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Title: Harper's Round Table, February 23, 1897


Author: Various

Release date: November 24, 2019 [eBook #60764]

Language: English

Credits: Annie R. McGuire


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HARPER'S ROUND TABLE, FEBRUARY 23, 1897 ***



Produced by Annie R. McGuire








[Illustration: HARPERS' ROUND TABLE]

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

       *       *       *       *       *

PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 23, 1897. FIVE CENTS A
COPY.

VOL. XVIII.--NO. 904. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.

       *       *       *       *       *




[Illustration]

THE PAINTED DESERT.

A STORY OF NORTHERN ARIZONA.

BY KIRK MUNROE,

AUTHOR OF "RICK DALE," "THE FUR-SEAL'S TOOTH," "SNOW-SHOES AND SLEDGES,"
"THE MATE SERIES," ETC.


CHAPTER I.

A DESERT PICTURE.

As far as the eye could see, and for leagues beyond the reach of vision,
one of the most wonderful landscapes of the world was outspread in every
direction. Castles of massive build with battlemented towers, Greek
temples, slender spires, columns, arches, and walled cities with lofty
buildings rising tier above tier met the view on every side. Not only
were these structures of the most graceful modelling, but they were of
such a brilliancy and variety of coloring as may only be seen in that
land of wonders. While the prevailing tints were red or crimson, these
were toned and contrasted with every shade of yellow from orange to
buff, by greens, purples, and pinks, white, brown, and in fact every
variety and combination of color known to nature. Some of the slender
columns were even frosted as with silver, while others were surmounted
by groups of statuary.

Broad avenues wound in and out among these gaudily tinted structures,
and from them wide terraces--red, yellow, pink, or white--swept back
and up smooth and regular, as though built of squared marble blocks.
Apparently interspersed among these beautiful objects were shady groves,
blue lakes, rippling streams, and cool, snow-capped mountains; but these
were of such a curious nature that they came and went like the moving
pictures of a vitascope. Even the solid objects that one might be
certain were real were so sharply reflected in the heated atmosphere
above them that it was impossible to discern where substance ended and
its pictured counterfeit began.

In thorough keeping with these wonders was another close at hand, which
was the strangest of all. It was nothing more nor less than a forest of
prostrate trees lying in the wildest confusion, as though levelled by a
hurricane. Although they were broken and scattered over a wide area,
everything was there to prove that they had once been of vigorous growth
and noble proportions. Great trunks, limbs, branches, and even twigs,
many of them still retaining their covering of bark, were strewn on
every side; but all, even to the tiniest sliver, were turned into stone.
Not ordinary gray stone such as appears in the more common fossil forms,
but stone of the most exquisite color and shading, such as red jasper,
clouded agate, opalescent chalcedony, shaded carnelian, or banded onyx.
These substances are deemed precious even in the palace of a Czar, but
here they appeared in greatest profusion, many of them retaining so
clearly the markings and general aspect of wood that they could not be
mistaken for anything else. It was a fossil forest of what had been in
some dimly remote geologic age stately pine-trees, with waving tops and
whispering branches, perhaps filled with joyous birds, and sheltering
the strange animal life of a prehistoric world.

Now all was silent and motionless, with no more sign of life among the
fossil trees or their gorgeous surroundings than if the whole region lay
beneath the spell of some evil magic. Not a blade of grass was to be
seen, nor a living green thing of any kind. There was no sound of
running waters, nor of birds, nor of human activity. A sky of pale blue
arched overhead, and from it the sun poured down a parching heat that
rose in glimmering waves above tower and turret, battlement and spire.

These things are not imaginary, nor are they located in some remote and
unheard-of corner of the world, but they exist to-day right here in our
own land, as terribly beautiful and changeless at the close of the
nineteenth century as they were when first seen by a European nearly
four hundred years ago. They are the same as when the long-vanished
cliff-dwellers roamed amid their wonders, and gazed on them with
reverent awe ages before history began, for this is the Painted Desert
of Arizona. It is a region almost as little known as the deserts of the
moon, and one shunned with superstitious dread by the Indian tribes who
dwell on its borders as a place of departed spirits. So desolate is it,
and so void of life or the means of sustaining life, that not more than
a score of white men have ever gazed on its marvels and lived to tell of
them. It is a place to be avoided by all men, and yet we must penetrate
to its very heart, for there, with the opening of this story, shall we
find our hero.

He is a boy not more than seventeen years of age, seated on a fossil
tree trunk that, turned into jasper, resembles a huge stick of red
sealing-wax, and he is gazing with despairing eyes at the terrors by
which he is surrounded. Beside him, with drooping head, stands a
clean-limbed pony, bridled and saddled. A rifle, a roll of blankets, a
picket-rope, and a canteen are attached to the saddle, and one of the
boy's arms is slipped through the bridle-rein. He is clad in a gray
flannel shirt, a pair of blue army trousers that are protected to the
knees by fringed buck-skin leggings, a broad-brimmed white sombrero, and
well-worn walking-shoes. A silk handkerchief is loosely knotted about
his neck, and a belt of cartridges, from which also depends a
hunting-knife, is buckled about his waist.

The lad's name is Todd Chalmers, his home is in Baltimore, and on the
day before our introduction to him he was a member of a well-equipped
scientific expedition that was traversing the valley of the Colorado
Chiquito in the interests of a great Eastern college. Mortimer Chalmers,
Todd's elder and only brother, and a distinguished geologist, is in
charge of the expedition. Our lad, who is an honest, well-meaning
fellow, but of an adventurous disposition and extremely impatient of
control, had never been West until now, and only by persistent effort
had he induced his brother to allow him to accompany his exploring party
and remain with it during the long summer vacation. Three-fourths of the
journey to their point of destination had been made by rail, and only
ten days have elapsed since the party left the cars at Holbrook, where
they purchased an equipment of pack and saddle animals. From there they
set forth on their independent progress into the wild regions of the
Colorado Chiquito, whose valley bounds the Painted Desert on the south.

For a few days, or until the first novelty of this new life wore off,
all went well with Todd, who proved obedient to orders and attentive to
the duties devolving upon him. Then came trouble. One of the party left
camp on a private hunting expedition, became lost, and was only found
after a long delay and much organized searching. To provide against
further accidents of a similar nature, Mortimer Chalmers ordered that
thereafter no member of the party should stroll alone more than one
hundred yards from camp, or from the pack-train when it was in motion,
without receiving permission from him.

Now Todd was passionately fond of hunting, and, as already stated, was
impatient of restraint. He had anticipated unrestricted opportunities
for indulging in his favorite sport on this expedition. At the same time
not being a paid member of the party he did not feel bound in quite the
same way as the others to obey the orders of one whom he regarded with
the familiarity of a brother rather than with the respect due one in
authority. Therefore the order regarding hunting had hardly been issued
before he disobeyed it by galloping half a mile from the pack-train in
pursuit of a jack-rabbit, which he finally got, and with which he
returned in triumph.

In answer to his brother's query why he had thus disobeyed orders, the
boy replied that he did not suppose that particular order applied to
him, and that at any rate he was perfectly well able to take care of
himself.

"Do you mean, Todd, that you intend to continue in your disobedience of
orders?" asked the chief of party, sternly.

"Certainly not, when they are reasonable," answered the lad, flushing at
the other's tone. "But you know, Mort, I came out here especially for
the hunting, and it does seem rather hard--"

"No matter how it seems," interrupted the other. "I asked you if you
intended to continue in your disobedience of my orders."

"And I gave you my answer," replied Todd.

"Which means that you propose to pass your own judgment on them, and
then obey them or not, as seems to you best?"

"You can think as you please about it," retorted the other, angrily. "I
know, though, that I am not going to submit to being treated like a
child by my own brother just because he happens to be a few years older
than I am."

"Very well," replied the chief of party, calmly; "unless you will
promise implicit obedience to any order I may see fit to issue for the
welfare of the party, I shall disarm you, at the same time forbidding
you to borrow any other rifle or go upon any sort of a hunting
expedition until you do promise what I ask."

"I certainly sha'n't promise to obey any order so foolish as the one in
question, and if you choose to play the tyrant, why, you can, that's
all. Only remember, if anything unpleasant happens in consequence, the
fault will be wholly yours." Thus saying, the lad flung himself out of
the tent in which this unhappy interview had taken place, and strode
angrily away.

So the boy's cherished rifle was taken from him, and, filled with
mingled rage, mortification, and repentance, he passed a very unhappy
night. Although impatient and quick-tempered, he was not of a sullen
disposition, nor one who could long cherish anger. He was manly enough
to acknowledge to himself that he was wholly in the wrong, but was too
proud, or rather too cowardly--which is what so-called pride generally
means--to confess his fault to his brother and ask his forgiveness.

In vain did Mortimer Chalmers gaze wistfully at his younger brother on
the following morning, and long for a reconciliation. As for himself, he
could not weaken his authority by showing partiality toward any one
member of his party, and must be even more strict with Todd than with
the others because of the relationship between them. Thus his position
forbade his making the first friendly advances, and when the younger
brother, assuming a careless cheerfulness that he did not feel,
pointedly avoided him, the other turned to his own duties with a heavy
heart.

In the early afternoon of that day, when the leader was riding at some
distance in advance of his party, a small herd of black-tailed deer,
alarmed by the echoes behind them, suddenly sprang from a small side
cañon or ravine, halted abruptly on the edge of the bottom-land, gazed
for a moment in startled terror at the strange beings not fifty yards
from them, and then dashed madly back into the place whence they had
come.

"Give me a shot--quick!" cried Todd to his nearest neighbor, and
snatching the other's rifle as he spoke, he fired wildly at the
retreating animals. Then clapping spars to his pony, he bounded after
them in hot pursuit.


CHAPTER II.

TODD'S PONY BRINGS BACK THE NEWS.

Carried away by the enthusiasm and excitement of the moment, Todd did
not in the least realize what he was doing, or remember that he was
disobeying his brother's clearly expressed orders. He only knew that the
first deer he had ever seen alive and in their native haunts were
scampering away from him, and that it seemed just then as though nothing
in the world could compare in importance with getting one of them.

So, bending low in the saddle and firing as he rode, he spurred his
broncho pony to frantic exertions, and dashed away up the ravine after
the flying animals. Several others of the party spurred after the boy as
though to join in the exciting chase; but after a short run, either
because they remembered their chief's orders or because they found
themselves hopelessly left behind, they returned to the train, and its
slow line of march was resumed.

More than five minutes elapsed after Todd was lost to view behind a
sharp bend of the ravine before Mortimer Chalmers, attracted by the
sound of firing, hastened back to learn the cause of disturbance. When
it was explained his face darkened, though more with anxiety than anger,
and he ordered the party to go into camp where they were, there to await
his return. Then calling to one of the best mounted of his assistants to
see that his canteen was full of water and to follow him, the chief of
the party clapped spurs to his own horse, and set off up the ravine in
the direction taken by his impetuous young brother.

Until nearly sunset of the following day did the party in camp await,
with ever-increasing anxiety, the return of those who had thus left
them. Then their leader and his companion rode wearily back into the
valley. They were haggard, covered almost beyond recognition with the
dust of desert sands, and utterly exhausted, while their steeds were
ready to drop with thirst and fatigue.

Mortimer Chalmers's first words announced the failure of his search, for
as he entered camp he asked, "Has the boy come back?" Upon being
answered in the negative, a look of utter despair settled over the man's
face, though he turned away to hide it from the pitying gaze of his men.

From his companion it was learned that when, on the preceding day, they
had emerged from the ravine, they found themselves on a vast plain of
shifting sands, void of vegetation and dotted with great fortresslike
mesas or lofty bluffs of the most vivid and varied coloring. In the
distance they had descried a rider whom they believed to be Todd, but
though they fired their rifles and waved sombreros to attract his
attention, he failed either to see them or took no notice of their
signals, and a few seconds later disappeared behind a distant butte.
Hastening to that point, they found and followed his trail until it was
lost in the wind-blown sands. Even then they kept on in the same general
direction, firing their rifles at short intervals, until darkness
compelled a halt. During the long cheerless night, without fire or food,
and comforted by only a few mouthfuls of water from their canteens, they
still fired occasional shots, but without receiving any answer.

At daybreak they were again in the saddle and moving in a great sweeping
arc that embraced many miles of the terrible desert, back toward the
river. Until reaching it they had hoped against hope that the missing
lad might in some way have been led back to the point from which he had
started. Now, however, there was no doubt that he was indeed lost in
that fearful wilderness of sand and towering rocks.

This was the opinion of the whole party; but though it was fully shared
by Mortimer Chalmers, he was off again before daylight of the following
morning, accompanied by five of his most experienced men. These were to
explore the desert by twos in different directions, as far as their
strength and that of their animals would allow them to penetrate, though
on no account were they to remain from camp longer than two days.

This expedition was as fruitless as the first, and when on the second
evening the six searchers returned to camp empty-handed there was no
longer a doubt but that poor Todd, lost and bewildered, had wandered
beyond recovery, and met his death amid the horrors of the Painted
Desert.

Although there was no longer any hope that he would ever again be seen
alive, the party remained encamped at that place another day before
moving on, and scouts were kept constantly posted along the edge of the
plateau, whence they could command a great sweep of the interior country
in case any tidings of the lost one should be miraculously wafted in
that direction.

Even when the sad little camp was finally broken and the expedition
resumed its melancholy march down the valley of the muddy river, these
same scouts followed the edge of the bluffs, though often being obliged
to make long and fatiguing detours to head precipitous cañons.

In this manner the party had proceeded but a few miles when Mortimer
Chalmers, who, alone with his grief and self-accusing reflections, rode
in advance, was seen to suddenly clap spurs to his horse and dash off
down the valley. He had discovered a riderless pony grazing on the
coarse herbage of the bottom, and was filled with a momentary hope that
by some means his dearly loved brother might after all have found his
way back to the river.

When the others overtook him they at once recognized the animal which
was cropping the tough grasses with starving avidity as the broncho that
had borne Todd Chalmers from their sight six days before. Its belly was
bloated with water, of which it had evidently drunk a prodigious
quantity, but it was otherwise gaunt from hunger. It still wore a broken
bridle, and the saddle was found at no great distance away. To this were
still attached the rifle, now broken, the roll of blankets, soiled and
torn, and the empty canteen, that had belonged to the poor lad, of whose
fate they brought melancholy tidings. A fragment of picket-rope still
remained attached to the pony's neck, but its frayed end, worn with long
dragging through sand and over rocks, showed that the animal must have
traversed many miles of desert since the time when last he bore his
young master.

The broncho's trail was discovered and followed to the distant brow of
the bluffs, but beyond that it had been obliterated by wind-swept sands,
and offered no further clew.

As no one of the party would ever care to use that broken saddle, and as
it was all that was left to them of the merry lad who was lost, they
buried it where they found it, with all its accoutrements. When they
turned silently from the little mound of earth that covered it, all felt
with Mortimer Chalmers as though they were leaving the grave of his
light-hearted, hot-headed, affectionate, and impetuous young brother.

And now let us see what had really become of the lad whom his recent
comrades mourned so sincerely, and who we left sometime since gazing
anxiously at the gaudily decked monuments of the Painted Desert.

When in his thoughtless race after the coveted prize of a black-tailed
deer, Todd emerged from the ravine that led to the plateau, and gained a
wide range of vision, he was sorely disappointed to see the animals he
was pursuing skimming across the sands more than a mile away and
approaching a tall mesa, behind which he knew they would in another
moment disappear. He was about to give over the chase with a sigh of
disappointment, when, to his surprise, one of the fleeing deer seemed to
fall, though it almost immediately regained its feet and followed after
its companions.

