Andrée, the Swedish
balloonist, first published the details of his scheme for reaching the
North Pole by the smooth and easy but crooked paths of cloudland. During
this short period the clever and hardy aeronaut has had his proposals
favorably received by the Swedish and French academies of sciences, and
obtained the $36,000 required for his purpose from King Oscar, Mr.
Nobel, and the Baron Oscar Dickson. Mr. Andrée has travelled all over
Europe to consult the most competent specialists, and has completed all
his preparations for the transportation of his huge balloon from Paris,
where it is being constructed, to Spitzbergen early next May. The start
will be made some time in July or at the beginning of August from
Norskoärna, a small rocky and snowy archipelago situated on the
northwestern coast of Spitzbergen, and the most accessible part of this
famous territory. Norskoärna is almost under the eightieth parallel, and
although sad and even grim in aspect, this remote spot will prove a
convenient station for the departure, as the distance to the North Pole
is only about 600 miles. Mr. Andrée's balloon, which will be called The
Northern Pole, is to be made of triple French varnished silk, having a
resistance of 250 pounds to the linear inch. It contains 130,000 cubic
feet, and has a lifting power of more than 10,000 pounds. Besides the
car and its three occupants--Messrs. Andrée, Ekholm, and Strindberg--the
balloon will be supplied with scientific apparatus and 2000 prepared
photographic plates, in charge of Dr. Strindberg. The Northern Pole will
not carry sand for ballast, but use its large quantity of stores for
throwing out in case of need. At Norskoärna the balloon can be kept
waiting any length of time for a favorable wind. Held in place by
sixteen tackles attached to the rocky soil, and connected by a system of
ropes and pulleys with the whole netting, it can laugh at all the
efforts of the strongest gale, and remain there for weeks ready for
immediate despatch.

[Illustration: GRAPHIC PLAN OF THE NORTH POLE.

1. Spitzbergen 2. Franz Josef Land. 3. Asia. 4. North America. 5.
Greenland. + North Pole.]

Mr. Nils Ekholm, the celebrated meteorologist of Upsal University, will
give the signal for the departure of this fearless expedition. This
signal will not be given until Mr. Ekholm finds a northern breeze
blowing briskly and with all the known signs of permanency--a frequent
occurrence, however, in those regions and in such a season. As a
professional aeronaut, I may be allowed to say that Mr. Ekholm will not
be mistaken in his prognostications, and that, once started, Mr.
Andrée's aerial craft will be carried away for hours in the direction of
the North Pole. It would be almost unreasonable to hope that the aerial
travellers will float exactly above the foremost point of our globe from
the tropics. It would be enough for Mr. Andrée to make such a nearing as
would enable him to bring back to civilization hundreds or thousands of
photographs recording all the features of those unattainable regions.
His most ambitious desires will be wholly satisfied, I am sure, if he
obtains a clear view of the rocky mountains that Lieutenant Peary is
said to have seen from the top of the Greenland glaciers on a far
distant horizon.

[Illustration: SPITZBERGEN, THE STARTING-POINT.]

For my own part, I believe that the three aerial explorers will have no
difficulty in running the greater part of the 600 miles separating
Norskoärna from the North Pole. If by some unaccountable misfortune
there should be a notable change in the moving paths of cloudland, it is
certain that Mr. Andrée will be able to direct his balloon in a suitable
siding. Then he will resort to his ingenious combination of guide-roping
and sailing which I described in a previous article. Since his first
trial, in 1894, he has realized great improvements, as will be seen by
comparing the aspect of his new balloon with that of the Swea sailing
above the Swedish lake country, already published in HARPER'S ROUND
TABLE. Instead of using only one medium-sized guide-rope, he will drag
in the Polar solitudes not less than three heavy hemp lines. With the
aid of these gigantic and ponderous guide-ropes, each one measuring 1200
feet and weighing 600 pounds, he can set three sails, supplied with
yards and moved by rigging, and attached to the upper part of the
balloon, independent of the netting, so that they may receive their full
expanse. Their total surface amounts to more than 700 square feet, and
they will, if skilfully managed, impart a remarkable deviating power to
the balloon. So The Northern Pole will skip along like a sailing-craft
with a stern wind.

It must be remembered that in summer-time the winds and storms of the
North Pole are far less treacherous than those of the most attractive
parts of the tropical, or even those of the temperate zones. The north
polar regions are never visited by cyclones or thunder. The only danger
to be encountered is a slight fall of snow, not more than four or five
inches in the whole season. For meeting this almost trivial danger Mr.
Andrée has had the upper part of his balloon covered with a silk canvas,
so that the meshes of the net will be free from any accumulation of
falling snowflakes.

[Illustration: THE COURSE OF THE SUN IN THE ARCTIC REGIONS.]

In the desolate northern lands the sun is a trusty friend to the
aeronaut. By constantly shining over the horizon during a number of
months he develops almost a comfortable degree of heat, while without
any intermission during the twenty-four hours of each day he supplies a
sufficient quantity of light for all photographic purposes. In the mean
time, owing to his moderate altitude, even when he crosses the meridian
line at noon, he is never elevating the unfortunuate aeronaut against
his will to a dangerous distance from the more than half-frozen soil.

The real difficulty is for the balloon, loaded with numberless precious
documents, to find its way out before winter sets in with its long cold
nights and horrors. This exit must be made at any cost by directing the
balloon into a wind tending to some part of the south. Mr. Andrée will
certainly not pay attention to the geographical position of the spot
where he is to alight. He will not care whether he lands on land or on
sea. It will make no difference to him whether he sets foot on rocks or
on cracking ice. He will trust equally to the frozen Atlantic or to the
congelated Pacific if he can descend from cloudland above the horizon of
a whaler. Russia, Siberia, Alaska, or the Northern Dominions are as good
as his own country, if it is not beyond his power to reach some locality
inhabited by Esquimos, Laplanders, or Samoyeds. The main point is to see
The Northern Pole afloat for a long period, say a month. At all events,
Mr. Ekholm calculates that the balloon will remain in the air at least
fifteen or twenty days, and that during this time it will have passed
over a distance of nearly four thousand miles.

[Illustration: The NORTHERN POLE.]

In order to be quite sure to navigate in the atmosphere twelve times
longer than any aeronautical run performed up to the present day (the
thirty-six hours' voyage made in 1892 by M. Maurice Mallet, who has
drawn the accompanying sketches), Mr. Andrée is having his balloon made
absolutely impermeable, of the best and most costly material, with a new
varnish and exceptional sewing. He has replaced even the usual valve at
the top by two others a great deal smaller and fixed to the equator of
the balloon, to be used only for ordinary manoeuvres during the
prolongation of the voyage, for he is determined not to make any pause,
decided to fall from cloudland like a thunderbolt to the very spot
selected by instantly opening his monstrous sphere with a tearing rope,
to which will be attached a dagger for the grand and final moment.




EARLY DAYS OF SUCCESSFUL MEN.

WILLIAM EUSTIS RUSSELL.

BY LLOYD McKIM GARRISON.


If you have ever attended the Harvard-Yale football game at Springfield,
and sat upon the Harvard side of the field, you must have been struck by
the enthusiasm that ran along the crowded benches as a certain slender,
youthful-looking gentleman passed by them looking for his seat. You
might have seen the same enthusiasm break forth along those densely
packed New York streets through which the great Columbian parade marched
nearly two years ago, or, in Chicago, all the way from Lincoln Park to
the White City, whenever among the group of Governors of the different
States there appeared the same young-looking gentleman, managing his
black horse with a strong hand, and sitting him with a firmness that
showed the muscles of his lithe figure under his black official coat.
That gentleman was William Eustis Russell, then Governor of
Massachusetts, the leader of the Democratic party in his State, and the
possessor of a personal popularity which is not limited by her
boundaries.

When you are a Freshman in college you are apt to look upon the big
Senior Captain of the university crew as a person of unusual strength
and size. You never imagine that he could have been different when he
was a Freshman. You think he must have been born so, and grieve because
in your class there are no Freshmen like him. It is only when you
yourself wake up one morning and find that you are no longer a Freshman,
but a Senior and Captain of the crew, that you realize that all great
men are first boys before they are anything else, and that what
afterwards makes them great is pluck and character and their admiration
and emulation of other great men. This is true of the greatest generals
and statesmen, just as of 'varsity oarsmen. They were not always solemn
men with black coats and white cravats, but boys, and probably jolly
ones; and so it was with Governor Russell, whose boyhood was such a
happy and hearty one that it has kept in his face the appearance of
youth, which makes his accomplishments seem so remarkable.

He was born in 1857 in the old college town of Cambridge, Massachusetts,
where Harvard College is. His father was Charles Theodore Russell, a
leading lawyer in the town, and in politics a stanch Democrat. William,
or, as he was then called (and as some of his older friends still dare
to call him), "Billy" Russell, was the youngest of seven children,
having three brothers and three sisters older than himself; and the
traditional luck of a seventh son has followed him accordingly.

