## The Project Gutenberg eBook of Harper's Round Table, March 23, 1897

This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

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

Author: Various

Release date: January 12, 2020 [eBook #61154]
Most recently updated: October 17, 2024

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Annie R. McGuire

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

OLD PORTSMOUTH.
THE SAILING OF JEAN-PAUL.
A CHARLES LAMB PARTY.
THE PAINTED DESERT.
ONE TOUCH OF NATURE.
THE REMARKABLE ADVENTURES OF SANDBOYS.
INTERSCHOLASTIC SPORT.
QUESTIONS FOR YOUNG MEN.
STAMPS.
THE CAMERA CLUB.

[Pg 497]

Copyright, 1897, by Harper & Brothers. All Rights Reserved.

published weekly. | NEW YORK, TUESDAY, MARCH 23, 1897. | five cents a copy.
vol. xviii.—no. 908. |  | two dollars a year.

## OLD PORTSMOUTH.

#### A CHAPTER OF AUTOBIOGRAPHY.

### BY SIR WALTER BESANT.

Portsmouth, as I remember the place in the days of my early youth—say, somewhere about the years 1844 to 1850—was surely the liveliest place, the most full of action, movement, and life, of any in her Majesty's dominions, which were then half as wide as they are at present. Not as a place of industry; there was never, if you please, any industry at all carried on in that town outside the Dock-yard, except of course the industry of fleecing the sailor. This was a merry and an exhilarating sport, because the sailor himself enjoyed being fleeced, entered thoroughly into the spirit of the game, and neither resented nor regretted what he knew would be the end of it—viz., the loss of all his money. Nor, again, could the town be considered picturesque. Somehow, Portsmouth always escaped any beauty of buildings and streets. There was, it is true, a late eighteenth-century look about most[Pg 498] of the streets; there was one old church within the Walls; there was a square low tower at the end of High Street which looked well; there were Gates in the Walls; and there was the Domus Dei, the ancient garrison chapel, then not yet "discovered" or restored. There must have been, I suppose, a time when the High Street and St. Thomas's Street and St. Mary's Street were built with gabled houses and with timbered fronts, but they had all disappeared long before my time.

The real centre of the town was, of course, the Common Hard—which is one of the streets of the world like the Cannebière of Marseilles, the King's Road of Brighton, or the High Street of Oxford. Portsmouth cannot be conceived as existing without the Common Hard. It is a broad street facing the harbor; at one end are the gates of the Dock-yard; at the other, a police station, in front of which at one time stood a pair of stocks. The magistrates, in their wisdom, revived this time-honored punishment for a while, but I believe it did not answer. Certainly I myself once saw a man in the stocks. I must have been a child of six or eight at the time, but I remember him well, because I was immensely impressed with the shamefulness of it, and I expected to see the prisoner hanging his head and weeping. Not a bit, if you please. The hardened villain sat up, faced the foot-lights, and grinned merrily all the time.

The street contained shops of all sorts—shops of curios brought home by the sailors and sold to their merchants; jewellers' shops; shops offering telescopes, sextants, and all kinds of naval things; taverns and hotels—then called inns. These shops, however, were not designed for able-bodied Jack, I believe, but for his officer.

It was a fine lookout from the Hard upon the harbor, which was crammed full of ships—ships fitting, ships just come home, harbor-ships, hulks, store-ships, tugs, tenders, and small steamers. As yet the man-o'-war was a wooden ship. She carried 120 guns and a thousand men; mostly she sailed, and in the art of sailing she had no equal. As a boy I thought, and still think, that there is no work of man's craft and ingenuity more wonderful, more beautiful, than a great three-decker in full sail.

Those who wished to cross the harbor or to visit a ship, started from the "Beach" or from the "Logs." The Beach was a narrow spit of sand and shingle running out into the water; it was the "stairs" for the watermen, who all day long kept up a perpetual bawling. "Going over? One more. Just going over. Only one more!" When they had a boat-load, say six or eight passengers at a penny apiece, they put off, and rowed across the harbor to Gosport, on the other side.