"Hurrah!" shouted Todd, again urging his pony to the chase. "One of them
is wounded, and I'll have it yet. Mort will forgive me when I bring
fresh venison into camp."

Just before reaching a rocky buttress of the mesa the lad heard shots
behind him and, with a backward glance, saw two horsemen in hot pursuit.
One of them he knew to be his brother, and both of them were waving to
him to come back.

"I won't go without something to show for my hunt if I can help it,"
muttered the boy to himself, as he dashed around a corner of the rocky
wall, and also disappeared from view. He had hoped to find his wounded
deer there, but neither it nor the others were in sight, though he could
still distinguish their tracks. Following these, he was led through a
narrow and crooked valley that finally divided into several branches.
The deer had taken one of these that led sharply to the right amid a
confused mass of rocks.

"They are making a circuit back toward the river," thought the young
hunter, "and that suits me exactly, for I shall be able to reach it and
regain camp without being caught by Mort like a naughty child. That I
couldn't stand, and I would rather stay out all night than submit to
anything so humiliating."

Thus thinking, the lad continued to ride in the direction he thought the
deer had taken, though he could no longer distinguish their tracks. Nor
did he discover any sign of the wounded one, which for more than an hour
he expected to do with each moment. By this time he was beginning to
feel a little uneasy at not coming to the river toward which he was
confident he was circling. The speed of his pony was now reduced to a
walk, and Todd was greatly bewildered by the labyrinth of walls,
columns, and fantastic rock forms into which he had wandered.

With the waning day the sky became overcast, and a strong wind, blowing
in gusts, so shifted the desert sands, piling them into ridges and
whirling their eddies, that when the boy finally determined to retrace
his own trail he found, to his dismay, that even a few paces behind him
it had wholly disappeared. At this discovery the terrible knowledge that
he was lost came into his mind like a flash, and for a full minute he
sat stunned and motionless.

Then he pulled himself together, laughed huskily, and said aloud: "Don't
lose your head, old man. Keep cool. Camp right where you are until
daylight, and then climb the highest point you can find. From it you
will surely be able to get your bearings, for the river can't be more
than a mile away."

[TO BE CONTINUED.]




BEAR-HUNTING.

BY CASPAR WHITNEY.


Bear-hunting varies according to the kind of bear you are hunting. If
black bear, it is rather tame sport, but if it is grizzly, cinnamon, or
silver-tip, as the several species of the grizzly are called, then it
becomes big-game hunting indeed, and is sport for only the most
experienced.

Grizzly-bear hunting is not boys' play. It is men's work, and only for
the most experienced at that; no boy should be permitted to go
grizzly-bear hunting, either alone or in the company of other boys, or
even in the company of most men who claim to be sportsmen.

No boy of mine should ever go after a grizzly unless he was accompanied
by a hunter whose nerves had been tried by "Old Ephraim," and whose
experience was undoubted. The grizzly is such an uncertain beast in his
temperament, and is so ferocious and so dangerous when once his ugly
temper is aroused, that it is not safe to take any liberties with him,
and it is certainly not safe for boys to take any chances about
venturing into his country. For this reason I do not think boys ought to
go bear-hunting, even for the black, in localities frequented by the
grizzly. As a rule, grizzly and black bear do not live in the same
localities, although in some parts of the Rocky Mountains, in Colorado
and New Mexico, I have killed both within twenty-five miles of each
other.

If, having your father's permission to hunt grizzly, you set out with an
experienced sportsman, the latter will advise you as to your rifle.
There are many different opinions on this rifle question. I have always
used a .45-90-300 or a .45-110-340, preferably the latter. The dangerous
feature of grizzly-hunting is the bear's wonderful vitality. If you were
certain, absolutely, of putting a ball through his brain every time you
fired at him, there would be no need of such concern as to your rifle,
for a much smaller calibre would answer the purpose equally as well as
the larger; but rarely are you in a position to put a ball into his
brain, even if you are a sufficiently expert shot to do so. You may fire
at 75, 100, or 150 yards--you will more often see him at the shorter
distance than at the longer--but the chances of your dropping him in his
tracks are not good. Occasionally you may do so, but not often. Now this
is the danger. When you put that bit of lead into the grizzly, no matter
how thoroughly it may do its work, most frequently "Old Ephraim" is
going to make a bee-line for you; and, what is more disquieting, he is
likely to sustain life long enough to reach you, unless meanwhile you
stop him. I know of a case where a grizzly was shot through the heart
twice at close range, and yet got to the hunter and fearfully injured
him before the bear fell dead.

I have seen many illustrations of the inefficacy of lighter charges of
powder, and known several instances where, had men using them been
alone, they would have fared very badly from the wrath of the grizzly.
My own experience has taught me that the heavy charge is desirable. I
certainly should not go after a grizzly with anything less than a
.45-90. That is why I have always advocated plenty of powder back of the
ball when you come to tackle "Old Ephraim." Lately a cartridge has been
put on the market, a .30-40, of smokeless powder, which is said to be
very killing. Theodore Roosevelt has used it on antelope, and tells me
that it does splendid execution--certainly as good as, if not better
than, any of the heavier charges. Archie Rogers, who is a noted
bear-hunter, also used the gun out West last season, and killed a bear
with it. These are two of the most experienced sportsmen in the country;
but a gun in the hands of Archie Rogers after grizzly is a very
different matter from its being in the hands of the ordinary sportsman,
to say nothing of a tyro. The next time I go after bear I shall take
along one of these guns and try it, but it seems to me it has not yet
had sufficient trial against the grizzly to warrant its being advised
for inexperienced hunters or for boys. The boy who reads this article
and starts for grizzly, and values my advice, will provide himself with
the old reliable .45-110-340. For black bear the .45-90 is sufficiently
powerful, and many rifles of smaller calibre have been used on this
member of the bruin family.

The best time to hunt bear is in the spring, when they have just come
out of their winter's holes, in which they have been sleeping away the
coldest months. They are then very hungry, and constantly on the move,
and to be seen in the open more than at any other season of the year.
This is the time, too, when their fur is long and silky, and of very
much better quality than later, for very soon after coming out of their
holes the fur becomes thinner and coarser. It is at this time of the
year that the bear is a meat-eater; and, in fact, he is almost any kind
of an eater, being so ravenous as to take what he can. If in the
neighborhood of a ranch, he will prey on the live-stock, particularly on
pigs and chickens. A few months later, when summer comes on, he goes up
from the foot-hills into the high mountain plateaus, where he lives on
vegetable matter, grasses, and weeds, and becomes a very diligent seeker
after beetles, and all the insect life that lives under stones and logs.
The true time of plenty for bear, and certainly when you are most likely
to get a shot at him, is in the last of the summer, during the berry
season. This is when you must hunt for him on the sloping sides of the
hills that are covered with berry bushes, and frequently they are so
absorbed in devouring the luscious fruit as to be rather easy of
approach, although do not get the idea it is too easy; a bear is never
easy to approach, and approach is only a small part of the game. Later
on in the autumn he again goes up on the high plateaus, where game is
plenty, and again becomes a meat-eater. When the winter sets in, and the
heavy snows come, he seeks a cavernous hole in the hill-side, or some
natural cave in the mountains, among rocks, where he remains sleeping
until spring.

It is very difficult to still hunt bear; in fact, it is the experience
of most hunters that bear have been more frequently come upon
unexpectedly when out hunting for other game. You will probably have to
make many trips before you see signs or before you get sight of a bear,
and yet again you are apt to go out and stumble on to one. It takes the
most careful hunting, because a bear, once aware of your presence in his
vicinity, is very difficult to approach; he is certain to secure a
position from which he can view an approaching enemy. And when you are
looking for bear be very careful how you go through brush. It is not
often a bear will charge you without your molesting him, unless it
happens to be a female who has cubs near by. But nevertheless, as I have
said, the grizzly is so uncertain in his temperament that he is just as
apt to charge you as not to do so; and, at any rate, it is best not to
run any chances, and therefore advisable to be very careful in going
through heavy brush or any place in which he might be lurking.
Bear-hunting is not popular with the average man who goes out with a
rifle, because reward is so long delayed; it takes lots of time and
plenty of patience and experience and skill to get your bear, and it is
not every hunter who has this combination.

[Illustration: A GRIZZLY AT BAY.]

Bear are baited, but I have never cared very much for that sort of
sport. It seems to me that to lay behind a stump awaiting the approach
of your victim to the bait you have put out to lure him takes all the
hunting out of it. You are simply there to kill, and all the pleasure of
pitting your woodcraft and skill against the animal is entirely lost.

See that your rifle is clean and in good working order, and be very
chary how you follow a wounded grizzly into cover. It is an old dodge of
"Ephraim's," when he does not attack openly, to slink into cover and lie
in wait for the hunter who rushes in after him in the thought that he is
retreating. Go slow; and do not do any hurried shooting. You should not
hunt grizzly unless you are a good shot; and being so, take careful aim
before you press the trigger. A painfully wounded grizzly is a dangerous
beast.




ARTIN THE KURD.

BY G. B. BURGIN.


I.

"I am not afraid of you," said the Rev. William P. Marsh. "You know very
well that I am an American missionary and that you dare not touch me."

Karin the son of Artog looked somewhat ruefully at Oglou the son of
Kizzil. "The infidel dog speaks truth," said he. "We must be careful, or
the Vali's soldiers will hear of it, and it will take much _bakshish_ to
free us. What shall we do with him?"

Before Oglou the son of Kizzil could reply, the Rev. William P. Marsh
took a small Bible from his pocket. "The subject of my discourse," he
remarked, tucking a horse-blanket over his feet to keep off the cold,
and comfortably resting his back against the side of the mountain--"the
subject of my discourse this evening will be on the sinfulness of taking
what does not belong to us. I shall be enabled to put more vigor into my
remarks from the fact that you have robbed me of all my money, have
likewise stolen my horse and saddle-bags. As I came to this country just
to look after your miserable souls, it's pretty mean of you. However, we
will now consider the subject in its primary aspects; thence we will
touch upon original sin; and after that I propose to present for your
prayerful consideration the subject of Kurdish sin, which seems to be a
pretty big variety in itself."

He deliberately turned over the leaves of his well-thumbed Bible in
search of an appropriate text for these two ruffians who had waylaid and
robbed him within five miles of Kharput. Karin the son of Artog looked
irresolutely at Oglou the son of Kizzil.

"It would be simpler to cut this missionary pig's throat," he suggested,
stroking his long mustache. "Perhaps the Vali would be only too glad to
get rid of him."

"I should like to; I have not killed any one for a week," rejoined Oglou
the son of Kizzil, with much fervor. "But--" He hesitated.

The missionary did not understand Kurdish, and spoke in Armenian. "It
would be more becoming," he remarked, "for you to sit down and listen to
me without interruption. You may never have such another chance."

The quick eyes of Karin the son of Artog caught a glimmer of arms in the
plain below them. All around the mountain pass was flecked with snow.
"Proclaimed by all the trumpets of the sky," fresh masses began to fall.
Their own village was a good many miles away. This mad hodga would
continue to preach until he talked them to death. The Turkish zaptiehs,
winding slowly up from the plain below, might ask inconvenient questions
and appropriate all the plunder.

"After all, it is only four liras," suggested Oglou the son of Kizzil.
"If we cut his throat, the zaptiehs will come after us, and our horses
are done up. Better tell him we repent and give him back the money."

"When Allah, the All Great, has given us this money," sententiously said
Karin the son of Artog, "it is showing ourselves thankless to throw it
aside. But--perhaps it is as well. We can always catch him again when
there aren't any zaptiehs about. Let us repent and get away before we
are caught by these sons of burnt mothers, the zaptiehs."

Hence it was the Rev. William P. Marsh felt that his efforts at
conversion had been suddenly blessed. "Maybe I was a bit hard on you,"
he said, affably, as the two Kurds helped him into the saddle. "If ever
you show yourselves in Kharput, just come and see me and let me know how
you're getting on. I don't want either of you to backslide after this
act of grace, for I know how badly you must feel at giving back this
money. I could see just now that nothing but the fear of the Lord
prevented you from cutting my throat. If that stops you from cutting
your neighbors' throats in your usual hasty fashion, you'll be very glad
you tried to rob me by the way, and were brought to repentance. Now
here's this Bible of mine, beautifully printed in Armenian. Maybe some
one could read it to you when you feel inclined to go out and plunder
your neighbors after the fashion of these parts. If you like to have it
just say so, and I'll make you a present of it."

"Some day we will bring it back to you, Effendi," obsequiously said
Karin the son of Artog, as the two picturesque-looking villains helped
the infirm old missionary into the saddle. "Where is your house?"

"By the big college; you can't mistake it," said the old missionary,
cheerfully. "Just ask for me, and you shall have a square meal first and
some square truth afterwards. But I must get on." He jogged his patient
old horse with one spurless heel, and shuffled away in the direction of
Kharput, lifting up his voice in a hymn of praise as he disappeared in
the gathering night.

Karin the son of Artog and Oglou the son of Kizzil watched the receding
old man with a grin. "Four liras!" said the one. "Four liras!" echoed
the other. "Now for the zaptiehs." The two cronies turned in the
direction of the approaching force, but it was not to be seen.

"They've turned off, and are not coming up the mountain at all,"
mournfully suggested Karin the son of Artog.

"Oh, if we had only known, sons of dead asses that we are!" wrathfully
replied Oglou the son of Kizzil.

"We would have cut his throat and kept the money," they added,
simultaneously.

But the good old missionary jogged up the steep incline to Kharput,
feeling that he had not lived in vain, and that the mission report for
that year of grace, 1880, would contain the first authentic instance of
the sudden conversion to Christianity of two Kurd desperadoes.

"Allah is with him" (an Eastern equivalent for stating that a man is
mad), said Karin the son of Artog, leaping on his wiry pony and digging
his shovel-shaped stirrups into its hairy sides.

"We must have been mad too," suggested Oglou the son of Kizzil, as he
galloped down the mountain-side after his friend, "to give him back four
liras when I would have cut his throat for a medjidieh!"


II.

[Illustration: HE MADE A VICIOUS THRUST AT HIS FRIEND'S HEART.]

A few days later Karin the son of Artog had a slight difference of
opinion with Oglou the son of Kizzil. No one knew how the quarrel
originated, but it ended in Karin the son of Artog drawing an extremely
sharp and crooked sword and rushing upon Oglou the son of Kizzil with
the indecorous observation that he would slice out his liver. Although
Karin the son of Artog was theoretically acquainted with the position of
the human liver he had no practical knowledge of the fact, and,
consequently, made a vicious thrust at his old friend's heart.
Fortunately for Oglou the son of Kizzil, the point of the sword caught
in the cover of the old missionary's Bible, and whilst Karin the son of
Artog futilely endeavored to get it out again, Oglou the son of Kizzil,
with the neat and effective back-stroke which was his one vanity, cut
off the head of Karin the son of Artog. Oglou the son of Kizzil had
placed the Bible over his heart as an amulet; hence, this providential
instance of its powers more than ever convinced him of its utility as a
charm to ward off misfortune. However this may have been, it could not
protect the son of Kizzil from the somewhat inopportune attentions of
his late friend's clan. The relations, with that blind haste which
generally distinguishes the actions of relatives, promptly assumed that
Oglou the son of Kizzil had been the aggressor, and demanded
"blood-money." Here again arose another difference of opinion. Oglou the
son of Kizzil, whilst willing to testify to the admirable qualities of
his late friend Karin the son of Artog, felt inclined to rate those
qualities at a lower market value than seemed becoming to the dead
man's friends. Three liras and a pony seemed to Oglou the son of Kizzil
an adequate tribute to the virtues of the defunct warrior. He was
willing, as a concession to sentiment, to throw in a praying-carpet with
the pony, but was not prepared to do more. As a tribute to old
friendship, however, he would marry the widow and take over the
household. To this ultimatum the widow, through the medium of a
white-haired old chief, her father, replied that Oglou the son of Kizzil
had insulted her by supposing that she could ever have married a man
whose "blood-money" would scarcely suffice for the funeral expenses, and
that it would be well, in view of the circumstances, for Oglou the son
of Kizzil to put his house in order and bid farewell to a world which he
had too long disgraced by his presence.