His father was a man of small income, which his interest in public life
kept him from increasing. So his large family of children, brought up in
what was then a small country town, were left largely to themselves for
their amusement. He was strict in exacting from them industry,
obedience, and truthfulness. On Sundays they went punctually to church
near where the old Washington elm stands. Every evening they settled
down to study, which came easily to them; but on holidays, and during
the long afternoons after school hours, they were given almost absolute
liberty, which taught them self-reliance, the greater because their
father, who had a horror of extravagance, gave them no such allowance of
spending-money as spoils too many a boy to-day; so they had to get their
fun out of the fields, woods, and ponds, wherever it was most wholesome.
They were passionately fond of animals, and always had a quantity of
pets about, all of which, except a pony, they had either bought with
their own savings or had given to them. They built hutches, in which
they kept delightful lop-eared rabbits, guinea-pigs, and big fluffy gray
squirrels from the Waverly oaks, and many good-natured dogs of no known
breed, which followed them on their expeditions.

Billy Russell was a delicate boy, and therefore was encouraged to lead
an out-of-door life from earliest childhood. When he was but eight years
old his father, who was a great fisherman, took him to the Maine woods
for a summer at the forks of the Kennebec. He began to grow stronger
then and there, and was soon as hearty as any boy, and much more nimble
than most. There was scarcely any kind of sport at which he did not
become expert, particularly the natural sports--skating, coasting, and
swimming; and he rode the family pony till he went to college, and got a
seat he never lost afterwards.

He loved the water, his boat, and his fish-lines, but most of all he
longed for a gun; and as his father could not spare a small boy money
for such a luxury, he determined to make it himself--and he did. From
the inlet at Fresh Pond, and from the little green bays of Spy Pond near
Arlington, two miles from Cambridge, he picked great bunches of
water-lilies, and sold them for five cents a bunch to passers-by. He
collected old horseshoes for the rag-man and did odd jobs for neighbors;
and on the other side of the Charles River, where the bare-foot boy
shouting at and belaboring some unruly steer was not likely to be
recognized as a son of "Lawyer Russell," he many a time drove a herd of
cattle from Boston to Brighton yards for a quarter of a dollar; and he
was so industrious and clever that he had soon saved quite a handsome
sum, and the coveted gun was at last bought; and he never afterwards had
any possession that gave him such pleasure.

The ownership of a real gun made Billy the leader of a small set of
boys, who went bushwhacking with him through all the neighboring
country. They used to camp out on the shores of Walden Pond, cooking
their own game, and learning to sleep in the open air in spite of the
strange noises of the woods. They shot and fished the whole country-side
over, from the Waverly Oaks and the woods towards Watertown out to
Weston and Wayland; and in the other direction around Spy Pond, Spot
Pond, the Mystic River, and the Middlesex Fells; they gathered nuts in
big sacks along the old Concord Road, where the red-coats ran away in
April, 1775, and sometimes even plundered the orchards around Lexington
village, the leader of the young outlaws being the future Governor of
the State.

Although he was such an excellent student, he was the despair of his
teachers by reason of his mischievousness, which was usually of a most
ingenious kind, but because of his excellent record they never did much
more than take his Saturday afternoons away from him. His followers and
he still kept up their sport ardently, and some of his achievements at
this time were wonderful feats of daring. He was "stumped" to climb up
the scaffolding surrounding the tall steeple of Dr. MacKenzie's church,
and did so; and on another "dare" he climbed up the scaffolding to the
top of the tower of Memorial Hall, then being built--a feat any one will
appreciate who has ever seen that tremendous pile. In these undertakings
he was aided, as he was in all athletic sports, by the fact of having
the equal use of both hands. He prefers the left hand, and commonly uses
it, but the right is equally strong; and when I last saw him he was
writing with his right hand because he had just sprained his left thumb.

When he entered Harvard College in the class of '77, which has gone down
to fame as the most brilliant (and disorderly) class that ever was, he
was only sixteen, but quite old for his age. Just as at school, he
treated all his classmates alike, without regard to what team or what
society they were on, never himself belonging to any particular set or
clique, but to the class at large, where he was universally known and
liked. He kept up his studies only fairly well, as the prescribed
courses did not interest him; but in the electives, where he chose
history and political economy, he reached such high marks that his
general average kept him in the first quarter of his class, and he did a
great deal of independent reading along his favorite lines of study that
was not counted in marks, but, nevertheless, was of the greatest service
to him.

In the social life of the class he went along with the rest, without
particular eminence, belonging to the "Institute," the "Dickey," and the
"Hasty Pudding Club," whose initiations which were then quite elaborate
he survived; the men who were "running" him, and calling out to him to
"hit 'er up" when he was speeding through the Yard for them, little
guessing whom they were ordering about. He kept up his athletics, and
played half-back on the Harvard football team against Yale and
All-Canada in the days when they played fifteen on a side, and Harvard
teams won the games as much as a matter of course as Yale teams do
nowadays. Young Russell's athletics made him quite a "horrible example"
for parents to hold up, for before he was through college he had twice
fractured his arm skating and coasting, broken a finger at baseball, and
his nose at football; but his athletics had also given him a sound and
sinewy body which has kept him in such good health that he has been able
to undertake tasks such as no one else has ever attempted--as, for
instance, when he travelled the length of Cape Cod and spoke to twenty
different audiences in the same day, and to most of them from the steps
of a car. So he is still devoted to athletics in spite of all his
accidents, and is an enthusiastic wearer of the crimson at all its great
games in spite of its recent ill-success.

In the summer of his Junior year he nearly lost his life in a sailing
accident which attracted great attention at the time. He, three
classmates of his, a New York boy and his tutor, were at Nantucket, and
went out sailing in a twenty-five-foot centre-board on a very rough day,
with the wind coming in puffs, and the sea, which had been raised by a
storm the day before, running very high. About four miles from the shore
the boat was caught in a squall, and in a moment had capsized and sunk,
leaving all six struggling in the water. By the merest chance a
fisherman who was crossing the bluffs above the beach on his way to his
nets saw the white sail disappear in the water, and carried an alarm to
the light-house, which was answered as soon as possible, though it was
an hour and a half before the dories had made their way out through the
surf and picked up the scattered swimmers, each one of whom thought
himself to be the sole survivor. Russell was the last to be picked up,
and had swum three miles with the help of a strong flood-tide during the
two hours he was in the water. One of the party, the New York boy, was
found clinging unconscious to an oar, the only bit of wreckage left from
the lost boat. His tutor and he were poor swimmers, and neither dared to
try the long swim to the shore which the others all undertook, so the
boy clung to the oar, and the tutor tried to keep afloat without it.
After a few moments, however, he felt himself weakening, and called out,
"Frank, pass me the oar or I'll sink!" The boy did so, and the frail
stick sank beneath their combined weight.

The tutor never hesitated. "Frank," he said, "this will only drown us
both;" and deliberately releasing his hold on the oar, he gave it up,
with his life, to the boy whose life had been intrusted to him.

The accident and the rescue caused great excitement in the little island
town. The old crier with his bell cried the news of the rescue about the
place before the newspaper had out its extras, and every one was deeply
moved by the heroism of Sampson, the brave fellow who had so cheerfully
died to save his friend.

This experience was a very memorable one to young Russell, and it
sobered and matured him, as a great struggle should; and from that
moment his life became more settled and serious.

In his Senior year at college, which followed it, he did far better work
than he had done in the three years before; and when he entered the
law-school of Boston University he began to show his true measure; for
he was not only first in his class, but such a first that, as with the
old yacht America, there was no second. He took the only prize in the
school--the William Beach Lawrence prize-essay--the first degree _summa
cum laude_ ever awarded, and was elected valedictorian of his class by
unanimous vote of his classmates.

During all this time he had been working in his father's law-office,
supporting himself from the day he left college, and had made six
hundred dollars a year alone by revising and correcting the proofs of
Wharton's books on criminal law, and verifying the references, which was
the most tedious of tasks, but served him a good lesson in care and
minuteness.

In 1879 he was a practising lawyer, with a small practice, and no
particular ambition, except to increase it; and so he continued for two
years, when, to his enormous surprise, he found that without his
knowledge or permission he had been nominated for the Common Council of
his native city of Cambridge. This was in the fall of 1881. The election
was a hot one, and Russell was elected by one vote over his former
High-school principal, which was said to have chagrined the latter
excessively.

Russell was now twenty-four years old and at the beginning of his
political career, which during the next dozen years was destined to be
remarkable.

He had always had an interest in politics because of his father's
interest in them, and in the Hayes-Tilden campaign of 1876 he spoke for
Tilden as a sort of experiment in public speaking, which gave him
confidence enough to do considerable speaking during the
Garfield-Hancock campaign in 1880. All this had been excellent training,
but Russell had to show that he had other good qualities when he was
elected to office.

Cambridge at this time had a dishonest government under Mayor Fox, who
had put in office corrupt and incapable men, whose idea was that public
officers were not elected to make a city pleasant and safe to live in,
but to have an easy life on other people's money.