Saw one ever a more animated sight than the harbor on a fine summer morning in the forties? Boats manned by Royal Navy men working their way here and there, yachts letting out their sails for a cruise in the Solent, wherries plying backwards and forwards, ships in the grip of the tide. We pass on our way the Victory, Nelson's last ship; she is moored off the Beach, and swings round with every tide. If you went on board you would see the place where Nelson fell, and the place where Nelson died—a dark and noisome hole on the orlop-deck down below. Yonder black hulk without masts is a ship whose exploits would fill a volume. Her name is the Billy Ruffian—mealy mouths call her the Bellerephon. Beside her, another dismasted hulk, now a coal-ship, is the Asia, from which was fired the shot which blew up the Turkish Admiral at Navarino. Beside her is the Arethusa, another historic ship. Beyond, in line, the old worn-out ships are laid up one after the other up the harbor; they are all historic ships; to hear their names is to be reminded of Copenhagen, the Nile, Trafalgar; they are store-ships, coal-ships, training-ships now, and those painted yellow are the convict-hulks. How much misery, how much brutality, how much despair had their permanent home on those terrible yellow ships called convict-hulks? The men were taken ashore every day to work—their work, the heaviest and the most disagreeable, lay chiefly in the Dock-yard; they worked under warders armed with guns, shotted and bayonetted. Many a time have I gone into the yard, a penny quid or screw of tobacco secreted in my pocket. One would get as near as one dared to one of the gang without raising suspicions. There one waited, pretending idle curiosity, till the warder's eyes were turned in the opposite direction, then out with the quid, and down with it at the nearest convict's foot. He made no sign; he never moved or looked up; he just covered the packet with his foot, and went on with his work. The donor retired a space, yet kept an eye upon him. Presently the man straightened himself out; he looked at his tool; he picked up a stone as if to knock off something; he hammered it, and looked at it again critically; the warder, who had watched his movement, turned his head, as satisfied that it was harmless; the convict put down the stone; then, if you had good eyes, you would see the quid transferred in a moment to the man's mouth. Oh! the rapture of that quid! He could not express his gratitude in words, but with a glance of his eye he could, and did. What would have been done to the boy had he been discovered is too terrible to be considered. However, that boy escaped. The sight of convicts working in a gang has always fascinated and terrified me. The submission and obedience, the awful silence, the evident determination to do as little as possible, the profound misery of the life, the cruel crushing down of manhood—these things I felt as a boy of twelve as much as I feel them now. And always with it that feeling of John Bunyan, "But for Grace, John, thou too hadst been here."

A little up the harbor there rose a few inches out of the water an islet called Rat Island. This was the burying-ground of those poor wretches who died on the hulks. I have rowed round this island in the twilight of a summer evening, wondering whether the ghosts of the convicts still haunted this dreary spot and exchanged stories of crime and the cat-o'-nine-tails and irons with each other. I now understand that the ghost which could choose to remain on so desolate a spot must have been indeed a fool.

The Logs were a narrow and rude pier constructed of square trunks laid side by side, with upright posts here and there to keep them in place. They were chiefly used by the Royal Navy boats which were coming and going all day long. I recall the picture of one. At sight of the boat and the officer in command the boy on the Logs runs a little farther out where the Logs are covered with water—he would not willingly stand in the way of that officer, whom he envies with a yearning inconceivable to be in his place. Nobody remembers how boys yearn and long for the impossible. The boat is manned by eight stout, well-set-up fellows; they wear spotless white ducks, jerseys, and straw hats. The officer stands up in the stern, strings in hand. He commands these splendid fellows—He!!!—and he is no older than the envious boy who looks on. He wears a jacket, white ducks, and a cap with the enviable crown and anchor on it. His voice is clear and loud. Timid? Afraid? Not a bit of it. This midshipmite is already Captain and First Lieutenant and all. He jumps on the Logs and marches off, head erect, conscious that all other boys regard him with envy unspeakable. Do the sailors put tongue in cheek and mock him when he is gone? Not a bit of it. The child is their officer; he represents authority. It is not the boy who commands men—it is the Captain. The faces of the men, if you look at them, are not quite like the faces of their grandsons who at present man the navy. Our man of '96 is sober, quiet, thoughtful, as becomes one whose long training has almost made him belong to a learned profession. He is a total abstainer too. When he goes ashore it is to the Sailors' Home and not to the old quarters. The men of '48 are sturdy and bluff and resolute; but they have a certain look that means rum when they can get it, and other indulgences such as can be afforded.