With feminine unfairness, the widow of Karin the son of Artog did not
give Oglou the son of Kizzil a start, for his relations were scattered
about on different plundering expeditions, and were much too busy to
attend to their kinsman's sudden call for aid. One morning, that darkest
hour before the dawn in which ill deeds are done, Oglou the son of
Kizzil was awakened by a smell of burning thatch.

"Ugh!" he grunted, feeling to see whether his yataghan was in order.
"She's set her relations on to me. I should like to marry that woman. I
wonder how many of them are outside."

Whilst he was still pondering, a bullet came through the wall of the
hut, and scattered little pellets of mud all round. This seemed to Oglou
the son of Kizzil a hint that it was about time for him to be off. With
characteristic forethought he had tethered his pony in the hut. Picking
up his small one-year-old son, the joy of his heart and the pride of his
eyes, Oglou the son of Kizzil mounted his pony, rushed through the crazy
door, tumbling against a crowd of Kurds who were waiting to receive him,
and the next moment was madly galloping through the darkness in the
direction of Kharput.

Recovering from their momentary panic, the relations of Karin the son of
Artog charged after their former friend, headed by the widow, who, lance
in hand and mounted _en cavalier_, resolved to revenge the slights which
her pride had suffered. But Oglou the son of Kizzil had a good pony, the
shovel edges of his stirrups were sharp enough to rake even that
much-enduring animal's hide, and he sped up the mountain, guiding the
animal with his knees, holding his little son on the saddle before him
with one hand, and brandishing his yataghan with the other, as if he
were slicing an imaginary foe with the same famous stroke which had
killed Karin the son of Artog.

But the way was long, the ascent steep, and the one-year-old Artin, so
rudely awakened from slumber, began to cry.

"Hush, little warrior," said his father, tenderly. "Little sheep's
heart, be still."

As they toiled up the steep mountain path, the wiry pony going at each
sudden rise in the broken ground with an impetuous rush, the clatter of
falling stones served as a guide to the pursuers, and they came on,
headed by the widow, brandishing her husband's lance.

"I shall have to turn and fight them presently," said Oglou to his son.
"They'll never let me alone now."

Suddenly he gave a wild yell, and mercilessly prodded the pony.

"The house next the college! That is the place. Inshallah, I shall have
time to get there and back to the top of the pass before they catch up
with me. But unless I can get back in time I'm done for. It all depends
upon the pony."

In answer to this appeal the gallant little beast bounded up the
precipitous path like a wild goat. The piercing shriek of the widow died
away, and the loud breathing of the pony, as he neared the top of the
pass alone, broke the stillness. Once on the level ground, Oglou the son
of Kizzil gave a peculiar cry, and the pony skimmed along, his belly
almost touching the earth.

Hastily taking off his thick lamb-skin coat, Oglou the son of Kizzil
wrapped it round the child, tied the missionary's Bible to his breast,
sprang from his pony, hammered vigorously on the door of a little house
next the college, and left the boy there. When the Rev. William P. Marsh
opened the window, Oglou the son of Kizzil was already moving away.

"What does the rascal mean by having religious doubts at this hour of
the morning," grumbled the good missionary, preparing to shut down the
window. "Perhaps he has brought back the Bible I gave him."

Little Artin, snugly wrapped up in the lamb-skin, rolled off the
door-step and began to howl. "When a baby howls," thought the good
missionary, "the best thing is to call one's wife." He awoke his better
half and explained the circumstances to her. "What would you advise me
to do?" he inquired, as she sat up in bed.

"Fetch the child, and bring it up to our warm bed," she said, promptly.
"Fancy wasting all this time, and on such a bitter night."

As Oglou the son of Kizzil reached the top of the pass, the gray dawn
began to break. Only one of his pursuers was in sight; whereupon, Oglou
the son of Kizzil urged the tired pony forward, took a firmer grip of
his yataghan, and prepared to demolish his plucky adversary.

"Stop," shouted the widow of Karin the son of Artog. "I've changed my
mind; a live donkey is better than a dead lion. Kill your son, and I
will marry you. You shall be the head of our tribe."

"You are stronger than Rustam, fairer than a gazelle," said Oglou the
son of Kizzil. "Inshallah, but it is _kismet_. My son dropped over the
precipice as I rode along."

And they went back together.


III.

Sixteen years later Oglou the son of Kizzil, much stouter and a little
dirtier than of yore, cautiously rose from his couch without awakening
his spouse, slipped out from the hut, and rode swiftly away through the
darkness towards Kharput. Oglou the son of Kizzil was much troubled, for
his interests lay in different directions. The little boy Artin had
grown up to be a fine stalwart lad, with a strong vocation for the
ministry, and an equally strong affection for the old cutthroat, who
dare not openly acknowledge his son. Three or four times a year the Kurd
galloped up to Kharput, whistled beneath his son's window, and the two
would ride away together, the lad longing for the wild life of his
father's folk, and yet restrained by his knowledge that he would one day
be called to minister to them.

On this particular night Oglou the son of Kizzil was much perturbed.
"These Armenian pigs will all be slaughtered to-morrow like sheep," he
said. "It is the Sultan's will. We begin early in the morning, and the
looting is to last for three days. But if the old hodga hears of it, he
will go to the Vali, and the Vali will know that he has been betrayed."

Then young Artin thought for a moment. "Is there no way of stopping the
massacre?" he asked. "You know people think I am an Armenian."

Oglou the son of Kizzil shrugged his shoulders. "There will be much
plunder. We shall walk our horses through blood," he said, as if that
settled the matter.

"And what shall I do?" inquired Artin.

"If the hodgas (schoolmasters) keep within their houses they will be
safe; but we shall kill all their servants, and not leave an Armenian
alive in the place, the dogs."

Artin knew that it would be useless to argue with the old robber, his
father. "I suppose I had better get away with Mr. Marsh, or else take
refuge with the British Consul at Sivas? He is staying with Mr. Marsh,
but leaves to-morrow."

"It is the will of Allah that these dogs should die the death," said the
Kurd, with pious resignation for other people's sufferings. "Joy of my
heart, get away early in the morning, or you might be hurt when we
attack the place. If we didn't obey orders we should have the troops let
loose on us; and even my wife is afraid of that."

He embraced Artin fondly, shook his shaggy hair, and galloped swiftly
away, leaving the young man in a brown study. Artin went back to the
college, roused up every slumbering pupil, and hunted among the Consul's
travelling things for one particular article. When Mr. Marsh came down
to breakfast, three hours later, there were fifteen thousand Armenians
huddled together within the Mission walls.

"What does this all mean?" asked the English Consul, as he entered the
breakfast-room. "I can hear firing in the town."

"The Sultan has ordered a massacre of all the Armenians to be found
here," said Artin, quietly. "The Kurds are beginning now."

"I'll go to the Vali," cried Mr. Marsh, starting up in horror.

"It is no good," said Artin, with a touch of fatalism. "What will be,
will be. I have done all I could. We have several thousands here
already."

"But these cutthroat scoundrels will soon break into the college
grounds," said the Consul. "Why didn't you warn people to fly, if you
knew what was coming?"

"It was too late. There was only one thing to be done."

"And that was--?"

"To collect as many as the place would hold."

"Of course you will interfere to protect these poor people," suggested
Mr. Marsh to the Consul.

"I have no instructions," said the Consul. "My action might bring about
a war between Turkey and England."

"But if you do not, you will have the blood of thousands of innocent
people on your soul;" and the good missionary paced the room in his
agitation. "Then you must act!"

"The Consul has already interfered," said Artin.

"What do you mean?" testily asked the Consul.

"The English flag is flying from the top of the college," said Artin. "I
took it out of your baggage and put it up. Now, for the honor of your
country, you can't haul it down again."

The Consul's face cleared. "It's a fearful responsibility you've forced
on me."

Accompanied by Mr. Marsh and Artin, he went into the court-yard. The
Kurds were already beginning to batter in the gates.

The gates soon came down with a crash, the Turkish regulars outside
looking on with an amused grin, and licking their lips at the thought of
what was to follow.

But the English Consul strode out through the gates. He was unarmed, and
his life hung on a thread. Then a Turkish officer came forward.
"Effendi, this is no business of yours. You had better leave."

The Consul pointed to the British flag flying from the college tower.
"Whilst that flag is flying here," he said, proudly, "this is English
ground. Now enter if you dare."

After a hurried consultation with the Turkish officer the disappointed
Kurds drew off, and rode into the town to continue their butchery.

"I did all I could directly I knew what was going on," said Artin the
Kurd, to Mr. Marsh the American.

The missionary put his hand affectionately on the lad's shoulder. "To
think," he mused--"to think that one small Bible should have been the
means of saving the lives of all this multitude of people! If your
father hadn't carried that Bible, his enemy's sword would have pierced
his heart, and he would never have brought you here. Now we must try to
feed the women and children until this slaughter ceases."

But Oglou the son of Kizzil, in the very act of shearing off an
Armenian's head with his characteristic back stroke, sighed as if all
the savor of slaughter had gone out of him. "Alas that I should raise up
seed for the wife of mine enemy, and my own son rides not at his
father's bridle-hand!"




A LOYAL TRAITOR.

A STORY OF THE WAR OF 1812 BETWEEN AMERICA AND ENGLAND.

BY JAMES BARNES.


CHAPTER XVIII.

A CRUISE ON MY OWN ACCOUNT.

As I stood there, not knowing what to do, I saw the fingers of a man come
over the edge of the cabin window; then a face appeared, and, seeing who
it was, I leaned forward and laid hold of the carpenter by the back of
his shirt to help him. He murmured something inarticulate, and I saw the
reason why he could not get in through the window. He had his cutlass in
his teeth, and I had to relieve him of it and do some powerful hauling
before I had him inside lying on his back on the cabin deck. I closed my
hand over his mouth, and bending my head close to his, whispered: "Hush
for your life! There's a sleeping man within touch of us!"

But now the hilt of another cutlass appeared at the window. I took it,
and enjoining silence on those below in the boat, the carpenter and I
hauled in another man. We must have made some noise, but the deep
breathing went on undisturbed until every man jack of us had come in
through that window. But it was no place to hold a consultation. With my
finger to my lips, I stepped to the passageway, took down the lantern
from its hook, and came back with it. The sleeper was snoring, and we
saw that he was in a bunk behind a half-closed curtain. And now the
reason for his sound rest was apparent; as we pulled aside the cloth,
ready to jump on him if he made a sound, we smelt the strong odor of
rum, and perceived that the man had clasped in his arms a big black
bottle, much in the way a child in a cradle might fall asleep with a
doll.

"You can't wake _him_," said the carpenter, who was called "Chips" by
the crew, and if I had not stopped him, I think he would have tweaked
the sleeper's nose.

"One of you stay down here and guard him," I said. "Mr. Chips, you and
those three men close the forward hatch. I and these five men will take
care of the man at the wheel and the watch. Now, steady! Make no noise!"

They followed me out to the little passageway that led to the foot of
the ladder, and I went up it softly. I saw but two moving figures on
deck--a man forward leaning with both elbows on the rail, and aft, the
binnacle light reflecting on the face of an old sailor with a growth of
long white whiskers; his eyes were half closed, and his fingers were
grasped tightly around the spokes. Followed by the three men I had
detailed, I jumped up on deck. The old seaman at the wheel made no
outcry, for danger was probably the last thing he had in his mind. (He
took us for some of the crew, I found out afterwards.) When he looked at
the pistol that I pointed at his head, however, his jaw dropped, and
without a word his legs gave way and he sat down backwards on the deck.

In the mean time the carpenter had clapped a pistol to the head of the
man leaning over the rail, two others found sleeping on the forward deck
were held quiet in the same manner, and I heard the slam of the hatch
with satisfaction.

I had command of the brig, without a word having been spoken above a
breath.

I say I had command of the brig right enough, but there was to be a
little trouble, after all, which came near to putting me out of the game
altogether; but of that later.

In obedience to the plan, the side lights had been extinguished, the
yards swung about, the helm put down, and we were steering northeast by
east according to the compass.

I was standing by the man at the wheel, trembling with the agitation of
pent self-congratulation. I would have given a great deal to have
relieved my feelings by a cheer.

"Who are you? Pirates?" said a shaking voice at my side. I looked
around. There stood the old sailor with his knees half bent, as if they
refused to straighten.

"We're Yankee privateersmen," I said, grinning at him.

"Much the same thing," he muttered--"pirates! What are you going to do
with us?"

"Treat you kindly, if you make no noise," I answered, rather amused than
otherwise.

This appeared to relieve the old man greatly. The carpenter now came
aft.

"I've bucked and gagged the men I found on deck," he said. "You don't
want to heave them overboard, do you?" he added, chuckling.

"No!" I answered, quickly.

I had no time to find out whether the man was joking or not in asking
this, for a flash of red fire tore out against the darkness less than a
mile astern of us. Then a crash reached our ears. Some more flashes and
reports in criss-cross, and then a burst of flame so bright that I could
make out the outlines of a vessel from her lower yards to the water!

"By the great sharks, Mr. Hurdiss," cried the carpenter, "old Smiler has
run afoul of a frigate, and no less! That's the end of him."

As we learned afterwards, that broadside was the end of poor Captain
Gorham, and the tight little Yankee also. But we soon had affairs of our
own to look after, and I myself had my hands full.

The report of the first shot had caused something of a commotion below.
I heard the sound of a cry and an oath, and rushing to the head of the
companion ladder, I was almost knocked down by a great man who came up
it on the jump. He was bleeding from a gash the full length of his face,
but I recognized him as the one who had been asleep in the berth below.

"Demons! Devils!" he shrieked, and avoiding my grasp, he jumped for the
side, and went overboard head first, with a wild, unearthly scream.

I knew that a struggle must have taken place in the cabin, and calling
the carpenter to follow me, I jumped down the steps, and here is where
the unexpected happened. The lantern I had left there had been
extinguished. All was pitch dark, but I could hear a faint groaning to
the right. I felt along the passageway with my hand, and as I extended
it I touched something that moved. At the same moment my wrist was
caught in a tight grasp and a hand fumbled up my chest as if reaching
for my throat.

"Who are you?" said a voice, in unmistakable English accents.

For reply I laid hold of the reaching hand, and thus the strange man and
I stood there close together. I could not reach my pistol, or I would
have shot him dead.

"Who are you?" he repeated, hoarsely.

I said nothing, but endeavored to wrench my hand free. The man, at this,
began to shout.

"Ho, Captain Richmond, mutiny!" he cried, and threw his whole weight
upon me, as if to bear me down. "Ho, Richmond! You drunken fool, the men
have risen!" he roared again.

I had wrestled with many of my fellow-prisoners at Stapleton, but I had
never been against such a man as this heretofore. I almost felt my ribs
go as he grasped me, but I got my hip against him, and we came down
together, completely blocking up the passageway. I fumbled for my
pistol, but could not reach it, and taking me off my guard, the man
shifted his grasp to my throat. I tried to evade it, but it was too
late. I caught him by both wrists, and for a second managed to keep his
thumbs from choking me.

"Get a light! A light!" I cried.