Young Russell was an American born, fresh from the ennobling
associations of Harvard College, who knew what American government had
been and ought to be, and he at once made himself so outspoken against
this corrupt crowd as a Councilman that in the following year he was
elected Alderman, a position of far greater power.

He was no sooner in office than the ring began its warfare against him
and he against it, in which he gave as hard blows as he took. There were
two rival horse railroads in the city. The Mayor was interested in one,
and determined to destroy the other. Russell opposed him, and so
skilfully and boldly that he carried the Aldermen with him, after one of
the bitterest and most difficult fights in his long career.

In 1883 the ring carried every district but Mr. Russell's, and he was
re-elected by forty plurality, and remained during the year a minority
of one in the Board of Aldermen, but powerful for good because of his
unsparing opposition to and exposure of the corruption he could not
prevent.

His identification with opposition to the ring had become so absolute
that when, in 1884, the citizens of Cambridge, without regard to party,
united to overthrow it and set up a businesslike government, Mr. Russell
became the natural candidate. He made speeches in all parts of the city,
and his knowledge of the facts was so great that his speeches had deadly
effect. His victory was complete, and the ring was so badly beaten that
it has never regained power since. As Mayor Mr. Russell's course was
most honorable and successful. Though not thirty years old, his thorough
study of government, his reverence for American institutions, and his
knowledge of the peculiar needs of Cambridge made him better able to
serve the city than an older man of a different bringing up. He
destroyed the ring, root and branch, and made his own appointments to
office for fitness only. He saw that the laws were obeyed, even though
they were laws he personally opposed. He reduced the city's debt,
lowered its taxes, and made its name as respectable as it had been
before the days of its local Tweed.

Indeed, so grateful were the citizens to him that they re-elected him
without any opposition in 1885, 1886, and 1887; and in 1888, although he
desired to retire, he withdrew his declination on being presented with a
petition of three thousand names, and was elected again by two thousand
majority, carrying every ward and every precinct but two, in spite of
hostility to him because of his firmness in stopping disorder during the
great railroad strike during the winter before.

His administration as Mayor had made him so conspicuous a leader in his
own party that in 1886 he was offered the Congressional nomination for
his district, which he declined to accept; and in 1888 he was made the
Democratic candidate for Governor--city and State elections coming in
different months in Massachusetts. As Massachusetts is strongly
Republican, he did not expect to win, but his personal popularity gave
him more votes for Governor than Mr. Cleveland received for President.
In 1889 he was renominated by acclamation, and made a brilliant campaign
of the State, which established his reputation as a debater of the
highest ability; but although he made great gains in the Republican part
of the State, he lost it by a small majority. In 1890 he was again
renominated, and made his third canvass of the State, which was more
thorough than ever, and resulted in his triumphant election as Governor.

His administration of his new office was like that of his other one. He
never made a promise he did not keep, nor did he ever make a promise he
could not keep; so he became the "reform Governor," and put out bad men
to put in good ones, kept the taxes down, saw the State funds were
properly spent, and that the government was the people's and not the
politicians'. He accomplished a great deal, but most of all the
converting of political opponents into personal followers, for he won
over enough Republicans to make him Governor again in 1891, and still a
third time in 1892; and he might, it would seem, have kept on being
Governor as long as he had kept on being Mayor except that he refused,
in spite of many entreaties to do so, to run again after his third term.

So he left public office, which he had had to undertake for a dozen
years, and went quietly back to his law practice, which he makes as
successful as his campaigns, and to his home, for he was married while
he was Mayor, in 1885, and has a charming wife and three jolly children.
You may see him any day in Boston going quietly about the streets, or
riding his horse out to Cambridge over the Milldam. He spends his
vacations, as he always did from boyhood, in the Maine woods, and loves
fishing and shooting as much as if he were still a boy.




CAMERA CLUB PRIZE COMPETITION.


Never since the ROUND TABLE first offered prizes for best specimens of
photographic work has the competition been so widespread or so many
pictures submitted for prizes. The pictures sent have been, as a rule,
much finer than in former years, showing that our club is raising its
standard of work, and that the members profit by the hints given in the
Camera Club Department. This was shown especially in the finishing and
mounting, very few pictures being sent in on small cards. The picture
which won first prize in marines had no name. This picture is well
finished and mounted, and justly merits first prize. The second prize
for marines was won by a Lady of the ROUND TABLE, and this also having
no name, it has been called "A Good Take," and is a picture of a number
of fishermen just shaking out the last fishes from their net on a huge
pile which lies on the ground; the boat is drawn up on the beach, and a
number of interested spectators, fishermen, are looking on.

In landscapes the first prize was given to a Maryland landscape. A
wooded hill slopes down to a winding river, glimpses, of which can be
seen through the trees, and perspective and distance are given by the
range of mountains on the horizon. A large log marks the foreground, and
near the edge of the river can be seen figures of several boys about to
build a camp fire, the figures being quite small, and not so conspicuous
as to first attract the eye when looking at the picture. The point of
view was well chosen, and the picture would make an excellent color
study. The second-prize picture was entitled, "Here are cool Mosses
deep," and was a fine picture.

The first prize for figure studies was given to a picture entitled,
"Would you like a Piece?" and represents a young lady offering candy
from a box of fine bonbons to three little children whom she has
evidently met on her walk. The expressions on the faces of the children
as they bashfully accept the proffered sweets are excellent, and, if
they were posed for the picture, evidently entered into the spirit of
the scene. The second prize was given to a picture entitled, "I won't
stand still." The finishing of this picture showed much artistic taste
and originality. The artist made a crayon drawing of a scroll, pinned a
butterfly, a lace-winged fly, and two or three bugs on it, and
photographed the whole. He then printed the picture in the centre of the
scroll.

In the senior or "Open to All" competition the first prize in landscapes
was awarded to a picture entitled, "Sun and Shade," and the second prize
to a picture with no name, but showing a small stream in the foreground,
with a road leading off into a wood. Both prize-winners sent in many
other excellent specimens of work.

The first prize picture in figure studies was awarded to one entitled,
"He cometh not." A young lady in evening costume, with opera cloak and a
scarf, sits holding a watch, at which she is looking, evidently much
annoyed at the non-appearance of her promised escort. The subject,
though rather a hackneyed one, is well treated, the lighting, pose, and
expression being above the average of photographic work. The mounting
and finish of the picture are also very fine. The second prize was
awarded to a picture entitled, the "Checker-Players." An elderly man is
playing checkers with a young boy, perhaps his grandson. He has made a
move which puts the younger one in an unfortunate position, and the
puzzled look on the boy's face as he studies the game is very good. A
little girl, the boy's sister, sits at the side of the table, looking up
into her brother's face, as much as to say, "Now you are in a box sure!"

THE CAMERA CLUB FIRST-PRIZE WINNERS.

[Illustration: First Prize, Senior Class--Figure Studies.

By H. E. Murdock.]

[Illustration: First Prize, Junior Class--Marine Views.

By Sir Knight Joseph Lovering.]

[Illustration: First Prize, Junior Class--Figure Studies.

By Sir Knight Andrew M. Phillips.]

[Illustration: First Prize, Junior Class--Landscapes.

By Sir Knight Frank Smith.]

[Illustration: First Prize, Senior Class--Landscapes.

By R. Hamilton Craig.]




[Illustration: INTERSCHOLASTIC SPORT]


Ice-boating is the sport that appeals most strongly at the present
season to those of us who live near a lake or a river and have even the
slightest knowledge of sailing. It is a sport that many people
discourage because of the danger supposed to be connected with it, but
as a matter of fact it is less dangerous to sail and handle an ice-boat
than it is to sail and handle a cat-boat. The only two things to be
guarded against while running an ice-boat are sailing upon weak ice or
near the edge of open water, and getting the runners caught in a
crevice. In the one case you risk drowning, in the second you will very
probably smash your machine and get mixed up in the wreckage yourself.
But, compared with the chances for a ducking when sailing a cat-boat,
the probabilities of a plunge from an ice-boat are very remote; and as
for getting the runners into a crevice, only the most careless or
incompetent helmsman need fear such a mishap.

The idea prevails among those unacquainted with the sport that, because
ice-boats skim along so rapidly over the frozen river, it is therefore
particularly dangerous. This, however, is an incorrect conclusion to
draw, for ice-boats are so easily controlled that they can be brought to
a stop almost instantly, and they answer their helms so rapidly that
they can be most easily steered and turned out of danger. As in
everything else of this nature, however, the sportsman, whether he be
young or old, must use judgment and care in the handling of his machine,
otherwise he is bound to come to grief. But such an individual would
undoubtedly come to grief on a bicycle or on skates, or even in walking
through the crowded streets of a busy city.

[Illustration: PLAN FOR HOME MADE ICE BOAT.]