At the back of the Hard was Jack's own pleasure-ground—half a dozen streets belonging to him, to the watermen, and to those who made it their business to look after Jack. These streets were full of strange things. There were shops where they sold old clos', with many queer things that came home on board. There were birds—parrots, parraquits, avvadavats, love-birds, monkeys, lemurs, flying-fish dried, rotting bananas, Venus's fingers from the Philippines, cocos de mer from the Seychelles, carved wooden boxes from China,[Pg 499] queer little nameless things from Japan, curved swords from Malay, groups of figures from India—all these things are common now; they were not common then. I would gaze at them displayed behind the small windows illuminated at night by a single candle, with a sick yearning because I could not buy them all. Meantime—oh, heavenly sound!—the fiddle at the public-house next door strikes up. It is an ancient tavern; the floor was lower than the street; the windows were decorated with transparencies showing the valor of the British tar when engaged with the Chinese. Heavens! How those Chinamen ran! And with what a rapturous sense of duty did Jack seize a pigtail with the left hand, and with the right decapitate poor John Chinaman! It was after the war of 1842, or thereabouts—a war now wellnigh forgotten. Within—I would look in and even step in unregarded—the fiddler sat on a stool at the end of the long low room. He was a Pole. He had but one leg, and he fiddled marvellously, so as to make even a man with a gouty toe stand up and shake that limb. Jack danced hornpipes chiefly; he liked best to dance by himself because the cavalier seul enjoyed more scope for figure-dancing and for flourishes; also because the undivided applause and attention of the house were bestowed upon him. In the reel, in which the fair sex took a share, beauty more than skill—looks, rather than merit—provoked admiration. Poor Jack! Poor fair sex! Was it possible for any human creatures to look more deliriously happy?

I have said that the watermen also lived in those back streets; I believe, however, that the watermen lived apart from the sailors; the most of them had been sailors—they were all full of yarns—they were all heroes of the old war; their sons were sailors; but they themselves were married men with families. It was not considered the thing for a sturdy old waterman to frequent the same tavern as Jack ashore; his time for the hornpipe and the fiddle was over.

I have said that Jack's face and appearance have not been transmitted to his grandsons. There was one peculiarity about Jack of '48 that has been somewhat forgotten. He of 1800 wore a pigtail—that pigtail was cut off. I do not know, exactly, in what year. It was succeeded, however, by ringlets. The Jack of '48 wore ringlets very carefully curled, glossy, and artistic. If you passed Jack to leeward you perceived—what? Rowland's Macassar? Tallow? My friends, let us never inquire into the machinery by which those ringlets were made to curl so gracefully, and to assume an appearance so beautifully, so wonderfully glossy.

Of the Dock-yard I must say little, though the part it plays in Portsmouth is like the part played in Winchester by the cathedral, or in Cambridge by the university. There were the huge skeletons of the wooden ships, one after the other, in various stages; there were the dry docks, with the workmen hurrying round the sides on narrow boards, calking and painting; there was the pond, where they laid up the timber to "season"; there was the Rope-house, a quarter of a mile long, where the men "who made their living backwards" so walked all day long twisting the yarn; there was the place where they steamed the beams so that they could be bent; there was the carver of figure-heads; there were the manufacturing of blocks and the making of spars. And every day and all day long the sound of multitudinous hammers, the creaking of cranes, the grinding of saws, went on without stopping. A lovely workshop, and now, I believe, more wonderful still!