I had got my knee wedged in the pit of the man's stomach, and was
pushing him with all my might, but even with this and the aid of my
hands I could not break away. Gradually my breath stopped, lights
flashed and danced before my eyes. I could feel my chest heaving as if
my heart would come out of my body; then it seemed to me I heard an
explosion far above me, and I knew no more.

When I drifted back to the sense of knowing that I was alive, it took me
some minutes to gather the strings of my mind and haul in my ideas. At
first I could not have told who I was, and for a long time my
whereabouts were a puzzle to me. It might be the first question of any
one to whom I should tell this to ask why I did not speak, and thus find
out the condition of affairs. But let me assure you I was doing my best
to form words and sentences, and the only result was a whistling,
wheezing sound in my throat. My voice was gone! At last I found strength
to raise my hand, and I felt that I was in a box of some kind, and this
puzzled me still more until I heard voices talking to one side of me,
and I recognized Chips, the carpenter, saying:

"It was a quick funeral, Dugan. And how is the young gentleman?"

Then the whole situation came back to me clearly, and I knew where I was
and all about it. I put out my other hand this time, pulled aside the
curtains, and it was as I supposed; they had placed me in one of the
cabin-bunks; it was the very one, by-the-way, in which the drunken
Captain had been sleeping.

"Well, sir," said the carpenter, "so you've come back to join us? It
isn't every one who's been so near the great gate and returned."

I tried to answer something, and it must have been an odd sight to have
seen me sitting there dizzy and swaying, working my mouth without a
sound forth-coming. Something was choking me. At last I made a motion;
they understood that I wished a drink of water, and Dugan went to fetch
it for me. It pained me much to swallow or to move my head; I can truly
sympathize with any man who has been hanged.

They had put something in the drink, however, that made me feel a bit
stronger, and I motioned for Chips to come close to me.

"Have we come about?" I whispered.

"Yes, Captain," he replied, nodding his head and smiling encouragement,
the way one addresses an invalid. "We came about some time ago, and are
now holding a course southwest-by-south-half-south. Is that right, sir?"

I nodded. All I knew was that if we held this course long enough we
would fetch up somewhere on the coast of the United States.

But the man's addressing me as "Captain" pleased me. Yes, surely, I was
the prize-master of the brig, and the men looked to me to manage her.
But I did not even know her name as yet, and there were many things that
I wished to find out. So, taking Chips's arm, I made a sign telling him
that I wished to go on deck.

The cabin had been lighted by the lantern hanging above our heads. As we
went down the passageway I saw that another light was coming from a
small door that opened into a little closetlike space which contained
two bunks. A horn lantern was suspended from the deck beam, and a man
with his head bound up in a bloody cloth was in the lower bunk.

"It's Fisher, the man we left guarding the drunken skipper," said Chips.
"He was struck on the head with a bottle."

We were at the foot of the ladder, and I saw that it was from this place
that the man with whom I had had the struggle had emerged. It was right
here where I was standing that we had been fighting, and it was there we
lay. I looked down and saw that the passageway had been lately slushed
out, for a sopping squilgee had been tossed in the corner.

"Where is he?" I asked.

The carpenter shrugged his shoulders. I understood with a shudder, and
did not repeat the question. What was the use?

By the motion of the vessel I knew that the wind must be light, and
glancing up as I came to the top of the ladder, I saw that the carpenter
was well up in his business, and that in him I had an able lieutenant.

The brig had every stitch of canvas set, and despite the fact that she
was very old-fashioned and bluff in the bows, we were making good
headway, and rolling out two rippling waves that seethed and tumbled on
either side of us.

It would soon be dawn. The sky was growing light in the east, and the
glow was spreading every minute, so that I judged it must be in the
neighborhood of four o'clock in the morning. I sat down on the edge of
the cabin sky-light and rested my elbows on my knees; and in that
attitude I gave thanks that my life had been spared, and prayed that
strength would be given to me to meet any danger that might come before
me.

The dawning of a day is a very beautiful and holy thing to watch,
especially at sea, with the red edge of the sun creeping slowly up
against the horizon, and the expanding sense that one feels in his soul
at the world's awakening. Had I a gifted pen, I should love to describe
the sight I have seen so often--the growing of color in the water, from
black to gray, from gray to green and blue; the red-tipped clouds, and
all--but I shall not attempt it; I should fail. Even this day I noticed
the beauty of it, but I began to worry about my throat (I was in great
pain again), and wondered whether the pressure of the man's fingers had
destroyed my larynx. But if I had lost power of speech, I knew that the
carpenter would carry out my intentions, and that he probably could give
the orders in much better fashion than I could. So it was not necessary
for me to borrow trouble, although I hated to think of whispering for
the rest of my existence.

[Illustration: HE LEANED HIS FACE OVER THE HOLE AND SHOUTED.]

Suddenly I thought of the prisoners penned in the forecastle, and I
approached the carpenter, who was chatting with the man at the wheel,
and asked him about them--whether he had held converse with them, and
how many were they. He informed me that there were eight fore-mast hands
and the second and third mates cooped up below, and that the only way
they could get out was through the forward hatch, which he had nailed
down. I walked to the bow with him, and saw that he had cut a square
hole in the middle of the hatch cover big enough to admit air and to
permit of talking with those below. He leaned his face over the hole and
shouted:

"Below there, ye Johnny Bulls! How fares it?"

The reply was a chorus of cursing. But at last one man succeeded in
hushing the others, and I could hear his words distinctly. He spoke with
a strong Scotch burr.

"Who are ye? Where are ye takin' us?" he asked.

"We're Yankees," answered Chips, "and you know that right well. We're
taking you for a trip to the land of liberty. If you behave yourselves,
and stop your low talk and your blaspheming, you'll have your breakfast
soon. We're Christians."

There was no further conversation, and at this instant I was seized with
a hemorrhage from my throat, and the carpenter insisted upon my turning
in in the cabin, which I was not loath to do, as moving about seemed to
start the blood in my throat. I went below, and lay there all the
morning, suffering not a little. They brought me food, but I was unable
to swallow it; but when I fell asleep at last, I was awakened in a few
minutes, it seemed to me, by Chips touching me on the shoulder.

"It's near meridian, Captain Hurdiss," he said. "Hadn't you better take
a squint at the sun? The wind is getting up a bit too, sir," he said,
"and the glass has fallen."

I endeavored to get my feet, but the motion started the trouble in my
throat, and I fell back, weakly.

"Never mind; you'd better keep to your bunk," the carpenter said.
"To-morrow you'll be up and about, I'll warrant. I'll leave this bottle
for you, sir."

I detected an anxious look in his face as he handed me a glass of water
and spirits. Again I fell asleep, and awoke some time late in the
afternoon, feeling much better.

The brig had a great motion on her, and every plank and timber was
groaning and creaking. I took a sip out of the bottle, which was wedged
in the corner of the bunk, and although it scalded and burned me, it
seemed to give me strength, and I crawled out, and stumbling to the foot
of the ladder, made my way up on deck. The sky had grown black and
angry. We were on the starboard tack under reefed topsails, and
everything was wet with flying spray. The _Duchess of Sutherland_, for
that was the brig's name, belonged to an era of shipbuilding when they
believed that every breeze must blow over a vessel's stern, I should
think. The way she kept falling off was a caution. She appeared to go as
fast sideways as she did ahead, and such a pounding and thumping as she
made of it I have never seen equalled. Most of the crew were on deck,
and one of them, a fine seaman named Caldwell, saw me standing holding
on to the hatch combing. He came up, touching his forehead in salute.

"She's a bug of a ship, Captain Hurdiss," he said.

I nodded, and glanced up at the aged time-seamed masts.

"It won't pay to carry much more sail, sir," the man said, as if in
suggestion.

I beckoned him to put his head close to mine, and gave an order to take
in the foresail, for it was holding us back more than helping us. The
man bawled out the order, and jumped with the rest to obey it. I felt so
weak that once more I sought the cabin. I took a glance at the barometer
as I went by, and saw that it was still falling; that we were in for a
hard blow or a storm I did not doubt.

But the rolling and tumbling increased, and the groaning and complaining
of the timbers led me to believe that the old craft was working like a
basket, which was exactly what she was doing. Suddenly she gave a lurch
so hard and sharp to port that I was almost spilled out of the berth,
and fear giving me strength, I crawled up on deck on all fours. The man
at the wheel was doing his best to bring the brig's head up in the wind,
the jib had blown out and was tearing into streamers, the men in the
forecastle were working away at something, and I heard a wail from the
prisoners below.

It looked as if we were bound to capsize, but at this moment the topsail
blew out of the bolts and we righted. But the storm was upon us; the
tops of the seas blew off and scudded along the surface like drifting
snow; there was a fiendish howling in the rigging. I motioned with my
hand for the helmsman to swing her off. He understood, and soon we were
before it, scudding under bare poles toward the north. But even then the
_Duchess_ made bad weather of it, yawing and plunging badly. Dugan, whom
I had appointed second mate, came up to me.

"It's safer to run, Captain," he said, shouting in my ear. "Go below,
sir; Chips and I will keep the deck."

As I could be of no use, I took his advice, and crawled into the bunk
again, trying to assure myself that all was well. It had grown very
dark, although it was but seven o'clock, and I had lain there but a
half-hour or so, when the carpenter came rushing in. Even in the dim
light I could see the terror in his blanched face.

"Heaven help us, Captain!" he said. "I've just sounded the well, sir,
and there's three feet of water in the hold!"

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

       *       *       *       *       *

IT CEASED PUBLICATION.

The editor of a petty newspaper in France was extremely sad. He sat in
his office with bowed head and troubled brow. Long had he fought against
Adversity's strides, but at last they had overtaken him, and now, with
no money to bring out the future issue, his only alternative was to
cease publishing. The once paying circulation had dwindled to a mere
nothing, and the wielder of the blue pencil and scissors racked his
brains for an honorable excuse for quitting. It took hours, and at last
he jumped up.

"Jacques," he called to his printer, "we will get out one more issue,
and that will be the last. I will devote every page of it to the
festivities occasioned by the visit of the Czar of Russia, and on the
head of the sheet put in large display type this line:

"In commemoration of his illustrious Majesty the Czar of Russia, this
paper, always an exponent of the nation's welfare, will cease
publication."




THE INAUGURATION OF A PRESIDENT.

BY A. MAURICE LOW.


Once in every four years Washington witnesses a sight the parallel of
which is only to be seen in the great court pageants of monarchical
Europe. The inauguration of a President is always made a great ceremony;
it is accompanied with such a display, the stage settings for this
performance are so gorgeous, and so unlike anything else we are
accustomed to in other cities, that one must go to Washington to see a
ceremonial so impressive in the lesson it conveys and so interesting
from the personages who are the central figures. There are often seen
larger parades than those which march down historic Pennsylvania Avenue
on the morning of the 4th of March, but none which so truly represents
the greatness of the Union and draws from every corner of the country.
On the 4th of March the President and the President-elect drive from the
White House to the Capitol and back, and in the evening there is a grand
ball. This sounds simple enough, but for months before that day hundreds
of the leading citizens of Washington, and scores of men in other
places, have been working many hours a day to perfect the details, and
on their labors depends whether the great occasion shall be a success or
spoiled by an awkward mishap. So soon as the election is over, the
chairman of the National Committee of the successful candidate appoints
a prominent citizen of Washington to be chairman of the inaugural
committee, and he in turn appoints the other members of the committee.
These men are the principal bankers, merchants, lawyers, newspaper men,
and other public-spirited citizens, without regard to party, as the
inauguration is a national affair, and all men are ready to show their
respect to the President. Everything relating to the inauguration is
left to these committees. The first thing they have to do is to raise a
guarantee fund for the necessary expenses--the decoration of the
ballroom, the music, and such other things. This year the committee
fixed the amount at $60,000, all of which has been contributed by
private persons. With the exception of providing the room in which the
ball is held and building a stand or two, the government defrays none of
the expenses, the entire cost being met by private contributions.

The committees have to decide what organizations and troops shall be in
the parade and the places they are to occupy; they superintend the
decoration of Pennsylvania Avenue, the main thoroughfare of Washington,
leading from the White House to the Capitol; the erection of stands from
which the thousands of people who come to the city to take part in the
pageant may witness it; arranging for accommodations for the strangers,
and the selection of the grand-marshal of the procession. This last is a
very important matter. Necessarily the marshal must be a military man
who has been used to the handling of large bodies of men, as on that day
he commands an army larger than that of the regular force of the United
States, and it requires great military skill and cool judgment to make
of the parade a success, instead of a failure, as it would be in the
hands of an incompetent man. General Horace Porter, who has a
distinguished military record, will lead the hosts this year.

[Illustration: THE CROWD LISTENING TO THE INAUGURAL ADDRESS.]

It is the custom for the President-elect to arrive in Washington a few
days before the inauguration. Rooms are engaged for him at one of the
hotels. Shortly after his arrival he drives to the White House and pays
his respects to the man whose successor he is so soon to be. When Mr.
Cleveland paid his first visit to the White House Mr. Arthur was
President. Mr. Cleveland was then a bachelor, and his late political
rival escorted him over the house, and recommended to him his
sleeping-room as being the quietest and most comfortable in the mansion.
Later in the same day the President returns the call, the visits in both
cases being very short, and official rather than social. While the
President-elect is waiting to be sworn into office his time is generally
very fully occupied in receiving public men, many of whom he meets for
the first time, and sometimes in completing his cabinet. It has happened
on more than one occasion that after the President-elect reached
Washington he finally made up his mind as to a particular member of the
cabinet.

[Illustration: DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA TROOPS IN THE INAUGURAL PARADE.]

At last comes the great day. The city is thronged with strangers. All
Washington has been hoping for months that the sky will be blue and the
air balmy, which is often but not always the case. There have been
inaugurations when the weather was so warm overcoats were superfluous;
at other times rain has fallen in torrents, snow has been piled up on
the sidewalks, and men who escorted the President to the Capitol have
had their ears and fingers badly frost-bitten. But whether fine or
gloomy, from an early hour the capital of the nation takes on an air of
unwonted activity. Orderlies and aides in gay uniforms are seen dashing
in all directions, bands march up one street and down another, companies
and regiments wend their way to their appointed positions, thousands of
sight-seers pack the sidewalks, fill the stands and the windows on the
line of the procession. Four years ago, when Mr. Cleveland was
inaugurated for the second time, the weather was so cold that many of
the men in the parade were frost-bitten, and several deaths resulted
from the exposure. The night before it snowed heavily, which early the
following morning turned into slush, and later in the day froze. But
despite the forbidding weather the usual numbers were on the streets to
see the new President, and men and women sat for hours on exposed stands
rather than give up their places after having paid for them. Four years
before that, when General Harrison was inducted into office the rain
fell with pitiless fury, and yet under a sea of umbrellas people stood
on the east front of the Capitol, and heard the new President deliver
his first official pronouncement to the country. Many paid for their
curiosity with their lives.

Whether the sun shines, or it rains in torrents, or the snow covers
everything in its poetical but moist mantle, the President and the
President-elect must ride to the Capitol in an open carriage. That is a
penalty greatness has to pay to popular custom, and it has often been
wondered at that the drive has not been fatal to one or both of the men.
Nearly all the time during what is often a most unpleasant drive the new
President has his hat off, bowing his acknowledgments to the applause
which is never silent for one moment. It roars and rolls like a great
salvo of artillery, in its intensity at times drowning even the music of
the bands, and there are scores of them, all playing at the same time.
Attended by a committee of Congress, regular infantry and artillery,
thousands of militia from various States, and an even greater number of
civic organizations, the President and President-elect drive in an open
carriage, drawn by four horses, to the Capitol. Here everybody prominent
in official life awaits them. In the Senate-chamber are the Senators,
members of the House of Representatives, the Chief Justice and the
associate justices of the Supreme Court of the United States, the
members of the diplomatic corps, and the members of the cabinet.