The construction of an ice-boat is the point I want to touch on here,
rather than upon the improbability of suffering bodily harm from taking
part in the sport. Of course it is always possible to buy an ice-boat,
new or second-hand; but it is much cheaper and certainly more pleasing
and profitable to build your own craft, and it is by no means a
difficult task. The boat proper is a triangular wooden frame, partly
covered at the apex or stern. This covering, or deck, is necessary for
the accommodation of the crew. The frame is built to rest on three
skatelike runners, two of which are at the front--at either end of the
base-line of the triangle--and one at the stern, the latter being the
rudder. This rudder is controlled by a tiller, similar to the tiller of
a sail-boat, and it is with this that all the handling of the machine is
done, for the sails are seldom touched after they have once been set.

Many rigs have been tried on ice-boats, but experience has shown that
the simple balanced jib-and-mainsail rig is the best. As a rule the jib
sheet is set on a traveller, so that no trimming down is required for
going about. If it is possible to avoid it, an ice-boat should never be
made to run before the wind, because the craft cannot be made to behave
well under such conditions. There being no resistance to speak of, such
as a cat-boat meets in the water, the ice-boat behaves badly when
sailing free, runs up against the wind, and falls back continually. The
best plan when sailing one of these machines off the wind is to take a
zigzag course back and forth in the general direction of the wind,
instead of running directly before it.

The best material for the construction of an ice-boat is oak, but good
yellow pine will do for the frame if oak is found to be too expensive.
The platform should be built of light pine, with a low railing around
the edge. It is well to screw a few cleats and eye-bolts to this deck, to
which it may be found convenient to fasten straps and ropes to hold on
by when running fast or making turns. I give no proportions for
construction, because it is best for amateur carpenters to adapt these
to their resources. The general proportionate relation of the various
parts of the machine can be easily seen from the diagrams.

The frame of an ice-boat is subject to severe strain, and ought,
therefore, to be made as strong as possible. It should be put together
with bolts and screws. Nails may be used for the platform, but screws
are preferable. The mast should be of pine, and must be rigged with
strong stays--of wire, if possible. The bowsprit in the same way. When
it comes to the making of the rudder a blacksmith will have to be called
in. The tiller and rudder-post will have to be forged of iron, as shown
in the diagram, and should be carefully made, because much depends upon
their strength and durability. The head of the rudder-post must be
squared off, and the tiller fixed firmly upon it. The steering runner,
or rudder proper, underneath, is secured to the iron rudder-post by a
bolt, and it is advisable to slip a large iron washer over the post to
give it a smooth bearing.

[Illustration: RUNNER AND BLOCKS.]

For the runner shoes I should recommend soft iron. This becomes very
much heated, to be sure, when the boat is running, but the soft metal
chills rapidly as soon as the machine comes to a stop. This alternate
heating and chilling soon give the runner's edge a degree of hardness
fully equal to that of steel. (Let me caution novices at ice-boating
against touching their runners, for the metal becomes so heated that it
can inflict painful burns.) The runners proper--that is, the wooden part
before the metal shoe is put on--should be cut of stiff, heavy oak. They
should be carefully bored, and attached to the frame with bolts. The
blocks that hold the two forward runners should be firmly bolted to the
forward plank of the frame--the one that forms the base of the
triangle--and set so as to hold the runners firmly. The iron shoes are
screwed to the runners. The metal must previously be drilled, and the
screws which hold the shoes to the wood must be counter-sunk so that
their heads may not touch the ice.

To steer an ice-boat well considerable practice is required. There is no
perceptive "feel" to the helm as there is to that of a water craft. The
tiller turns so easily that great care and patience are required to
attain the proper "touch," but when this is once acquired it is
delightful to feel the power of a finger-touch over so great an engine.
The manner of stopping an ice-boat is similar to that of stopping a
sail-boat, in that you round up into the wind; but an ice-boat rounds up
much more quickly, and is held fast by jamming the helm hard down so
that the rudder lies parallel to the fore cross-beam--the base of the
triangle.

The majority of pictures of ice-boats that I have seen show the machines
keeled over and speeding along over the ice on two runners, with a lot
of terrified-looking passengers gripping beams and ropes. This is all
very well for purposes of illustration, but it is not in exact
conformity with fact. Ice-boats do sometimes "rear" as the pictures show
us, but it is not because the steersman desires such conduct. Rearing is
a thing to be prevented and not to be encouraged. Ice-boats have three
runners, and they are intended to run on three runners, not on two. A
good sailor will keep his boat down on all three runners all the time.
If the wind is so strong as to lift the windward runner, send a man out
on the end to hold it down with his weight. There is no danger in this
position, and considerable sport.

The speed of an ice-boat is greater than that of anything but a
locomotive, and under favorable conditions the boat can even distance
the engine. A mile a minute has frequently been made by such boats on
the Hudson River. I should not advise young ice-yachtsmen to attempt too
great speed, however, until they have become thoroughly familiar with
their craft; until they have learned every trick of the machine, and
have secured such control over the tiller that they are masters of the
ice-boat, and the ice-boat never master of them. Above all things, shun
thin ice as you would the open sea, and keep a constant lookout for
cracks and rough spots. Under such conditions you are beyond danger, and
you have at your command one of the finest of sports, and one of the
keenest of sensations--rapid travel.

OFFICERS OF THE NATIONAL INTERSCHOLASTIC ATHLETIC ASSOCIATION.

[Illustration: C. G. McDAVITT, President.]

[Illustration: H. I. PRATT, Vice-President.]

[Illustration: H. N. DUNBAR, Secretary.]

[Illustration: O. E. MICHAELIS, Treasurer.]

The officers or the National Interscholastic Athletic Association, whose
portraits appear this week, are all prominent workers in their
respective organizations. Mr. McDavitt, in addition to being president
of the National Association, is president of the New York I.S.A.A.; Mr.
Pratt is president of the Long Island I.S.A.A.; Mr. Dunbar is president
of the New England I.S.A.A.; and Mr. Michaelis is secretary of the Maine
I.S.A.A.

The address of the secretary of the National I.S.A.A. is H. Nelson
Dunbar, Esq., 552 Shawmut Avenue, Boston, Massachusetts. All
communications on matters connected with the association should be
addressed to him.

Dr. White, of the Berkeley School, says that he feels sure "the
head-masters of the preparatory schools throughout the country will look
with anxiety upon the formation of a National Interscholastic Athletic
Association," and he gives his reasons for this belief in a letter to a
New York paper; but I believe a great many of his objections, if looked
at from a slightly different point of view, can be turned to the favor
of the new organization. Dr. White has, to a certain extent, condemned
the weaknesses of the young association, instead of suggesting
improvements and remedies. He begins, for instance, by saying that "the
avidity for athletic competitions among boys has already been fostered
too keenly," and he adds that "we already have so many contests of a
competitive nature that the schools cannot without danger stand the
pressure of still another and more engrossing series."

In advocating and encouraging the formation of a National Association,
the main object of this Department was to secure the organization of a
parent or controlling body that would bring order out of the present
chaotic state of interscholastic contests. The holding of an annual
field meeting was purely a secondary consideration, the principal desire
in urging the formation of the association being to secure uniformity in
the schedule of events contested at minor meets, establish a standard of
record, and to fix a cast-iron definition of what constitutes an amateur
with regard to athletic competition among schools. In favoring the
holding of a field day this Department believed, and still believes,
that the many smaller school meetings would be done away with, and that
interscholastic sport would thus be rid of one of its worst features.
Take New York city as an example. Almost every school in the local
League holds a field day previous to the big meet in May controlled by
the I.S.A.A. These little meetings could be done away with altogether. I
am heartily in accord with Dr. White when he says that "the avidity for
athletic competitions among boys has already been fostered too keenly."

That a National Association of schools can never be a representative one
I think is not true. It is certainly not true if the object of the
association is to be the promotion of pure sport, and the regulation of
events that interscholastic associations in every part of the country
shall compete in. And that, I hold, is the object of the association. I
repeat that an annual field meeting is purely a secondary consideration.
If it should be found convenient to hold one, the contest would be
beneficial, and would doubtless be attended by representative athletes
from widely separated localities; but such a contest would merely be a
small evidence of the good work the association had done. It would also
serve to establish a definite standard of record, which it is certainly
advisable to have. But I cannot say too emphatically that in urging all
these arguments I consider them as purely secondary to the main and
fundamental objects of the association. When Dr. White says that the
date fixed for the meeting (the last Saturday in June) would of
necessity exclude a large percentage of the best athletes from the
preparatory schools, I agree with him fully. This Department has already
gone on record as being opposed to that date, and has suggested to the
Executive Committee that an earlier time be chosen. This Department's
objection, however, was not based upon the probable absence of a "large
percentage of the best athletes," but on the ground that the date of the
meeting would come at a time when senior school-boys must be giving all
their time and attention to the college entrance examinations. Dr. White
refers to this, too; and I don't think he would find any more evil in
the holding of a national meet in May than in a league meet at about
the same date.

Where this Department fully agrees with Dr. White is in his objection to
the newspaper notoriety connected with a big meet, and to the evil
results of too much politics in the executive work. The latter is by all
means the worse of the two, but I have hoped it could be vastly
diminished by having the work distributed at centres so widely separated
from one another that the petty jealousies of local efforts would be
entirely done away with. As for the newspapers, they are a condition and
not a theory. It is the mode of the century to treat events by columns
rather than by lines, and I doubt if in the end (the small meetings
being eliminated) there would be more type set about interscholastic
matters to describe one great occasion than to record a swarm of lesser
events. It is well for the principals of schools to take an honest
interest in this new movement, and if the preponderance of opinion is
that the objects desired cannot be attained along these lines, there
ought to be enough wisdom among the older heads to point out the better
way.

A new track-athletic league has been formed by the larger
boarding-schools of the Eastern States, and it is proposed now to hold
an annual field meeting in the spring, alternately at New Haven and
Princeton. The present members of the new association are Lawrenceville,
The Hill School, Westminster, and Hotchkiss; and it is probable that
Worcester and Andover will join at the next convention of the managers,
which is to be held during the Easter recess. This league ought to prove
a very strong one, for the schools in it are all prominent in track
sports. If they should become members of the National Association, as
they doubtless will, they would send one of the strongest teams of any
association excepting New York and Boston.

Interest in the National I.S.A.A. seems to be general among these large
schools. The _Phillipian_, of Andover, has an editorial on the subject,
and urges the track athletes to go into training at once, closing with
the statement that a strong team is necessary this year, for "it means
not only competing in Boston, but also the chance of winning laurels for
Andover in the All-America competition in New York." If these large
schools, such as Andover, and Worcester, and Lawrenceville, and the most
important Boston schools, determine that a national championship is
something worth working for--as it certainly is--they will give the New
York athletes a hard tussle for supremacy, and the latter may as well
realize at once that it is none too early for them to begin hard
training.

Training for baseball has already begun in many quarters, especially at
the large schools in the country. As soon as space permits, this
Department will offer some suggestions for training and preparation
which may prove of assistance to captains and players.

The Long Island League has already arranged its baseball schedule for
this spring as follows:

  April 18--Brooklyn Latin School vs. St. Paul School.
  April 22--High-School vs. Adelphi Academy.
  April 25--Pratt Institute vs. Polytechnic Preparatory.
  April 29--Brooklyn High-School vs. Brooklyn Latin School.
  May 2--Pratt Institute vs. Brooklyn Latin School.
  May 6--Brooklyn High-School vs. St. Paul.
  May 6--Polytechnic Preparatory vs. Brooklyn Latin School.
  May 9--Pratt Institute vs. Adelphi Academy.
  May 16--Pratt Institute vs. Brooklyn High-School.
  May 16--Adelphi Academy vs. Brooklyn Latin School.
  May 16--Polytechnic Preparatory vs. St. Paul.
  May 23--Polytechnic Preparatory vs. Brooklyn High-School.
  May 23--Pratt Institute vs. St. Paul.
  May 27--Adelphi Academy vs. Polytechnic Preparatory.
  June 3--Adelphi Academy vs. St. Paul.

It will be seen that their season begins early, this being necessitated
by the number of teams in the League. I hope the schedule will be
carried out completely, and that the unfortunate system of forfeiting
games--usually through fear of defeat--will not be carried on this
spring as it was last fall in football.

     DICK GORHAM.--Maroon is the college color of St. John's, Fordham.

  THE GRADUATE.

       *       *       *       *       *

A GOOD CHILD

is usually healthy, and both conditions are developed by use of proper
food. The Gail Borden Eagle Brand Condensed Milk is the best infant's
food; so easily prepared that improper feeding is inexcusable and
unnecessary.--[_Adv._]




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[Illustration: Royal Baking Powder]




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Bargains. Same outfit with figures 15c. Larger outfit for printing two
lines 25c. post-paid. Ingersoll & Bro, 65 Cortlandt St., N. Y. City




Songs.

Franklin Square Collection.

It would be difficult, if not impossible, to gather more features of
interest into a work of this kind. Not only are many of the best songs
and hymns in the English language here given--both old and new--but
there are also songs and hymns for children and the schools. There are
songs of home and of country, of love and fame, of heart and soul, of
devotion and praise, with their sad and sweet or lively melodies, and
with grand old chorals that stir the heart and lift it in worship.
Besides the words and music, explanatory and historic notes are given to
indicate their origin and significance. These books cannot fail to
become immensely popular.--_Lutheran Observer._

     Sold Everywhere. Price, 50 cents; Cloth, $1.00. Full contents of
     the Several Numbers, with Specimen Pages of favorite Songs and
     Hymns, sent by Harper & Brothers, New York, to any address.




[Illustration: Thompson's Eye Water]




[Illustration: BICYCLING]

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


[Illustration: Copyright, 1895, by Harper & Brothers.]

To run from Baltimore on towards Washington it is necessary for the
rider to retrace his "steps" over the journey of the day before from the
Carrolton Hotel out through Druid Park to Arlington. Here a sharp turn
is made to the left, and a run of two miles or more made southward on
the road to Wetheredville. There are one or two climbs along this
stretch of the road which will seem unusual to one who has come down
from Philadelphia by the road we have been giving for the last few
weeks. In fact, for the first ten or twelve miles of this stage of the
journey the road runs through or across several valleys, winding about
the sides of hills, and occasionally going over a hill. After passing
Catonsville, however, and keeping sharp to the right, the run out to
Ellicott City is very free from irregularity of ground, and from
Ellicott City to Cooksville the road is straight, level, and moderately
good. There is no difficulty in keeping to the correct road after you
pass Ellicott City, as, in fact, you may easily see by reference to the
accompanying map of the journey; but from the hotel in Baltimore to
Ellicott City, or at least to Catonsville, there are several sharp turns
and not a few opportunities for getting into the wrong road. There are
two ways of avoiding this. One is to inquire as you go along, using the
accompanying map, and only inquiring where a sharp turn on the map is
hard to recognize along the way. Another plan is to secure a map of the
environs of Baltimore at the hotel, and get yourself posted before
leaving there as to the names of streets, particularly those which enter
and leave Wetheredville.

In Baltimore itself the bicyclist should make it a point to see certain
places of note, especially Johns Hopkins University, which, while it is
in no way remarkable for buildings, is such a distinguished educational
institution that no one should leave Baltimore, once having arrived
there, without going over its buildings and seeing something of the
methods of instruction and study there. There are many other points of
interest in the city, and half a day can well be spent in going about
seeing them. As the run to Cooksville is but thirty miles at most, a
fair rider can easily make it in an afternoon, and can thus give a
morning to the city.

It is our purpose, after the completion of this trip to Washington in
the next number of the Round Table, to take up bicycle routes in the
vicinity of Chicago. Many letters have been received complaining that
routes in the Eastern parts of the United States were being given
entirely, while the readers in the Western and Central parts of the
United States had nothing to interest them. It is necessary for us to
explain that in course of time bicycle trips will be given in the
vicinity of the principal centres of the United States; and, meanwhile,
by keeping the record of maps already published, which appears at the
bottom of this column, any reader can find the number in which any map
he may desire was published, and obtain it by sending to the Messrs.
Harper & Brothers for it.

     NOTE.--Map of New York city asphalted streets in No. 809. Map of
     route from New York to Tarrytown in No. 810. New York to Stamford,
     Connecticut, in No. 811. New York to Staten Island in No. 812. New
     Jersey from Hoboken to Pine Brook in No. 813. Brooklyn in No. 814.
     Brooklyn to Babylon in No. 815. Brooklyn to Northport in No. 816.
     Tarrytown to Poughkeepsie in No. 817. Poughkeepsie to Hudson in No.
     818. Hudson to Albany in No. 819. Tottenville to Trenton in No.
     820. Trenton to Philadelphia in No. 821. Philadelphia in No. 822.
     Philadelphia-Wissahickon Route in No. 823. Philadelphia to West
     Chester in No. 824. Philadelphia to Atlantic City--First Stage in
     No. 825; Second Stage in No. 826. Philadelphia to Vineland--First
     Stage in No. 827; Second Stage in No. 828. New York to
     Boston--Second Stage in No. 829; Third Stage in No. 830; Fourth
     Stage in No. 831; Fifth Stage in No. 832; Sixth Stage in No. 833.
     Boston to Concord in No. 834. Boston in No. 835. Boston to
     Gloucester in No. 836. Boston to Newburyport in No. 837. Boston to
     New Bedford in No. 838. Boston to South Framingham in No. 839.
     Boston to Nahant in No. 840. Boston to Lowell in No. 841. Boston to
     Nantasket Beach in No. 842. Boston Circuit Ride in No. 843.
     Philadelphia to Washington--First Stage in No. 844; Second Stage in
     No. 845; Third Stage in No. 846; Fourth Stage in No. 847.




[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.


"I haven't a talent worth speaking of," said Louise, throwing herself
down on the rug before the fire, and looking as mournful as a
red-cheeked, dimpled young person with merry black eyes and a laughing
mouth could possibly do.

"That is really a great pity, Louise," said I, tossing her a pillow to
put under the pretty head. In certain moods, and at certain hours,
particularly when it is near supper-time, in the delightful hour between
daylight and dark, there is nothing more pleasant and more conducive to
thought and to a quiet talk with a friend whom you love than just to lie
on a fur rug in front of an open fire with a soft cushion under your
head. Try it, and see if you do not like it, my dear.