The Vice-President precedes the President-elect to the Senate, and will
have taken the oath of office while Major McKinley is _en route_. As
soon as Mr. Hobart has been sworn in, he and the other personages who
have been in the Senate-chamber proceed to the platform erected on the
east front of the Capitol, and to which the President-elect has been
escorted. Here, confronting an immense assemblage, the oath is
administered by the Chief Justice, and then, by this simple ceremony
Major McKinley having become President, and Mr. Cleveland being an "ex,"
the new President reads his inaugural address. When that is finished,
Major McKinley is once more escorted to his carriage and driven to a
reviewing-stand erected in front of the White House, where for several
hours he has to salute and be saluted by the thousands as they sweep
past him. It is usually late in the afternoon before the new President
is able to leave the stand and enjoy a short rest before once more
taking part in one of the features of the inauguration day. It is worthy
of note how quickly the transformation is effected from the great power
of the President to the private life of the citizen. When the
ex-President leaves the White House in the morning to drive with his
successor to the Capitol, it is seldom that he re-enters his former
residence. Some Presidents have been known to drive direct from the
Capitol to the railroad station and start on their journey home; while
General Arthur remained in Washington for some days after Mr.
Cleveland's inauguration, but as the guest of ex-Secretary of State
Frelinghuysen, John Adams was so exasperated by the election of his
successor, that he refused to accompany him to the Capitol, and left
Washington early on the morning of the fourth. Curiously enough, his son
was equally as discourteous, and so was President Johnson. But with the
administering of the oath to the new President, the man who five minutes
before was the Chief Magistrate of the nation has become merely a
private citizen. There is no courtesy shown to the man who has been. He
drives to the station or to his friend's house unattended, without
escort, without any one anxious to see him. When Mr. and Mrs. Cleveland
leave Washington early in March it will be just as any other persons do.

There has been little change in the general details of inaugurations
from the time of George Washington to the present. Jefferson, according
to tradition, rode to the Capitol on horseback, tied his steed to a
paling, and took the oath in a very democratic fashion. But if history
is to be believed, Jefferson rode because the fine new coach he ordered
for the occasion was not finished in time, and had it been finished, six
horses would have drawn the chariot. When Jackson returned to the White
House after the ceremony at the Capitol, the doors were thrown wide open
and punch served to every one. The scene that followed is almost
indescribable. Furniture was smashed, carpets destroyed, and the dresses
of women ruined in the mad rush to drink the President's punch, and
that, I believe, was the last time the attempt was made to keep open
house on the 4th of March. President Arthur was twice inaugurated.
Immediately on receipt of a telegram announcing the death of General
Garfield, he sent for one of the New York judges and took the oath, his
son and only one other person being present. The scene was very
pathetic. Later he publicly took the oath in the Capitol, Chief-Justice
Waite administering it. At one time it was thought that only the Chief
Justice of the United States could swear in the President. But this is a
mistake. The oath taken before a notary public or any other person
competent to administer it is legal. On the death of Mr. Lincoln, Andrew
Johnson took the oath privately in his room. After Mr. Lincoln's family
left the White House, he entered it without any ceremony.

[Illustration: THE BALL IN THE PENSION BUILDING.]

It has been the custom for a ball to be held on the evening of the 4th
of March. Of late years this ball has taken place in the hall of the
Pension Building, a great court 280 feet long and 130 feet wide. From
the floor to the roof-tree is 150 feet. This spacious room is
elaborately decorated, and two great stands are erected on which are
placed bands, one for dance music and the other for promenade. The floor
is generally too crowded for dancing. At the last ball it is estimated
that 12,000 persons were in attendance, but in corners here and there
some of the younger people manage to find space enough for a few turns.
The President is not expected to dance. He makes a circuit of the hall,
and then retires to a room set apart for him, where he holds a
reception. It is usually midnight before he leaves, and his first day as
President of the United States comes to an end. After the President
leaves, the room is less crowded, and dancing is more generally indulged
in. Any one can attend the ball who cares to buy a ticket, the money
derived from this source going to reimburse the subscribers to the
guarantee fund.




WASHINGTON'S BIRTHDAY.

BY MARGARET E. SANGSTER.


  To be glad that some one we love was born,
    And began his life on a certain day,
  In the time of the sun and the tasselled corn,
    In the time of the blossom, the time of May,
  Or perhaps, when the feathery snow-flake flies,
  And the world lies white under winter skies.

  All that is nothing, 'tis one we know,
    One who is with us in our class,
  School days and home days, to and fro,
    We smile and chat, and we meet and pass;
  But here is our chief! Our hero! One
    Who lived and died, and was done with earth
  Long before our time! Washington,
    And we keep with gladness his day of birth!

  The cannons rock, and the banners wave,
    The soldiers march, and the proud drums roll,
  For knightly and gallant, true and brave,
    Fame wrote his name on her faceless scroll,
  Never to wane, that stately fame
    Forever dear to a grateful State,
  From age to age that immortal name
    Shall a joyful people celebrate.




A WINTER'S MORNING IN THE YELLOW SEA.

AN INCIDENT OF THE CHINO-JAPANESE WAR.

BY AN AMERICAN NAVAL OFFICER.


There exists no more disagreeable place for a winter's anchorage than the
so-called harbor of Che-foo, China, just north of the Shan-tung
Promontory, in the Yellow Sea. During the winter of 1895-6 a powerful
fleet of some twenty war-vessels, representing the flags of seven
nationalities, was there gathered together. The Chino-Japanese war was
then in progress, and the active operations of the Japanese, in the
investment of Wei-hai-wei, had been going on for some time. From
Wei-hai-wei, Che-foo was distant about thirty-five miles, and this
latter port, having been one of those originally opened by treaty, had
acquired importance as a commercial centre for the north of China. In
the immediate vicinity of this place, and for miles in the interior,
were scattered hundreds of missionaries of different sects and
nationalities, the Americans forming a large majority.

To guard the interests of foreigners in general, and incidentally to
take advantage of such lessons as were to be learned from the war then
in progress, the several nations had assembled in the East as many
vessels as should best serve the interests involved.

Probably a combination of finer war-vessels, representing all types, has
seldom been seen than the international fleet of that winter. An
agreement had been entered into by the commanders-in-chief representing
Great Britain, Russia, France, Germany, and the United States, for the
protection of citizens. The best of feeling existed among the officers
and men, and all hands were keenly alert for such service that might be
required.

The trials of that winter were numerous; the weather was inclement,
provisions were scarce, and recreation!--there was none. Gale followed
gale with great frequency. Storm-tossed, the vessels rode at their
moorings with steam up, rigging and decks covered with snow, sides and
pipes covered with ice. Communication with the shore, except by signal,
was shut off for days at a time, and with these conditions obtaining,
the life on shipboard was not all that could be desired. The ice made
out from shore for nearly two miles, and some attempts to land proved
disastrous to the boats, with corresponding discomforts for the crews.

Occasionally the monotony for those on the _Charleston_ and _Yorktown_
was varied by being sent on hazardous trips to rescue missionaries, or
to watch the operations of the belligerents off Wei-hai-wei. For those
on the flag-ship, however, there was no such good fortune. We held the
end of the cable, directing the movements of the vessels of the
squadron, informing the Department of the progress of events, and
keeping a watchful eye over the small body of troops that had been
landed to prevent anticipated disorders among the Chinese, being also
prepared to throw ashore at any moment a large body of re-enforcements.

Watching had become wearisome, and many were the longings for the end to
come that a temporary respite might be ours. The doom of Wei-hai-wei was
sealed. Count Oyama with his perfectly appointed army, manoeuvred with
a master's hand, had captured the forts on the east and west sides; the
sledge-hammer blows struck by the ships of Admiral Ito had resulted in
mortal wounds, so that all that remained of the once magnificent
stronghold of Wei-hai-wei were the islands of Leu-kung, behind which the
remnant of the once vaunted Chinese fleet had sought refuge, and Channel
Island, with its still powerfully offensive battery.

The Chinese battle-ships _Ting-Yuen_ and _Chen-Yuen_ remained sullenly
defiant--a menace to the Japanese. It was not, therefore, the policy of
Admiral Ito to bring his lighter vessels within too close quarters of
solid fortifications and ironclads. The Chinese could not escape; why,
then, risk the lighter ships when a little patient waiting would produce
the desired result? The dashing torpedo-boat attacks of the Japanese on
the nights of February 4th and 5th had brought havoc and destruction to
the Chinese fleet, sinking four of their ships, and giving the
much-overwrought nerves of the Celestials a bad shaking up.

Information came to the American commander-in-chief that it was probably
the intention of Admiral Ito to finish the work on February 7th.

In that latitude at that season of the year day is late in breaking, but
the date in question proved to be an ideal winter's day. Not even a
gentle breeze was blowing; the air was clear, crisp, and cold, with the
thermometer at 6° Fah., while the bay showed no movement of the closely
packed cakes of floating ice.

The harbor of Che-foo is such in name only; it consists of a small
indentation in the coast, with two small islands, on one of which is the
light-house, about four miles from shore; to the northward the anchorage
is limited by a narrow neck of land that rises to a bluff, the latter
facing the sea. Beyond the bluff and outside the harbor limits is a
half-moon bay, which on this occasion was filled with ice extending out
about two miles, and closely packed by the recent gales.

Shortly after eight o'clock on the morning of February 7th, from the
direction of Wei-hai-wei came the reverberations of heavy cannonading,
and the decks of the vessels at the Che-foo anchorage were soon peopled
with officers and men impatiently awaiting developments.

Within an hour unusual activity was observed among the Chinese soldiers
in the fort of Che-foo, and it was noted that the heavy Krupp guns had
been given extreme elevation.

Far to the southward appeared a speck on the water, and with glasses it
was soon made out to be a torpedo-boat under full steam coming toward
the port of Che-foo. It was seen that the boat was trimmed by the stern,
all the crew being on deck aft, the better to immerse the screw. From
the stream of smoke that piled from the pipe it was evident that the
little craft was being urged to its utmost speed. Owing to the fact that
the torpedo-boats of both belligerents were painted a neutral color, it
was not easy to decide upon the nationality of the stranger, for
naturally no flag was displayed. Following at a distance of about half a
mile came a second boat, but as no firing was going on, it was concluded
they were friends. The mystery was soon explained by the appearance,
further out at sea, of two Japanese cruisers--the _Yoshino_, the
speediest and handsomest ship of their navy, and the _Tachachiho_, the
prototype of our _Charleston_. It could be seen that they were in
pursuit of the two torpedo-boats. Their sharp prows were cutting the
water like knives, and through the glass the officers and crew could be
observed anxiously watching the chase.

There is something in a race, be it great or small, that stirs the blood
of every man, and when the race is one for life and liberty the interest
becomes more intense, particularly if the observer's safety is not
involved.

The scene was one never to be forgotten. The day was all that could be
desired for speeding a torpedo-boat; not a ripple to mar progress;
outside the islands the sea was clear of ice, while the cold crisp air
was most favorable for the draught.

With the approach of the vessels grew the excitement of the observers;
the cold was forgotten, gloves and coats were thrown aside, and officers
and men mounted the icy rigging the better to view the chase. Those that
were fortunate enough to possess glasses reported incidents that could
not be seen by the less fortunate. Admiral and staff, officers and men,
elbowed one another, forgetful of all but the excitement of the moment.
Each little gain or loss was carefully noted, and brought forth
breathless remarks from the interested spectators. Some of the crew,
more sharp-sighted than the others, reported the progress of the race,
and as the cruisers closed more and more upon the torpedo-boats the
excitement grew intense. "Now the big ones gaining!" "No, the little
one's holding her own!" etc. Gruff observations of this sort were heard
on every side.

The little torpedo-boats were game, and fought on manfully, one might
say, foot by foot.

From the pipes of pursuer and pursued poured forth columns of smoke that
trailed behind like dense black streamers, seemingly to portend the
tragedy that was to follow; while, as if by contrast, the water parted
by the rapidly speeding vessels broke in waves that glistened and
scintillated in the sunlight in spectacular magnificence.

It was estimated that the _Yoshino_ was making nineteen knots and over,
and it was evident that a heavy forced draught was being carried. The
first torpedo-boat was holding its own, or doing a trifle better, but
the second and smaller of the two was slowly but surely losing distance.

One was strangely reminded of the coursing of hares by large and
powerful hounds, only in this case the lives of human beings were
involved, and the chances for the torpedo-boats, if caught, were about
equal to those of the hares under like conditions. Whatever may have
been the unofficial sympathies of the on-lookers in regard to the war
then going on, it seemed to be the universal wish that "the little
fellows" might escape.

For a moment, off the harbor, the course of the leading boat deviated,
as if to take refuge behind the shipping. That moment was the signal for
unusual activity for the vessels at anchor; capstans were started and
preparations made for a hurried departure, for had the Chinese boats
entered they would have been followed by the cruisers, and it would have
required lively work on the part of the neutrals to get out of range.

[Illustration: THE RACE WAS OVER.]

The Chinese Lieutenant who commanded the torpedo-boat evidently
concluded not to be a disturbing element to the fleet at anchor; the
course was renewed, and, rounding the bluff, an attempt was made to
reach the shore by ramming the ice. The floe was found to be too heavy
for the light craft, so, skirting the edge of the ice, the boat stranded
in shoal water; the occupants made a hurried exit and took to the woods.
The second boat likewise tried the ice, but finding that no impression
could be made thereon, sought to escape, as its principal had done, by
skirting the pack until shoal water could be reached. But there was no
time; the _Yoshino_ was too close, and that powerful vessel ploughed
through the ice at a tremendous rate of speed. When the nearest point to
the runaway was reached, we heard the ugly quick bark of the _Yoshino_'s
three-pounders, and the race was over. With a mighty roar the
safety-valves of the big cruiser were lifted, and for security the
vessel headed seaward. There was no time to lower boats; the water was
intensely cold, and it was never learned that any of the crew of the
riddled boat escaped. The guns of the _Yoshino_ sang the only requiem
over the watery graves of those that went down with their ship.

The stranded boat was hauled off the next day by boats from the
_Tachachiho_, and was taken to the Japanese navy-yard at Yekesuka.
Several months later this trophy of the war was shown to the writer by a
Japanese naval officer, the latter little suspecting that his visitor
had witnessed the interesting episode of its capture on that eventful
winter's morning in the Yellow Sea.




[Illustration: INTERSCHOLASTIC SPORT]


The great development of various kinds of athletics within recent years
has been to the detriment of certain kinds of sport that men and boys
ten years ago or more used to devote more time to. Nowadays there are so
many who wish to go into athletics that the popular games are those in
which the greatest number of contestants may take part. It is probably
for this reason that we see so much attention given to track athletics,
even as a winter in-door sport, to the subordination of almost all other
games.

Before these events became popular American men and boys, as English men
and boys had done for years before them, especially those who lived in
the country, used to devote more of their time to the simpler branches
of sport, one of which is wrestling. But as only two men may take part
in one wrestling bout, while the rest must stand around and look on,
this sport has more or less fallen from popularity. Nevertheless, like
boxing, it is one of the best kinds of exercises, and will do more
toward building up a strong constitution and developing a deep chest,
broad shoulders, and strong arms, than any other kind of exercise.

Wrestling is one of the oldest sports of the world, and doubtless came
into being as early as foot-racing. It is probably because of its age,
simplicity of equipment, and natural use of strength that it has failed
to receive the consideration given to other and more elaborate games of
skill. Fortunately, however, there has always been a number of
enthusiasts the world over who have kept awake the interest in
wrestling, and by their enthusiasm have steadily advanced its standard
of skill.