"Where were you going when I met you yesterday morning, Louise?" I
inquired, casually.

"With the little basket and the bundle?" she asked.

"Yes, my dear."

"Oh, _then_! I was carrying some jelly and a sponge-cake to old Mrs.
Andrews, who is ill and has no appetite. Her daughter goes out sewing,
and the children can manage to cook for themselves; but the dear
grandmother is neglected, so I thought she might enjoy something from
our table. The bundle was from mamma, but I helped pack it, and there
were enough things in it, if you'll believe me, to make the poor lady
happy for the season--a warm flannel petticoat, a little shawl for her
shoulders, and a pair of bedroom slippers. I never felt so glad in my
life as when I saw how little a thing can make some people happy."

"We missed you from the pew on Sunday, Louise," I added, after a little
interval of silence and reflection. "Your father and mother looked
lonely without you sitting in the corner as usual."

"Yes," said Louise, "I did not like to miss a service, and, of course,
mamma said that Dr. ---- never preached a lovelier sermon; but what
could I do? Cousin Alice hasn't been to church a morning this winter.
She does not like to leave the children with the nurse, who manages very
well with the baby, but cannot amuse Harold and Sue. So I told her to go
to church and be at ease, and I would entertain the little man and
woman, and I did, and I had my hands full. I don't wonder that Cousin
Alice looks tired out at the end of the day. Such fidgety, restless,
uproarious, sweet little pickles as those tots of hers are I _never_
saw! I'm going to help her with them at least once a month in the same
way."

"I'm sure it's very considerate and kind in you to think of it," said I,
"and Alice is fortunate in having such a thoughtful young cousin.
By-the-way, who attends to the flowers in your house, dear? Your
window-garden is my despair."

"I am looking after the flowers this winter," said Louise. "It occupies
a good bit of my mornings to keep the ground loose around the roots,
water them, spray the leaves, pick off dead ones, and turn the pots
around to the sunshine. But it repays the trouble, for the plants grow
and bloom as if they loved me, and we always have flowers to send to our
friends. I'm head of the Committee on Flowers for the Christian
Endeavor, too, and it's the most delightful work I ever did."

"Well, my darling," I said, "I'm rather of the opinion of your mother
than of yourself about you. She told me the other day that 'Louise had
practical talents, and was the dearest girl in the whole world.'"

[Illustration: Signature]




ADVERTISEMENTS.




Expert

Opinion

The Canadian Government recently sent an appraiser to the principal
bicycle factories in this country, to determine the exact value of
various makes for import into Canada. After an exhaustive investigation,
his report to his Government rated

Columbia

Bicycles

[Illustration]

7-1/2 per cent. higher than any other make and they pay duty
accordingly. This but confirms the popular verdict. Columbias are

STANDARD OF THE WORLD.

Unequalled, Unapproached.

Beautiful Art Catalogue of Columbia and Hartford Bicycles is free if you
call upon any Columbia agent; by mail from us for two 2-cent stamps.

POPE MANUFACTURING CO.

Factories and General Offices, Hartford, Conn.

Branch Stores and Agencies in almost every city and town. If Columbias
are not properly represented in your vicinity let us know.




Monarch

Mounted on this king of bicycles, you are Monarch of all you survey. All
nature is yours as you speed along on your ride of health and happiness.
You can depend on the MONARCH in any emergency. There's "Know How" in
the making.

     4 models. $50 to $100, fully guaranteed. For children and adults
     who want a lower price wheel the =Defiance= is made in 8 models, $40
     to $75.

Send for Monarch book.

[Illustration]

Monarch Cycle Mfg. Co

Lake, Halsted and

Fulton Sts.,

CHICAGO.

83 Reade Street,

NEW YORK.




Postage Stamps, &c.




JAPANESE POSTAGE STAMPS.

Every one who sends me 100 good stamps of his land will receive 100
stamps, in 20 varieties, from Japan.

K. TODA,

BINGO MITSUNOSHO -- JAPAN.




[Illustration]

STAMPS! =800= 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.




STAMP COLLECTORS!

12 South America, 9c.; 15 Mexico and Central America, 10c.; 18 West
Indian, 10c.; 15 Australia, 11c.; 16 Asia, 10c. Large monthly price-list
free. Approval Sheet agents wanted; 50% com. and prizes given. C. W.
GREVNING, Morristown, N.J.




[Illustration]

100 all dif. Venezuela, Bolivia, etc., only 10c.; 200 all dif. Hayti,
Hawaii, etc., only 50c. Ag'ts w't'd at 50% com. List FREE! =C. A.
Stegmann=, 5941 Cote Brilliante Ave., St. Louis, Mo




310

foreign Bolivia, etc., 10c.; 100 different China, etc., 10c. Finest
approval sheet, at 50%. Agents wanted. Large price-list, free. SHAW
STAMP CO., Jackson, Mich.




Stamps

100 mixed, Salvador, etc., 12c.; 50 all different, 10c. Approval sheets
at 33-1/3 per cent. Send references. Address WALTER PIERSON, 360 Bridge
St., Brooklyn. N. Y.




STAMPS! 100 all dif. Barbados, etc. Only 10c. Ag'ts w't'd at 50% com.
List free. L. DOVER & CO., 1469 Hodiamont, St. Louis, Mo.




[Illustration]

HARPER'S PERIODICALS.

_Postage free to all subscribers in the United States, Canada, and
Mexico._

  HARPER'S MAGAZINE       _per Year_,       $4.00
  HARPER'S WEEKLY              "             4.00
  HARPER'S BAZAR               "             4.00
  HARPER'S ROUND TABLE         "             2.00

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

HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK CITY, N. Y.

[Illustration]




[Illustration: Thompson's Eye Water]




To Young Artists.


The Table offered prizes for best stories written by members under
eighteen. The first-prize story is to be illustrated. Do you want to try
to illustrate it? If so, write at once for a proof of the story. With
the proof we send suggestions about size. You select any incident in the
story, make your drawing, and return same to us. For the best
illustration we offer $10.

If you send for proof, and then find yourself unable to make a drawing
satisfactory to yourself, you can then retire from the contest merely by
failing to forward a drawing. That is, you incur no obligation to submit
a drawing. There are already about ten who are to try their talents.
There is room for more. We print prize drawing and prize story together,
provided, of course, that we receive a creditable illustration. You
would not expect us to print one that was not so, even if it were the
best we received.

       *       *       *       *       *

"Voyage of Discovery" Awards.

The Table offered to divide $50 in money among the ten members of the
Order who sent that number of best answers to twenty-seven questions
which were written into jingle descriptive of a Journey taken by the
"three wise men of Gotham who went to sea in a bowl." There were some
riddles in the story, as that at a certain hotel in France the party
wasgiven a queer dish, described in a charade. But most of the
questions were such as these: "'Find a writer's tool in a Danish
port"--Co-_pen_(17)-hagen--and "convenient coin in a Russian
mart"--Ar-_change_(13)-l. Here are all the answers:

1, La-_brad_-or and Winni-_peg_; 2, Ba-_ham_-a; 3, Au-_gust_-a; 4,
Hi-_malay_-a; 5, Cam-_peach_-y; 6, La-_dog_-a; 7, C-_hin_-a; 8,
Arti-choke; 9, Pen-_saco_-la; 10, Ar-_chip_-elago; 11, S-_imp_-lon and
Little Saint Bernard (dog); 13, Mada-_gas_-car; 14, C-_helm_-sford; 15,
K-_hart_-oum; 16, Draft, Draught, Draft; 18, Mis-_sou_-ri; 19,
Ma-_rat_-hon; 20, Co-_top_-axi; 21, Cotop-_ax_-i; 22, Wis-_Cass_-et,
_Franklin_-ville, _Lincoln_-ville, and _Pitt_-ston; 23, C-_asp_-ian; 24,
As-par-a-gus; 25, _Tar_-sus and Man-_Chester_; 26, Villa-_franc_-a; and
27, _Wig_-ht.

Three solvers found all of the answers, and we send them, with our
congratulations, $7 each. Their names are: Paul B. Pitkin, Ohio; and
Frederic W. Darling and Joslyn Z. Smith, New York. Margaret Fendall
James, New Jersey, erred in one question, but she gave a better answered
six others of the best ten, and we send her $5. The following six failed
on one question each--not always the same one--and we award them $4
each: Mary G. Smith, Minnesota; Arthur M. Anderson, New Jersey; William
C. Thayer, Michigan; Edith Starr Churchman, New Jersey; Gertrude G.
Wilcox, Massachusetts; and Louise McKinney, Florida.

Winners who live near New York are asked to wait a few days for their
prizes, to give time for this number to reach distant competitors. It is
most pleasant for all to see awards in the paper, and hardly fair if
some know in advance, as they would do were we to send prizes in advance
of the paper's publication.

       *       *       *       *       *

A Visit to a Mountain Palace.