It is very probable that if wrestling had required intricate machinery
for its expansion and a broad outlay of paraphernalia it would long
since have become as generally popular as those games which hold places
of favor to-day. In America there are three distinctive styles of
wrestling--Catch-as-catch-can, Græco-Roman, and Collar-and-elbow. There
seems to be no doubt that catch-as-catch-can is the style that has
to-day reached the highest development. It certainly is second to none
as a means of exercise, and is superior to most as a means of defence.

In the first place, it is the most natural style of wrestling and of
using one's strength, because it allows of any hold, and the contestants
are at liberty to exercise all means at their power, as the name
indicates, to bring down the opponent--methods that a man must adopt
when the struggle is in earnest. Abroad, I believe, no hold lower than
the waist is permitted, but here in amateur contests one may catch
wherever he can, the only restrictions being what are technically known
as the full nelson and the strangle hold. To the average man who has
taken up the sport of wrestling, the idea of developing his body has
been the first, the idea of using his skill for personal defence is
naturally secondary. But, as a matter of fact, wrestling is one of the
best of the defensive arts, and has proved serviceable in a number of
critical occasions.

In cases of emergency, speaking now of self-defence, a number of holds
which would not be considered proper in sport may very well be used to
protect one against an attack. And especially if a knowledge of
wrestling is added to a slight familiarity with boxing, the combination
of the two arts makes a man a very formidable opponent. It should always
be remembered by those who go into the development of these athletic
arts that whenever it becomes necessary to use them in self-defence the
style will be found to be very different on the highway from what it is
in the gymnasium.

No matter how good a boxer a man may be, if it ever becomes necessary
for him to defend himself with his fists, the boxing will soon
degenerate into a rough-and-tumble fight; and here is where the science
of wrestling becomes most important. But all this is merely incidental
to the benefits of exercise to be derived from the sport, and I have
only mentioned these possibilities to show that there is an advantage to
be gained beyond the mere increase of muscle and agility.

As an exercise, as a tissue-making, blood-stirring sport, there is
nothing in-doors to equal wrestling. It stretches every muscle, it
expands the chest, strengthens the legs and arms, and gives coolness,
determination, and quickness. The qualities necessary in football, those
qualities which make the game such an excellent developer of the human
body, are the same essentials to the successful wrestler. Furthermore,
there is no game of skill to which the adage that "practice makes
perfect" may more justly be applied than to wrestling.

Any one who has not had practical experience in the matter can have no
idea of the immense advantage that trained skill has over mere brute
strength. Of course one cannot expect any man or boy, be he ever so
skilful, to put on his back an opponent weighing a hundred pounds more
than himself, yet it is surprising to see what weight and strength may
be defeated by skill and quickness. To become an expert, one ought to
begin to learn the elements of wrestling at an early age, say at sixteen
or seventeen, and it is important to have a well-trained, careful
instructor.

Wrestling is by no means an easy game, and a great deal of harm may be
done to growing boys if their work is not supervised by a teacher who
combines with his technical instruction an intelligent appreciation of
his pupil's physique. On the other hand, no exercise, when carefully
conducted, is better calculated to build up and fill out a frail
physical structure. It is not well, after one has learned the rudiments
of this sport, to wrestle always with the same man, for this will surely
limit the novice's range of action.

Two men, too, who wrestle continually with each other become so familiar
with their capabilities that they derive little advantage from the
practice, since the secret of success in wrestling is to keep the
opponent busy wondering what you are going to do next, and to deceive
him as to your own intentions as much as possible. This of course is
impossible when every move of your opponent's body has become familiar
to you by months of practice with him. Many advise beginners to drop on
all-fours at the earliest possible opportunity in a wrestling-match, but
I do not believe that this is the best principle for young men, whose
muscles are not yet trained to sustain such severe work.

It is well to learn to do as much wrestling as possible standing on the
two feet, and never to go down unless some decided advantage is to be
gained by so doing. The advantages of doing the work on the feet are
twofold. In the first place, it is a wonderful developer of strength,
and gives great steadiness to the body; in the second place, it is of
the most practical benefit. For instance, if you are called upon to put
your knowledge of wrestling into service against an attack, you would
find the ability to stand upon your feet of inestimable value; whereas,
if you have trained yourself to do your best work by lying down, the
chances in a rough-and-tumble scramble would doubtless be against you.
It is true, nevertheless, that the majority of the wrestlers of the
present day, as soon as time is called by the umpire, begin to dance
about as if the floor burned their feet, and then attempt to secure a
wrist hold, following this immediately by falling to the floor.

[Illustration: FIG. 1.--TRYING FOR A HOLD.]

The man who wishes to do his wrestling on his feet should try to get a
head hold (Fig. 1), and then make an effort to back-heel his man, which
is done by jerking him forward, and as he steps in with his right leg,
to put your left leg behind it on the outside and bend him over
backwards. If you are strong enough, or have the slightest skill at
this, your opponent is bound to go over. A still better hold perhaps for
this back-heeling, but a more difficult one to secure, is an under-body
hold, and then if you are successful and active you are certain to throw
your man.

Two other very valuable, probably the most valuable, holds to be secured
in wrestling on your feet are the buttock and the cross-buttock. They
are both hard to get on a good man, and require the utmost skill in
execution, for they are not to be bungled. For the cross-buttock hold,
turning your left side to your opponent, get your hip partially
underneath and in front of him, and then, with your arms held tightly
around his neck and shoulder, quickly cross both his legs by your left,
and lift him and bring him down; you will also go, but you will go down
on top.

The buttock hold is a more difficult matter, but probably the most
serviceable one for self-defence in an unsought contest. It is begun
very much like the cross-buttock, except that you get your hip further
under your opponent, and then bending over, with a powerful jerk on your
arm about his neck, you shoot him into the air and over your back. It
requires quickness and some strength.

[Illustration: FIG. 2.--ON HANDS AND KNEES.--A SAFE POSITION.]

[Illustration: FIG. 3.--TRYING FOR FARTHER ARM AND NEAR LEG.]

[Illustration: FIG. 4.--TRYING FOR HALF-NELSON.]

There are of course a number of emergencies in which it is best to drop
to the floor, and in this case the first principle that should always
be observed is to keep your arms spread well apart (Fig. 2), in order to
prevent your opponent from getting a farther arm and leg hold (Fig. 3).
The next thing to do--or really it should be the first--is to keep the
opponent from securing the half-nelson and back-hammer, as the top man
is shown to be doing in Fig. 4. A hold of this kind means a certain
fall.

[Illustration: FIG. 5.--HALF-NELSON.--NO HELP FOR HIM.]

Another important principle to observe is to keep the head well back, so
that in case you are called on to spin out of a quarter or a half-nelson
you will be able to bridge. One of the most eagerly sought-for holds
among wrestlers is the half-nelson (Fig. 5); when this is secured, the
lucky man rises to his feet, and stepping forward, falls on his
prostrate opponent to keep him from forming a bridge.

The principal thing to keep in mind in wrestling is always to watch for
an opening. Practice will soon teach you to guess your opponent's
intentions by his movements. Always seek an opportunity to get away, for
you are at a disadvantage when underneath. These are but a few
suggestions toward this most interesting and valuable sport, for any
amount of description might be written about the many holds and tricks
of the game. The real knowledge of them is only to be obtained from
practice, and the man who wishes to become a skilful wrestler must work
daily and conscientiously in the gymnasium, and he will be surprised to
see how very soon he will obtain a certain skill, quickness, and
proficiency of which he had never even dreamed himself capable.

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

  THE GRADUATE.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE KEY TO AN ASTRONOMICAL PUZZLE.

The "Man in the _Moon_." A certain fair _Virgin_ (sixth sign of zodiac).
Asked her _Mar's_ permission. The bridemaids, _Berenice_ (Berenice's
Hair, Northern constellation) and _Andromeda_ (Northern constellation).
For groomsmen, _Castor_ and _Pollux_ (third sign of zodiac). The bride
sat in _Cassiopeia's_ chair (Northern constellation). On the menu,
deviled _Crab_ (fourth sign of zodiac), _Fishes_ (_Pisces_, twelfth sign
of zodiac). Water-carrier, _Aquarius_ (eleventh sign of zodiac). Had a
game of _Fox and Geese_ (Northern constellation). The bride played
_Lyra_ (the harp, Northern constellation). Harnessed _Pegasus_ to
_Charles's Wain_ (in Ursa Major), and set off on the route known as the
"Milky Way," in search of the lost _Pleiad_. Drink from the little and
the big _Dipper_. Barked at by the great _Dog_ (Canis Major, Southern
constellation). Butted by a vicious _Ram_ (first sign of zodiac). Chased
by a _Bull_ (Taurus, second sign of zodiac). Met by a roaring _Lion_
(Leo, fifth sign of zodiac). Being a fine _Archer_ (Sagittarius), slew
him with an _Arrow_ (Sagitta, Northern constellation). Encountered a
great grizzly _Bear_ (Ursa Major) and a little one (Ursa Minor). The tip
of his tail, the north star. Reached the north pole. Bears the dancers.
The trail of the _Serpent_ (Northern constellation). Eccentric as a
_comet_. Flying off in a _tangent_. Borrowed _Light_ (Old Sol). Weighed
in _Balance_ (seventh sign of zodiac). The most beautiful of the
planets, _Venus_. Totally Eclipsed. Morning and evening _Star_. Labors
of _Hercules_ (Northern constellation). Overdose of _Mercury_.
_Scorpion_ (eighth sign of zodiac). Fate of Egyptian queen Cleopatra.

       *       *       *       *       *

WELLINGTON'S REASONING.

A good story is told of the Duke of Wellington while out fox-hunting. It
seems the hounds had reached the bank of a small river, and the master
galloped up saying,

"The dogs can't pick up the scent, your Grace."

"The fox has crossed to the other side," cried the Duke.

"Not very likely, my Lord. A fox hates water."

"Aye, aye, but he's crossed over some bridge."

"I don't believe there is a bridge," answered the master.

"Well," continued the Duke, "though I was never here before, I am sure
you will find one within a mile."

Followed by the hunt they pushed on, and less than a mile off came upon
a rudely constructed bridge. The dogs crossed it, again took up the
scent, and killed the fox. Asked for his reason for asserting that there
was a bridge near, the Duke said: "I saw three or four cottages
clustered together on each bank of the river, and I thought the people
living in them would be tempted by their social feelings to contrive a
means of visiting each other. That same inference of mine gained me one
of my battles."

       *       *       *       *       *

A GRATEFUL TENANT.

Mr. Ford has some houses in Brooklyn, one of which he rented to Mr.
Stone, a mason. For three months Mr. Ford failed to collect the rent,
and at last resolved to send Mr. Stone adrift.

"But if I am put out, Mr. Ford," said Stone, "I can't move my duds. I
have no money."

Mr. Ford, being tender-hearted, gave him two dollars, and Stone moved
out. Shortly afterward Mr. Ford appointed an agent to attend to his
rents. Everything went right until one day Mr. Ford found that the rent
of a certain house remain unpaid.

"The tenant's all right, sir," said the agent. "He's a good man of the
name of Stone, a mason, and he'll pay in a day or two."

The owner called upon the backward tenant, and found that he was the
same Stone whom he had evicted some months before.

"How is it you're back here again?"' said Mr. Ford.

"Really," said Stone, "I couldn't think of patronizing another landlord,
Mr. Ford. You had been kind to me and I felt grateful."

       *       *       *       *       *

A GOOD REASON.

"I am glad Willie," said the teacher, with a severe glance at Charlie,
who is slangy, "that _you_ never use that horrid word nit."

"I guess not," said Willie, scornfully. "I leave nitting to the girls."




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[Illustration]




QUESTIONS FOR YOUNG MEN.


ON COURTESY TO WOMEN AND GIRLS.

Continuing our discussion on women and girls, there is still more to be
said than can even be suggested here in this short space. It is not by
any means the intention of this Department to be prudish and priggish.
Nor is it the intention to lay down herein laws that cannot be easily
followed in every-day life. The idea is merely to point out familiar
ideas, which often lose their efficacy because of the carelessness of
the individual. In fact, many a boy would deny that he ever broke one of
these simple and well-known laws of courtesy, and yet he probably does
break many of them day after day.

These are the days when girls and women not only ride bicycles, not only
take care of themselves in pleasure and amusement, but go regularly to
their work in almost as large numbers as men. Many a girl goes about
town or city night and day to and from her work; many a girl enters
different branches of athletics hitherto only supposed to be open to
men; and, indeed, men are constantly finding themselves in woman's
society in business as well as in pleasure.

Some boys, and unfortunately a great many men, feel that, far from
forcing them to behave towards women at all times as they have been in
the habit of doing when they were in evening dress, this gradual change,
this habit of seeing women more frequently and under all sorts of
conditions, is taking off the restraint they have felt in their
presence, and bringing them down to their level. If the boys would only
think of the matter more or less seriously, they would soon find that as
one boy treats another, so he will be judged by the general audience.
How much more is this true in a boy's treatment of girls, whether they
be known to him or not! Certain laws in this world are very binding, and
it is useless to try to break them. You cannot put two stones in exactly
the same place. No one ever ate his cake and had it too. And no boy who
has not a distinct appreciation of the courtesy due from every man to
every woman can have a thorough respect for himself. One is just as
impossible as are the others.

If you have any ambition to bear yourself well, to succeed in life in
all ways as well as in the financial way, which is commonly understood
when "success" is mentioned, you must become aware of the fact that you
cannot live any kind of life you may like for years and still have the
highest character. It is the little incidents from day to day which make
a man's character, and perhaps the strongest of all these little
incidents are those which concern the treatment of women and girls by
men and boys. The habit of being constantly with women sometimes
cultivates the habit of paying little attention to them, of not
recollecting that they are to be treated with never-failing courtesy.
This is but a step in the direction leading to such incidents as one
sees in Europe, where young brothers sit about the house in their
uniforms paid for by their sisters' sewing or teaching, and let these
same sisters bring their shoes, or coats, or glasses of water, and what
not. When we go to Germany and see this sort of thing, we acquire a
contempt for the men of that race. They do not begin to equal the vigor,
the manliness, the civilization, of our American men. And yet we must
not behold the mote in our brother's eye unless we consider the beam in
our own. We must not criticise others unless we can at least say that
our own men have a clear idea of their proper course in such a matter.

Furthermore, when you are dealing with the other sex it is wise to bear
in mind that as you treat them, so are you building up character in
yourself. If you do not bear in mind the courtesies of all kinds which
are woman's due, you cannot retain for any length of time a pride in
yourself, a satisfaction with your behavior, which is commonly called
self-respect; and without self-respect you will have a hard time of it
in the world.

In other words, the higher the pedestal on which you place all women,
both of your acquaintance and not of your acquaintance, the higher you
are putting yourself, the better your standards will be, and the better
man you will make yourself.

       *       *       *       *       *

AN UNFAIR DIVISION.

Many old residents of New York will remember Hank Miller, sometimes
called the "Omnibus King." Quiet, good-natured, and full of fun, he
enjoyed a patronage which eventually netted him a neat income. One
evening Hank was making his rounds of the stable, as was his wont, when
he overheard the chink of money and a subdued muttering. Glancing over a
stall, he discovered one of his drivers counting his fares as follows:

"That's two shillun' for Hank, and two for me," laying the shillings in
two piles. He kept on dividing his fares, until he came to the last
piece of money, an odd shilling.

"There," said he, "that's too bad to come out uneven, 'cause I wants to
be square and go halves with Hank. Let me see, shall I throw this in his
pile? No, I'll toss it up; heads for me and tails for Hank," and he spun
it up in the air. "Tails it is!" he cried as it fell. "Well, that's
Hank's, I suppose," but he hesitated. "No, I guess I'll toss again."
This time it fell down heads. "Ah, I knew that first toss wasn't fair!"
and having divided the money to his satisfaction, he slipped away
without knowing that Hank had been watching him.

Hank gained his office before the thieving driver arrived to leave his
fares. "Good-evening, Jack," said he, as the man entered. "Luck good
to-day?"

"Rather poor, Mr. Miller," and he laid the money on the desk.

"Well, Jack, I guess we can dispense with your services from now on."

"Eh! How's that? What have I done?" cried the astonished Jack.

Hank gave a quiet smile, and then, looking the man in the eye, said:
"You see, Jack, you didn't treat me fair. By rights, I should have had
another chance at that odd shilling."

       *       *       *       *       *

NOT IN THE DICTIONARY.

TEACHER. "What word are you looking for, Brown?"

THAD BROWN. "Why, teacher, you wanted to know what a woman would be
called who performed a brave act. Now, a man who acts bravely is a hero,
but I can't find the word for a brave woman."

TEACHER. "What is the word?"

THAD. "Shero; but it's not in this dictionary."

       *       *       *       *       *

NEW YORK'S GREAT PARK.

An Englishman was showing his friend, an American, through the houses of
Parliament, in London, the meanwhile commenting in a somewhat arrogant
manner upon what he was pleased to term the superiority of the English
public buildings and parks.

"There," he exclaimed, "is our magnificent Thames Embankment, a
delightful spot! Why, you have nothing in your country to compare with
it, especially in that great New York city; then again, every gentleman
owns an estate, and, let me assure you, sir, such estates are no small
bits of property."

This went on for a considerable time, until the American, growing tired,
said, "But, Lord de T., you have travelled in our country, have you
not?"

"Oh, yes, my dear sir; right across it."

"Well, then, you should have a fair idea of its size."

"Very big place, sir, very big."

"And you know New-York city quite well, eh?"

"Oh, yes--yes indeed."

"Well, then, you see, we didn't want anything in the line of parks in
New York, with, of course, the exception of a few squares; but outside
of the city we wanted a park, and so we decided to use the United States
as a park for New York city."

"Dear me, how extravagant."

"Not at all, sir; why, we even contemplated floating the British Isles
over and anchoring them a short distance outside the city's harbor as a
sort of breakwater, you know."




[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.


How many stamps make a good collection? I am frequently asked this
question by readers of the ROUND TABLE, and find it a very hard one to
answer. For instance, on one day I saw a collection of over 2000 stamps,
and had to say it was a very poor collection. There were a few scarce
stamps, but every common stamp, every "Seebeck" stamp, and all the
cut-square envelopes and post-cards went to make up the quantity. On the
other hand, it was my good fortune to see a little book about 6 by 4
inches in size, with some 30 or 40 leaves. This was a selection made up
from one of our great collectors' albums for exhibition in the coming
London stamp show. This little book, which could be slipped into any
pocket, contained 200 stamps, the catalogue value of which was $15,000.
Every stamp was in perfect condition--Hawaiian "missionary"; Cape of
Good Hope wood block, in blocks of two and four; Canada 12d.; first
series of British Guiana; first of Moldavia; shilling, Newfoundland,
Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, etc., in various shades; Brattleboro,
Baltimore, and other rare U.S. locals. In fact, to enumerate the stamps
would be to give a list of the great rarities. Such a collection is
hardly ever seen, and after exhibition the stamps will be restored to
their proper places in the regular albums.

The government does not seem to make much progress in the prosecution of
the parties who had in their possession fifty sets of the Periodical
stamps (from 1c. to $60), the face value of which was about $10,000.
These were hawked about in New York at $80 per set as genuine stamps.
The claim is now made in court that they were not originals, but proofs.
The leading dealers in New York declined to have anything to do with the
stamps when they were first offered, and their caution has been amply
justified.

     A. LAMAREUX.--The so-called 25c. and 50c. gold pieces were never
     made by the government. The bulk of them were manufactured by
     jewellers, and, as a rule, they do not contain more than 25 per
     cent. of their nominal value in gold. The manufacture of these
     so-called coins is now illegal.

     R. BULKLEY.--The difference between the 10c. U.S. brown of 1872,
     unused, worth $1, and the one worth $10 is altogether in the paper.
     In the one case the mesh is quite apparent when held up to the
     light; in the other, the paper is harder and more compact. I assume
     you are an expert, and know the differences in the papers used by
     the different bank-note companies.

     W. F. WEBB.--The U.S. 24c. of 1857, unused, is worth $5; the 12c.,
     same issue, unused, $1.25. If used, about half as much. The $1
     mortgage, unperforated, worth $1.

     R. F. ANDERSON.--Packets of very common stamps (30 or 40 varieties)
     can be had at 25c. per 1000. Cheap-priced packets will of course
     contain cheap stamps only. "Correos y telegs" is Spanish,
     indicating that the stamp can be used in payment of postage or for
     telegrams. "Comunicaciones" is Spanish also.

     C. W. W. and A. G. D.--The 1870 stamps were grilled. In 1872 the
     same plates were used in the manufacture of the ungrilled stamps.
     The grilled is worth 100 times as much as the ungrilled.

     E. B. MAYO.--I am not a dealer. Apply to some regular dealer for
     your wants.

     J. WAXER.--The 2c. and 3c. U.S. coins are very common.

  PHILATUS.




[Illustration: IVORY SOAP]

  Reject all compounds which dispense
  With honest work and common sense;
  With Ivory Soap the wash is good
  And takes no longer than it should.

Copyright 1896, by The Procter & Gamble Co., Cin'ti




For Young Americans

       *       *       *       *       *

GEORGE WASHINGTON

By WOODROW WILSON, Ph.D., LL.D. Illustrated by HOWARD PYLE, HARRY FENN,
and Others. Crown 8vo, Cloth, Deckel Edges and Gilt Top, $3.00.

NAVAL ACTIONS OF THE WAR OF 1812

By JAMES BARNES. With 21 Full-page Illustrations by CARLTON T. CHAPMAN,
printed in color, and 12 Reproductions of Medals. 8vo, Cloth,
Ornamental, Deckel Edges and Gilt Top, $4.50.

FOR KING OR COUNTRY

A Story of the American Revolution. By JAMES BARNES. Illustrated. Post
8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.50.

       *       *       *       *       *

By Charles Carleton Coffin

=THE BOYS OF '76.= A History of the Battles of the Revolution. Profusely
Illustrated. Square 8vo, Cloth, $2.00.

=OLD TIMES IN THE COLONIES.= Profusely Illustrated. Square 8vo, Cloth,
$2.00.

=BUILDING THE NATION.= Events in the History of the United States from the
Revolution to the Civil War. Profusely Illustrated. Square 8vo, Cloth,
$2.00.

=THE DRUM-BEAT OF THE NATION.= The First Period of the War of the
Rebellion, from its Outbreak to the Close of 1862. Profusely
Illustrated. Square 8vo, Cloth, $2.00.

=ABRAHAM LINCOLN.= Profusely Illustrated. Square 8vo, Cloth, $2.00.

=MARCHING TO VICTORY.= The Second Period of the War of the Rebellion,
including the Year 1863. Profusely Illustrated. Square 8vo, Cloth,
$3.00.

=REDEEMING THE REPUBLIC.= The Third Period of the War of the Rebellion, to
September, 1864. Profusely Illustrated. Square 8vo, Cloth, $2.00.

=FREEDOM TRIUMPHANT.= The Fourth Period of the War of the Rebellion, from
September, 1864, to its Close. Profusely Illustrated. Square 8vo, Cloth,
$2.00.

       *       *       *       *       *

By Kirk Munroe

=RICK DALE.= A Story of the Northwest Coast. Illustrated by W. A. ROGERS.
Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25.

     =SNOW-SHOES AND SLEDGES.= A Sequel to "The Fur-Seal's Tooth."--THE
     FUR-SEAL'S TOOTH.--RAFTMATES.--CANOEMATES.--CAMPMATES.--DORYMATES.
     Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25 each. The Four "Mates" Volumes
     in a Box, $5.00.

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

       *       *       *       *       *

HARPER & BROTHERS, Publishers, New York




A Good Entertainment Programme.

     An admirable up-to-date entertainment may be arranged under the
     title "The Ideals of the Twentieth Century," where short, breezy
     dissertations, orations, and essays on the ideal "Church," "Stage,"
     "Public School," "International Peace," and for a humorous
     selection "The Ideal Parent," may be rendered. And "What Science
     may accomplish in the Twentieth Century" should by all means be
     included in the list. By way of recitation, Lowell's exquisite "To
     the Future," and Saxe's travesty "Pyramus and Thisbe," are well
     adapted. The latter might be called "An Incident of Twenty
     Centuries Ago." With two or three musical selections your programme
     is complete.

  VINCENT V. M. BEEDE.

       *       *       *       *       *

Selling Stamping Designs.

     May I ask your aid and advice in regard to some doily patterns
     which I have designed? I enclose four designs. I would like to sell
     them, and would like to have you tell me in what way designs are
     prepared for sale. I mean especially for stamping outfit companies.
     Am I right in thinking they are to be made on Bristol-board in
     India-ink? Do such designs have to be made the same size that the
     stamping pattern is to be when finished? Will you not give me some
     idea of the prices paid for designs? When designs are sold, does
     the designer set the price, or is it left to the purchaser? Which
     of the designs should you call the best? I have never taken a
     lesson in drawing, or had any instructions of any sort, and have
     not even a pair of compasses to help me.

  ALICE L. BROWN, R.T.L.
  PUTNEY.

Designs for stamping should be drawn in India-ink on Bristol-board or
good drawing-paper. They must be made full working size. It is
impossible to give prices--they can best be ascertained from the dealers
themselves. Naturally the purchaser sets the price, unless the designer
is one of established reputation who can fix her own. The design marked
No. 1. is considered best by the Art Department--next in order the one
marked No. 2. The Society of Decorative Art, 14 East Thirty-fourth
Street, New York city, receive and pay for designs. Bently and Jones,
204 Greene Street, are wholesale manufacturers of stamped embroidery
designs.

       *       *       *       *       *

A Good Description of Mardi-gras.

     In the winter, just before Lent, occurs the event that draws more
     people here than anything else. That event is Mardi-gras. Then the
     city puts on a festive air, the merchants decorate their stores
     with the royal colors--purple, green, and yellow--and every one
     prepares to receive his Majesty Rex, who reigns supreme for the
     short time he is here. A large fleet goes down the river to meet
     the royal yacht, and when the King and his suite land at the foot
     of Canal Street they are met by the Mayor, the city officials, the
     city, State, and visiting militia, and are escorted to the City
     Hall, where the keys of the city are delivered to him. Numerous
     secret societies made up of society men give balls and processions
     at this time. Prominent among them are the Krewe of Comus, Krewe of
     Proteus, and others.

     Rex arrives Monday, and Tuesday is Mardi-gras day. Then the fun
     commences. All the small boys and girls in town, and some large
     ones, dress up in fantastic costumes and masks, and the streets are
     filled with the "Mardi-gras's," as they call them. Last year and
     the year before there was a band of Indians--about fifty; the
     costumes were splendid, and when they came whooping up the street
     they seemed quite like the real article. At about eleven o'clock
     Rex's parade makes its appearance, and passes along the principal
     streets. Such crowds you seldom see; the street is a solid mass of
     people as far as the eye can reach. Every one, young and old, big
     and small, white and black, turns out to see his august Majesty
     Rex. The mounted police force a way through the people for the
     parade to pass. In front of the Boston Club the parade stops, and
     the King presents the young lady who is to be Queen with a
     beautiful bunch of flowers, and drinks her health, and that of her
     maids of honor. While the procession is passing, the maskers on the
     different floats throw handful after handful of candy to the people
     that line the windows and galleries on each side of the street. The
     parade is past at last, and everybody begins to think about getting
     home, and ready for the one in the evening and the two balls.

     The evening parade of Krewe of Proteus is always beautiful, and so
     is the ball that follows. Rex has his ball also in the evening. The
     first three dances at the ball are reserved for the maskers, who
     have for their partners young ladies out of the audience. These are
     informed by note beforehand, so they are always prepared. They
     never know who they dance with, unless it be a case of husband and
     wife. After three dances the dancing becomes general, and the
     maskers slip out, and come back in regulation evening dress, that
     you do not notice the change. These balls are beautiful sights--the
     maskers in their rich costumes, and the ladies in handsome evening
     dresses.

     The balls are held in the French Opera-House, an immense building,
     which is always packed to its utmost capacity. Each king (and there
     is one for every ball) chooses his queen from the society girls,
     and she has three maids of honor. They are always dressed
     gorgeously. The next morning it is all over until the next year,
     and society settles down in sackcloth and ashes until Easter.
     Thousands of dollars are spent every year on this event, but New
     Orleans wouldn't be New Orleans without its Mardi-gras. Rex is
     always a prominent man.

  SOPHIE ELEANOR CLARK.

       *       *       *       *       *

Amateur Journalism.

The following-named, interested to some extent in play-journalism,
desire to receive sample copies of papers from publishers of the same:

Walter C Garges, 102 Van Buren Street, Zanesville, Ohio, and Florence
Jennings, Box 67, Southport, Connecticut.

       *       *       *       *       *

A Queer Tale.

S. K. Brown, Jun., living in a small Pennsylvania village, where there
is a famous Friend's school, sends to the ROUND TABLE a quotation from a
Philadelphia newspaper, and says he desires more information. The
quotation, in his words, is under the title of "The Floating Stone of
Corea," and runs:

"The stone is of great bulk, and shaped like an irregular cube. It
appears to be resting on the ground; but is free from support on any
side. If two men, standing on opposite sides of it, hold each the
opposite ends of a cord, they will be able to pass it under the stone
without encountering any obstacles."

We also should like more information. Can any one give it? There must be
an explanation, else we must for the first time doubt that the law of
gravitation is universal.

       *       *       *       *       *

Good and Funny as a Game.

     I have seen many games described in the ROUND TABLE, and I thought
     I would write out one which is played here. It is called "Key." The
     boys and girls are placed in two rows, and between them is seated
     the one who holds the key. The latter selects some one to take the
     key and give it to the one who has the longest hair, prettiest
     teeth, nicest dress, or anything he or she chooses. If the one who
     has to choose is a boy, he must choose a girl; if a girl, she must
     choose a boy. The one selected then goes around, and so on. The
     ones who have gone around then tell for what they chose the others.
     This game is very good when played right--and funny.

  NELLIE THOMPSON.
  GOLCONDA.

       *       *       *       *       *

Questions and Answers.

One of our questioners asks for an explanation of the treaty just signed
between this nation and Great Britain, and why Mr. Gladstone, Mr.
Cleveland, and so many others rejoice over it. We are exceedingly
pleased to reply to a questioner so keen and intelligent. Disputes are
likely at all times to arise between nations, as they are between
individuals. We have long since provided for the latter, not by urging
each disputant to fall to pummelling the other, but by judges and
jurors, who hear testimony and make decisions on them. The world is just
now entering upon that stage of progress when nations as well as
individuals no longer fall into wicked war, but have judges to hear and
determine for them. The treaty which you ask about provides that when,
during the next five years, any differences arise between the United
States and Great Britain, such disputes, with all the testimony on both
sides, shall be referred to six arbitrators, three to be named by each
side. If these six men fail to agree in their decision, they are to
select a seventh arbitrator. The latter may be any competent person. If
the seven fail to agree, the dispute is to be left to the wisdom of the
King of Sweden, whose decision shall be final. The treaty has been
signed by our Secretary of State and the British Minister. It is signed
in duplicate, one copy being for us, and the other to be sent to London.
It is not yet law, and may never become law. It is awaiting confirmation
by our Senate. If it is not confirmed, it is laid away in our State
Department along with many other unconfirmed treaties. The reason so
many rejoice over the event is because, as Mr. Gladstone says, "it is a
step of real progress." You live in a fortunate age, that sees a step so
important in the uplift of mankind.