     One glorious September morning found us all awake bright and early,
     for at last, the day of our long-talked-of trip to Biltmore had
     arrived. Just as the sun rose from behind Glassy Mountain with
     merry good-byes we climbed into our coach, and rolled away down the
     avenue. The few miles from "Clovernook" to the queer little place
     called Buena Vista were soon covered, and we got a view of
     Asheville. But my eager eyes sought Biltmore. Miles away, up on the
     mountain-top, I caught a glimpse of gleaming white towers--the
     palace in the mountains.

     We drove into the town of Biltmore, which, when finished, will seem
     like one of those cities built by the old kings for their
     amusement. On one side of the way costly buildings surrounded by
     asphalt walks and gardens; on the other side, manufacturing
     concerns. A turn in the road brought miles of the estate in view.
     Everywhere we looked hundreds of men were at work. Over the grassy
     hills roam the fine cattle, and here is the dairy farm, and there
     the nursery. At this point we came into the grand drive, which is
     only half completed. Trees of every variety border it.

     Frowning down on us from a great height was what seemed to be a
     castle on the Rhine, vine-clad and impressive. By the winding road
     we reached the farther side of the palace; driving through a
     massive stone-vaulted hallway, on either side of which are the
     elegant stables, we passed out into a circular court. Across this
     and through another archway, and a palace of great architectural
     beauty rose before us. I was dazed at first, and can only remember
     a few things. The house seems to rise up around a semi-court paved
     in marble, in the centre of which is a fountain from Pompeii. The
     walls are carved in life-size statues. Dragons appear to hiss at us
     from above. Italian sculptors are at work everywhere. Even the
     ceilings are being carved in some rooms. My attention was called to
     a grand pavilion and terrace opposite the gardens, guarded by huge
     Assyrian monsters. Up marble steps and along another pavilion we
     could see the west side of the place. It reminded me of the Chateau
     of Chantilly, with its marble terrace and steps leading down to an
     arbor. Steps on the right lead to the greenhouses and gardens; to
     the left, beautiful little lakes.

     The scenery from here is most beautiful. There are mountains for
     fifty miles around. At our feet the Swannanoa and French Broad
     rivers meet. No trees surround the palace. Mr. Vanderbilt expects
     to make this a winter house and wants the sunshine. I have built my
     "castles in the air," and just before we started homeward, as I
     stood there drinking in the beauty, I wondered if Mr. Vanderbilt
     dreamed in his boyhood days of such a place. We all dream, I
     suppose, but few can realize our dreams. At ten o'clock, we reached
     what now seemed plain "Clovernook." It looked so bright and
     homelike that we sang from our hearts--

  "'Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
  Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home."

  MAY INMAN MAGUIRE.
  HENDERSONVILLE, N. C.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Helping Hand.

The example of "Billy" is producing results. Following him comes "Sancho
Panza," who sends, by the hand of his mistress, 25 cents, and "hopes
everybody is as much interested as I am." Sancho Panza is a Yankee dog,
at least he lives in Connecticut. Not to be behind him, here comes word
from Washington:

"Two of us, Dick (the canary) and Polly (the parrot), are great
travellers, as we have been out to St. Louis, Mo., St. Paul, Minn., and
a great many towns and cities on the Mississippi River; we have also
been in Massachusetts, New York, Virginia, and are now living in the
District of Columbia, but hope to travel a great deal more, as the
father of our master and mistress is a naval officer, and naval
officers, you know, travel a great deal. We three little Paradise fish,
Tom, Dick, and Harry, are new members of the family, so we have not
travelled as Dick and Polly have, but hope to some day. We each send you
a dime, and our master and mistress send a quarter each, making $1 in
all."

"Bruno Morgan," who is a greyhound and lives in New York, sends 50
cents. Antonio France, another Connecticut "Yankee," who says he has no
tail, sends 10 cents and his mistress 10 more, and "Midget" a like sum
all the way from Nebraska. But "Midget," is a pony who says:

"I have a great many friends who are not so well provided for. I see so
many of them whipped and overworked and shouted at by cross, impatient
drivers, who, I am sure, if they were brought up at Good Will Farm, where
Bow-wow Billy says they have established a Band of Mercy, would never, I
know, no matter how discouraged or ill-natured they might feel, vent
their anger on us defenceless creatures. I want more boys brought up at
this Good Will Farm, where they think of animals and treat them kindly."

       *       *       *       *       *

Danbury and Its Hats.

     Hatting is the leading occupation of the people of Danbury. This
     has been an occupation for at least a century, and now Danbury is
     probably the largest hatting town in the country. The factories,
     too, are extensive, and almost every manufacturer has a salesroom
     in every important city. All kinds of hats are manufactured--soft,
     stiff, and straw. We have fur factories, one of which has branches
     in Mexico, Canada, Great Britain, and other countries.

     We have also silk manufactories, woollen-goods manufactories, and a
     machine-shop. Recently a Danburian invented a trolley that would be
     run by power passing through the tracks, thus doing away with
     overhanging wires. If this proves a success, Danbury will have a
     new industry, as all of the cars will be made here. We have,
     besides these manufactories, two stock-farms which have gained
     national notoriety. One, the Ridgewood, owns the famous horse
     Quartermaster, which has gained several Blue Ribbons at the
     National Horse Show in New York. Quartermarch is another horse of
     that farm which has gained several prizes, one of which was at the
     Grange Show, I think it is, of Orange, N. J. The other, Bekerle's,
     owns several famous horses. One was sold to the Emperor of Germany
     recently. May I write about a hat factory?

  ROBERT BULKELEY, K.R.T.
  DANBURY.

Yes, and tell us just how hats are made, especially the felt of the
stiff-crown ones.

       *       *       *       *       *

  KINGSMAN, ARIZONA, _December_ 30, 1896.

     Editor HARPER'S ROUND TABLE:

     DEAR SIR,--I wish to make a slight correction in my letter entitled
     "How Tortillas are Made." It should be yeast _powder_ instead of
     yeast.

  Very truly,
  FLORENCE E. COWAN.

       *       *       *       *       *

Questions and Answers.

Sir Knight W. D. Olmsted, 19 Orange Street, Worcester, Mass., asks to
insert the following: "Will all who have sent stamps to addresses in the
'Want Corner,' and who have never heard from them again, please send me
their address and a stamp or postal card for reply. Also send name of
person to whom you sent the stamps, together with their address, value
of stamps, and date of sending." First sergeants of companies A, B,
etc., at West Point and in military companies rank alike. David
Blondheim, 306 North Howard Street, Baltimore, Md., wants some
correspondents. The charge made by the publishers for the cover of
HARPER'S ROUND TABLE is fifty cents, post-paid. Any bookbinder can put
it on. His charge is usually $1.

       *       *       *       *       *

John G. Saxe, 171 West 132d Street, New York, wants to buy a copy of
HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE for November 27, 1894. Write him. John H.
Campbell, Jun., 413 School Lane, Germantown, Philadelphia, Pa., is, with
two others, to begin in February the publication of _The Keystone
Monthly_. Its price will be twenty-five cents a year, and for a limited
time sample copies will be sent free. Original stories, poems, jingles,
and letters to the editor are wanted. No pay for such contributions is
offered, the paper being an amateur one. A. B. G., Jun.: Get _Mort
d'Arthur_, through any bookseller or at the library, for references in
the study of King Arthur, his Knights, and Round Table.

       *       *       *       *       *

Amateur Soldier: At present enlistments in the regular army of the
United States are suspended, the service having its complement of men.
But this is only a temporary condition. Enlistments will begin again
soon. Boys between sixteen and eighteen years of age may, with the
consent of their parents, enlist as musicians; eighteen to twenty-one,
with consent of parents, as regulars; over twenty-one, without consent
of parents. The lad of sixteen who begins as a musician stands just as
good chance of promotion as the older person who enlists a little later.
Indeed, in many instances, if he be bright and faithful, he stands a
better chance. The pay is $13 per month, and the enlistment for three
years; but one may purchase his discharge at the end of one year by
paying $120. Fannie E. May, Lee, Mass., is most desirous of obtaining
the address of Edith A. Putnam. Will the latter write her?




[Illustration: STAMPS]

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


[Illustration]

In the ROUND TABLE for December 10, 1895, the stamps issued by the
general government of the Confederate States were illustrated in reduced
form. This week I give the first instalment of the "Confederate Locals,"
all of which are either scarce or rare. Counterfeits abound, however,
and the wise collector will take expert advice before parting with his
money. As a rule, collectors prefer to buy these stamps on the original
envelope, and the prices given below are those asked by dealers for
copies in good condition:

Athens, Ga., $35 to $100.

[Illustration]

Baton Rouge, La., large size, $50 to $70; small size, $100. (The 2c. and
10c. stamps are not generally accepted as genuine.)

Charleston, S.C., $10 to $15. Envelope stamps, four varieties, $10 to
$15.

Columbia, S.C., $15 to $20. This is an envelope only.

[Illustration]

Fredericksburg, Va., $7.50 to $20. (10c. stamp, $20 to $30.)