E. A. W. asks, "Does the Department of Agriculture at Washington issue a
pamphlet for free distribution relating to the following things: Weather
reports and records, latitude of our different cities, and rules for
foretelling the weather?"

We think it does. Write the Department requesting a copy. You will get
in reply either the pamphlet or information where it can be had. "What
are the names of some of our largest war-ships?" The _Iowa_,
_Massachusetts_, and _Indiana_ are names of three battle-ships. Of large
cruisers there are the _Columbia_, _New York_, and _Minneapolis_. "What
are the requisites of pen-drawing for an amateur? What pens are used?"
Bristol-board; drawing-ink, to be had in twenty-five-cent bottles at
almost any bookseller's; and common fine-pointed steel pens.

J. G. B.: The annual wheat crop of the United States varies greatly.
Last year it was 500,000,000 bushels. It is much smaller than our corn
crop, which often reaches 1,600,000,000 bushels.--George E. Purdy, 66
Broadway, New York, asks if Carlos J. Neona, of Chicago, will send his
correct address to him.--Ernest Routlege questions the authority which
makes a Virginia plover to fly 225 miles an hour. Lord Bishop Stanley,
an excellent authority, says that the highest speed attained by any bird
is 180 miles an hour. This is the swift. The plover is a fast flier, and
he gives its speed at 160 miles. He also says that the measuring of bird
flight is quite difficult, and points out several erroneous calculations
on their speed made by people who sought to test it. Possibly our
correspondent, a lad, fell into one of these errors. The partridge
flies, according to Bishop Stanley, about sixty miles per hour, and the
eagle 140 miles. In Ireland, some years ago, a carrier-pigeon was known
to make 125 miles per hour. These are special records, so to say, for
the average speed of these birds is much slower. Stanley says that, in
proportion to size, the bee is a faster flier than a plover, and points
out how often we see bees and large flies fly along outside the window
of a rapid railway car, going zigzag, but keep up without difficulty,
and finally, perhaps, fly on ahead, only to return after a while for a
second sojourn by your window. He gives a rule for measuring the speed
of a bird's flight. If you see a bird rise from the ground, time it or
count seconds until you see it pass over a fence or hedge. Then pace the
distance from rising point to fence. Then you have a simple problem to
find its speed per hour at that particular time. Will some one give us a
morsel on this subject? It is very interesting.--Vincent V. M. Beede
asks: "Can some one tell me the present whereabouts of Greuze's
painting, 'The Little Dauphin,' and where a copy, in whatever form, can
be obtained?"




[Illustration: THE CAMERA CLUB]

     Any questions in regard to photograph matters will be willingly
     answered by the Editor of this column, and we should be glad to
     hear from any of our club who can make helpful suggestions.


A SCRAP-BOOK FOR PHOTOGRAPHIC FORMULAS.

Every box of sensitive plates and every package of sensitive paper
contains a circular giving formulas for working, and besides the
formulas, there are hints on the causes of failures, and directions how
to avoid or amend them. The manufacturers of photographic goods issue
little pamphlets and booklets which may be had for the asking, and in
newspapers and magazines one is constantly coming across some new or
easier way of working in photography. If this material was collected as
it came to hand and placed in a scrap-book, one would soon have a
valuable book of information about the art of photography which would be
very helpful.

The editor of this column has a way of making scrap-books which she is
going to give for the benefit of the members of her Camera Club. Take
large sheets of Manila wrapping-paper and fold in book form to a booklet
about 8 by 10 in size. Use enough sheets of paper to make from sixteen
to thirty-two leaves. Sew it with stout thread, and put a loop of cord
or narrow ribbon at the top by which to hang it up. On the outside print
in large letters "Photo Formulas," then whenever you come across
anything which will be of help in photographic work, paste it in this
book. In pasting the scraps, attach them at the corners and one or two
spots near the centre or side. The book does not then become stiff, and
if at any time the scrap is wanted, it can be removed without injury to
the leaf.

If one choose to do so, the different formulas could be pasted in
different books, toning solution, developers, etc., each having a
separate book, the name being marked on the outside in large letters.

This method of making scrap-books is very convenient if one is studying
some special subject. Mark the subject on the cover of the book, and
when an item is found relating to it, paste it in the book. When the
cover becomes soiled or torn it can be removed and a fresh one put in
its place. The cost of half a dozen scrap-books will not exceed ten
cents, and being made to hang up, they are easy of access and are seldom
mislaid.

A member of the club, Charles M. Todd, has sent a very clever suggestion
for the benefit of the members of the club. He has a book which he calls
a Camera Club Index. In it he puts the title of everything printed in
the Camera Club column; then when he wishes to look up a subject, he
refers to his index, which tells him in which number of the ROUND TABLE
it may be found. This is a very helpful suggestion, and one which we are
sure will be of profit to our members.

     FOSTER HARTWELL writes to the Camera Club that a good way to remove
     the polish from a burnished print is to rub it with dry
     pumice-stone, powdered and sifted. It gives a soft, pleasing finish
     to the picture.

     J. B. C. asks if a rectilinear lens can be fitted to a pocket kodak
     and thus do away with the barrel-shaped lines in the picture.
     J. B. C. would have the same trouble with a rectilinear lens as
     with the single lens, unless the camera is provided with a swing
     back. Hold the camera perfectly level, and the lines of the
     building photographed will not converge or diverge. It would not
     pay to have a tiny camera like the pocket kodak fitted with a
     rectilinear lens.

     CHARLES BOYDEN, JUN., asks if solio-paper and toning solution may
     be bought at a photographer's. It is best to get your photographic
     materials from a dealer in photographic supplies, not at a
     photographer's, though a photographer would probably supply an
     amateur with paper and toning solution as an accommodation.

     ARTHUR S. DUDLEY asks what is the best developer for portraits, and
     which for landscapes; if a combined or separate toning bath should
     be used; how many times it is necessary to wash a toned print; and
     a cheap way to get a gloss on a photograph. Use any good formula
     for developer. Eikonogen and hydrochinon developer is a very
     satisfactory developer. The separate bath is preferred by most
     photographers. Wash prints for an hour in running water, or change
     the water eight or ten times at intervals of five minutes. See No.
     889, answer E. Magsameu for directions for burnishing.

     ERNEST SALISBURY asks why pictures made on solio-paper and toned
     with Eureka toning solution are of a light brown. The print sent in
     letter looks as if it had not been left long enough in the toning
     bath. The color of the print is the tone which it assumes when
     first placed in the bath. Try toning the print longer; prints do
     not tone as quickly in cold weather as they do in warm. If this
     does not work, then the toning bath is at fault. The reason why the
     sky is the same color as the rest of the picture is that, it being
     a snow scene, the snow impressed its image on the plate as quickly
     as the sky. The best time to make snow pictures is in the early
     morning or late in the afternoon.

     MURRAY MARBLE encloses a print of the Capitol at Washington, and
     asks what causes the blur at the top of the picture. Judging from
     the print, the blur is caused in the developing. The solution did
     not cover the film when it was placed in it, and the place where
     the blur appears is not sufficiently developed.

     EVARTS A. GRAHAM asks what can be done with old plates; and wishes
     a good formula for silver prints and sensitizing paper for silver
     prints. See Nos. 857 and 886 for some uses for spoiled plates. See
     Nos. 796 and 803 for directions for making plain silver prints.

     JOHN F. REGAN wishes the copy of the constitution of some good
     camera club. Will Arthur F. Atkinson, of Sacramento, Cal., please
     send a copy of the Niepce Chapter's constitution to this member?
     His address is 418 North Centre St., Terre Haute, Ind.




ADVERTISEMENTS.




Postage Stamps, &c.




[Illustration]

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25c., 150 dif. Cape Verde, O. F. States, etc. 50c. Agents wanted. 50
p.c. com. List free. =F. W. Miller, 904 Olive St., St. Louis, Mo.=




[Illustration]

=STAMPS!= 300 genuine mixed Victoria, Cape, India, Japan, Etc., with Stamp
Album, only 10c. New 96-page price-list FREE. Approval Sheets, 50% com.
Agents Wanted. We buy old U.S. & Conf. Stamps & Collections. =STANDARD
STAMP CO., St. Louis, Mo., Established 1885.=




[Illustration]

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10c. Agts. wanted at 50% Com. =C. A. Stegmann=, 5941 Cote Brilliant Ave.,
St. Louis, Mo.




500

Mixed, Australian, etc., 10c.; =105 var.= Zululand, etc., and album, 10c.;
12 Africa, 10c.; 15 Asia, 10c. Bargain list free. F. P. VINCENT,
Chatham, N.Y.




1000

Best Stamp Hinges only =5=c. Agts. wt'd at 50%. List free.

=L. B. DOVER & CO.=, 5958 Theodosia, St. Louis, Mo.




TRY

our stamp approval sheets; 50% com. and prize.

KEUTGEN BROTHERS, 102 Fulton St., N. Y.




[Illustration: PISO'S CURE FOR CONSUMPTION]

CURES WHERE ALL ELSE FAILS.

Best Cough Syrup. Tastes Good. Use

in time. Sold by druggists.




Arnold

Constable & Co.

LACES,

EMBROIDERIES.

_Applique and Lierre Laces._

_Spangled Nets. Chiffons._

_Mousselines._

_All-over Point Venise._

_Embroidered Silk Linons._

_Openwork and Embroideries,_

Novelties for Children's Frocks.

EMBROIDERIES

_for Ladies' and Children's Underwear._

_Lace Blouses, Fichus,_

_Collars, Boas, Ruffs._

GLOVES.

Broadway & 19th st.

NEW YORK.




EARN A TRICYCLE.

[Illustration]

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

W. G. BAKER,

Springfield, Mass.




[Illustration]

$25.00 $15.00 $10.00

In Gold, will be paid to the three purchasers sending in the most
solutions of this novel Egg Puzzle. Interests and amuses young and old.
Requires patience & steady nerves. Send 15 cts. for Puzzle, (2 for 25
cts.) and learn how to secure a PRIZE.

Walter S. Coles, Neave Building, Cincinnati, Ohio.




HOOPING

COUGH

CROUP

Can be cured

by using

ROCHE'S HERBAL

EMBROCATION

The celebrated and effectual English cure, without internal medicine. W.
EDWARD & SON, Props., London, Eng. =All Druggists.=

E. FOUGERA & CO., NEW YORK




Mr. EDMUND GOSSE

the talented English essayist,

contributes a paper on

STANDARDS

IN MODERN

LITERATURE

to the next number of

HARPER'S ROUND TABLE

Five Cents a copy. Two Dollars a year.

       *       *       *       *       *

HARPER & BROTHERS. Publishers, N. Y.




CARDS

FOR 1897. 50 Sample Styles AND LIST OF 400 PREMIUM ARTICLES FREE.
HAVERFIELD PUB CO., CADIZ, OHIO




[Illustration]

  "Come, little boy," his grandma said,
    "Upon this chair you'll sit,
  And hold the worsted in your hands,
    And help your grandma knit."

  "Oh, yes," the little boy replied,
    And smiled a little bit;
  "There's nothing I like more to do
    Than help my grandma,--nit!"

       *       *       *       *       *

A CONCLUSION.

"My grandfather is ninety years old, and he hasn't got a gray hair on
his head," said Mollie.

"Mercy!" cried Bella. "He must be awful bald!"

       *       *       *       *       *

A DELICIOUS IDEA.

Mr. Hawkins had just returned from the North, and had described some of
the ice-boating he had seen to Frankie.

"It must be fun!" said Frankie, enthusiastically.

"It is great fun," said his father.

"I say, daddy," said Frankie, "it's a pity the ocean never freezes,
isn't it? Wouldn't it be fine to put an ocean steamer on skates and see
it scoot over?"

       *       *       *       *       *

NOT ENCOURAGED.

"I suppose you boys at school are playing games about all the time,
aren't you?" asked the visitor.

"Pretty nearly," replied Jack. "We know pretty nearly all of 'em."

"I suppose you are a champion?"

"I am at most of 'em. I don't get much chance at hookey, though," said
Jack.

       *       *       *       *       *

A SMALL BOY'S REFLECTION.

"Didn't George Washington ever tell a lie, mamma?"

"They say not, my son."

"Don't they tell awful fibs about public men, mamma?"

       *       *       *       *       *

THE TEST.

"Do you expect to go to college, Warren?"

"Yes, sir."

"And which one, my lad?"

"Well, I don't know yet. I think Yale; but before I'm ready to go,
Harvard may brace up and win something."

       *       *       *       *       *

A PUZZLING TRANSACTION.

It happened in this wise: The two gentlemen were Irish, and, as every
one knows, the sons of that nationality are excitable. Up to a certain
time they had lived as peaceful neighbors should, but when Mr.
O'Farrel's cow had her career cut short in a summary fashion by being
smothered under a load of hay that lost its balance and toppled off from
Mr. McSway's wagon, why, it necessarily followed that the Celtic blood
warmed with anger in Mr. O'Farrel's veins, and, in no genial mood, he
sought his hitherto pleasant neighbor, and demanded compensation for the
loss.

"Sure, now, that is a sad misfortune," commented Mr. McSway; "and how
much do ye want me to pay for the cow?"

"Oi want tin dollars, and oi want it roight now."

"Faith, you're er bit loively, Mr. O'Farrel. But didn't oi understand
that yez sold the cow's hide an' tallow down ter the village? How much
did yez get for the baste?"

"Yis, oi did, an' oi got tin dollars an' fifty cints for it, Mr.
McSway."

"Well, then, accordin' to that, yez owe me fifty cints; so pay it
_roight now_, if you plaze, Mr. O'Farrel."

Probably it will not astonish the reader to know that before the excited
and very much muddled O'Farrel recovered himself he paid the fifty
cents; but even to this day he has failed to satisfy himself whether he
owed the money to McSway or not.

       *       *       *       *       *

A LIKELY STATEMENT.

"I guess I know why they never speak of George Washington as Washington
the Great," observed Polly. "It's because there wasn't never any other
Washington to compare him with."

       *       *       *       *       *

A RECORD.

"How are you doing in your athletics, Wilbur?"

"Pretty good. Went a hundred yards in seven seconds yesterday."

"What?"

"Truth--honest. On my sled."

       *       *       *       *       *

A SMALL BOY'S NOTION.

  I'm mighty glad I'm not a girl,
    With all their folderols!
  Just think--they cannot help 'emselves--
    They can't _help_ liking dolls!

       *       *       *       *       *

PHYSIOLOGY AND HYGIENE.

"We've got a new study in our school," said Harry. "It's called
fizzleology and--ah--fizzleology and--"

"Hygiene?" said his father, trying to help him along.

"That's it," said Harry. "Fizzleology and high-jinks."

       *       *       *       *       *

NO DOUBT EARNED.

"I've been promoted," observed Bobbie Hicks, with a sly wink at his
chum. "I used to be Captain of our soldier company, but now I'm a
General."

"Indeed? And who promoted you?"

"The neighbors. They said I was getting to be a general nuisance."





End of Project Gutenberg's Harper's Round Table, February 23, 1897, by Various


        
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