Knoxville, Tenn., $20 to $25. The embossed envelope is worth from $50 to
$100.

Nashville, Tenn., 3c., $3.50 to $20; 5c., $15 to $30; 10c., $50 to $100.

Mobile, Ala., 2c., $25 to $35; 5c., $3 to $6.

[Illustration]

New Orleans, La., 2c. blue on white, $2 to $5; 2c. red on white, $2 to
$6; 5c. brown on white or blue, $1 to $5; 5c. brilliant red on blue or
white paper, $250 to $400. The so-called reprints of the New Orleans
stamps are simply counterfeits.

  PHILATUS.




[Illustration: Ivory Soap]

There is a "comfortable feeling" that comes after a bath with Ivory
Soap.

THE PROCTER & GAMBLE CO., CIN'TI.




JOSEPH GILLOTT'S

STEEL PENS

Nos. 303, 404, 170, 604 E.F., 601 E.F.

And other styles to suit all hands.

THE MOST PERFECT Of PENS.




GEO. F. CRANE,

90 Nassau St.,

NEW YORK,

will pay cash for collections or scarce stamps.




CARDS

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

UNION CARD CO., COLUMBUS, OHIO.




FREE.

Comic return envelopes. Sleight of Hand exposed. List of 500 gifts.
Album of cards. Send 2c stamp for postage. Address Banner Card Co.,
Cadiz, Ohio.




BAKER

sells recitations and PLAYS

23 Winter St., Boston

CATALOGUES FREE.




[Illustration: Thompson's Eye Water]




THE LATEST BOOKS

FOR YOUNG PEOPLE

       *       *       *       *       *

"HARPER'S ROUND TABLE" FOR 1895

Volume XVI. With 1096 Pages, and about 750 Illustrations. 4to, Cloth,
Ornamental, $3.50.

     There is nothing, we imagine, that the young reader would be likely
     to prize more.--_N. Y. Sun._

     A truly royal volume for the youthful reading appetite.--_Boston
     Courier._

       *       *       *       *       *

A LIFE OF CHRIST FOR YOUNG PEOPLE

In Questions and Answers. By MARY HASTINGS FOOTE. With Map. Post 8vo,
Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25.

     The Rev. Dr. DAVID H. GREER writes:

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

       *       *       *       *       *

OAKLEIGH

A Story for Girls. By ELLEN DOUGLAS DELAND. Illustrated. Post 8vo,
Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25.

     The story is told in a simple and direct manner that enlists the
     sympathy and attention of the reader.--_Saturday Evening Gazette_,
     Boston.

     A story for girls, charmingly written, and illustrated throughout
     with pictures dainty enough to please the most fastidious
     damsel.... The incidents are full of life, the characters are very
     natural, and the conversations well sustained, so that the story is
     full of intense interest from beginning to end.--_Chicago
     Inter-Ocean._

       *       *       *       *       *

By KIRK MUNROE

=Snow-Shoes and Sledges=, a Sequel to "The Fur-Seal's Tooth." Illustrated.
Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25.

     Will hold the interest of its readers from beginning to
     end.--_N. Y. Evening Post._

     We confess to have read every word of the journal with as much
     interest as we once read "Robinson Crusoe" or the "Swiss Family
     Robinson."-_Christian Intelligencer_, N. Y.

_BY THE SAME AUTHOR:_

THE FUR-SEAL'S TOOTH.--RAFTMATES.--CANOEMATES.--CAMPMATES.--DORYMATES.
Each one volume. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, $1.25.

WAKULLA.--THE FLAMINGO FEATHER.--DERRICK STERLING.--CHRYSTAL, JACK &
CO., and DELTA BIXBY. Illustrated. Square 16mo, Cloth, $1.00 each.

       *       *       *       *       *

By MRS. SANGSTER

=Little Knights and Ladies=. Verses for Young People. By MARGARET E.
SANGSTER, Author of "On the Road Home," etc. Illustrated. 16mo, Cloth,
Ornamental, $1.25.

     These verses for young people are brimful of sweetness and
     tenderness; they will find generous welcome.... All through the
     little volume runs a graceful current of personal influence, sunny
     and gentle and sympathetic.--_Independent_, N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

By W. J. HENDERSON

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

     Mr. W. J. Henderson's latest sea-story for boys is one of the best
     we have seen.... The story has been read with eager interest by
     thousands of ROUND TABLE readers, and it will have an additional
     charm to them and others in its present book form.--_Boston
     Advertiser._

       *       *       *       *       *

HARPER & BROTHERS, Publishers, New York




[Illustration: THE SLUMBER SHIP]

BY IRVING BACHELLER.

  Jack Tot is as big as a baby's thumb,
  And his belly can hold but a drop and a crumb,
  And a wee little sailor is he.
      Heigh ho!
  A very fine sailor is he.

  He made his boat of a cocoanut shell;
  He sails her at night, and he steers her well
  With the wing of a bumblebee.
      Heigh ho!
  The wing of a bumblebee.

  She is rigged with the hair of a lady's curl,
  And her lantern is made of a gleaming pearl,
  And it never goes out in a gale.
      Heigh ho!
  It never goes out in a gale.

[Illustration: "A SPIDER HE SPUN HER SAIL"]

  Her mast is made of a very long thorn;
  She's a bell for the fog, and a cricket's horn,
  And a spider spun her sail.
      Heigh ho!
  A spider he spun her sail.

  She carries a cargo of baby souls,
  And she crosses the terrible Nightmare Shoals,
  On her way to the Isles of Rest,
      Heigh ho!
  The beautiful Isles of Rest.

[Illustration: "WHILE THE SKIPPER TELLS HIS INCREDIBLE TALES"]

  The Slumber Sea is the sea she sails,
  While the skipper tells his incredible tales
  With many a merry jest.
      Ho! ho!
  He's fond of a merry jest.

[Illustration: "THE SKIPPER IS LIFTING HIS SAIL"]

  When the little folks yawn they're ready to go,
  And the skipper is lifting his sail--he ho!
  In the swell how the little folks nod!
      Ha! ha!
  Just see how the little folks nod!

[Illustration: "JUST SEE HOW THE LITTLE FOLKS NOD"]

  And some have sailed off when the sky was all black.
  And the poor little sailors have never come back,
  But have steered for the City of God.
      Heigh ho!
  The beautiful City of God.

       *       *       *       *       *

SAM GETS HIS SUIT OF SUNDAY CLOTHES.

Sam was a light-skinned darky of middle age, with an ever bright and
ready reply for all. He was employed in the street department of the
town of D----. One day a gentleman finding him at work tearing up some
cobblestones from the street, and desiring to hear one of his witty
replies, asked him what he was doing. Sam replied,

"Why, sah, I's er-pullin' up de street; by-and-by I's goin' to pull up
de riber."

"Pull up the river! Why, Sam, that's a gigantic job. You'll have to pump
and haul many a year before you can accomplish that."

"If youse want ter see me do it, I's willin'."

"Well, Sam, I would like to see how you would go about it; and if you
can prove to me that you can finish such a job even within a year, I
will treat you to a suit of Sunday clothes."

"Yah, yah, yah!" laughed Sam. "Come 'long, sah, I's'll prove dat shuah!"

And off he started for the river with the gentleman and several other
people who had gathered around during the conversation. Reaching the
river, Sam piloted the gentleman and the crowd to an old skiff. Jumping
into it, he seized the oars and started rowing, shouting as he did so,
"Dere, sah! I's er-pullin' up de riber now!"

The gentleman gave in, and Sam got his clothes.

       *       *       *       *       *

PAPA. "Why, Dick! Jack! how you quarrel, and all for a little penny!"

DICK. "Yes, papa; but you said the less we quarrel about the better."

       *       *       *       *       *

ISAAC NEWTON AND HIS SERVANT.

A good story is told of Isaac Newton. It seems that one day, feeling
chilly, he ordered his servant to build a good roaring fire in the
grate, and when his orders had been obeyed be drew his chair up and
enjoyed the cheerful warmth. In a short while he dropped into deep
thought, and became unmindful of the heat of the fire until it grew so
intense that he was compelled to notice it. He rang the bell violently
for the servant, and when he came, ordered him to move the grate. The
servant scratched his head in puzzled silence, and Newton, becoming
thoroughly exasperated with the heat and the servant's disobedience,
shouted, "Will you move that grate?"

The servant jumped this way and that in terror, and finally coming to
his senses, said, "Would it not be better, sir, for you to move your
chair?"

"Well! well! well!" said Newton. "Upon my word, I never thought of
that."

       *       *       *       *       *

TEACHER. "George, what excuse have you for being late?"

GEORGE. "Only a far-fetched one."

TEACHER. "What do you mean?"

GEORGE. "The conductor of the car carried me several blocks past the
school."

       *       *       *       *       *

PAPA. "I wonder why it is that when we drop a slice of bread it usually
falls with the buttered side down?"

HIS LITTLE BOY. "I guess it's for the same reason that when we fall in
winter we wonder why the ice freezes with the slippery side up."





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