The town, I said, had little beauty in its streets. There was a George the Second church, which had a spaciousness and a dignity of its own. There was another which had neither dignity nor space. There were no public buildings to speak of. But there were the Walls. The Walls! Oh, the Walls! These are all levelled and pulled down now. Nobody knows why they were levelled, but they were; and with them disappeared the beauty and the glory of the town. They were not ancient stone Walls, but earthworks in the style approved about the year 1780. I append a section of the Wall as I remember it. An open space, A B, separated it from the building of the town. A slope, B C, brought one to a broad road, C D, for the carriage and passage of cannon, ammunition, etc. At D, another low slope, about three feet high, to a narrow standing-place, D E, in front of which ran E F, a breast-work. The defenders were to fire, thus protected, across F F. F G was the slope to a level lower than that of A B on the other side. At H H was a narrow moat, but the intention of the builders of the Wall was to let in the water so as to cover up the whole of the valley G H; at H the ground sloped up; at many places the ground beyond H was also protected by an earth-work. The Wall ran in lengths protected by bastions; these bastions were mounted with cannon. At intervals there were stone gates with stone lookout-places, most mysterious. The town was divided into two parts, a Wall ran round each. No one would believe what a lovely place for a boy was the Wall—either Wall—to walk upon, or sit upon, or linger, and look, and listen, and dream upon. If you wanted a quiet place for reading you could sit protected from cold wind on a cannon-wheel; if you wanted to dream you could lean over a certain angle on the Queen's Bastion—was it the Queen's?—and there below stretched out the whole extent of the harbor, a broad lagoon at high tide, four miles from north to south and six from west to east; at the head of the harbor, Porchester Castle stood out, gray and frowning over the clear water that lapped her water-gate. This was a Roman fort; the outer Walls—the Roman work—still stand, and will continue to stand for many centuries; within there are the ruins of a Norman castle, the lofty design still uninjured; in another corner is a long and narrow Saxon church—a fine thing, this, for a boy to gaze upon. But that was not all. The space in front of the Wall was laid out in grass; in spring these meadows were full of buttercups; in the summer the grass all over the Walls, the parapet, the slopes, the sloping up of the Wall, the spaces on the bastions between the cannons, were filled with clover, daisies, buttercups, wild convolvulus, colored grasses—everything. There were also trees—"to catch the shells," we used to say; they were planted all along the Walls, and made a sweet and delightful walk in summer-time. And it was so quiet all day long upon the Walls; nobody but a few children ever came there; we had our own favorite bastion, our own view across the harbor; we carried home handfuls of the wild flowers.

If one of the two Walls looked out over the harbor, the other looked out over the Solent and Spithead. The second Wall was not so beautiful in my eyes as the first. It began at a place which even a boy would not but recognize as squalid and horrible. Very near there stood a church of great interest, though of repellent appearance—I know not why it was repellent to look at, but it was. Between the church and the Wall lay a broad piece of consecrated ground. More than once have I been reminded what this ground was used for. More than once have I stood upon the Wall and looked down upon a funeral; the coffin, borne by six soldiers, was covered with the union-jack for a pall—could one have a better? behind, marched, with guns reversed, a small company of soldiers; in front went the muffled drums and the fifes. 'Twas the burial-place, you see, of the private soldier. When the service was over, the soldiers stood over the grave and fired their last farewell to their poor dead comrade; then the drummers took off their muffling and they fell in, and the fifes struck up a merry tune and so away back to barracks. Poor lad! Who was he? No one knew; no one cared. In those days no one, I believe, ever sent a message to his people that he was dead.

On the outside, where the moat and slopes afforded a fine place for practice, the young drummers and the young buglers were practising all day long. I never hear a bugle-call, to this day, without being reminded of morning upon Portsmouth Walls. At the other end of this Wall were two or three very fine bastions, armed with larger cannon and[Pg 500] with bombs which looked out on Spithead, where the fleets assembled before they put to sea. From Spithead sailed those great fleets, the Baltic and the Black Sea fleets, at the beginning of the Crimean war. A very splendid sight it was. The Queen led the way in her yacht. Then followed the Admiral, old Charley Napier; then came the gallant line-of-battle ships, each in place. To look at a ship of the modern type and to think of that magnificent fleet reminds one of the Israelites when they wept at the opening of the second Temple, to think of the perished glories of the first!

It was in the harbor, from the Dock-yard, that the troops used to embark. There is a picture, I forget by whom, representing the embarkation of a regiment for the Crimea. I can testify that the picture is faithful, for I saw, I believe, that very embarkation. There are the girls crying—I saw them; the young fellows full of spirit and courage—I saw them with envy and admiration; the sailors quietly carrying out their orders—I saw them too. As one recalls the scene, one thinks of what these poor fellows were going to endure—the cold of a Crimean winter; boots made of brown paper; coats of shoddy; green coffee-berries with which to make their coffee; oh! the blind rage! the helpless rage! the bitter tears of rage! of the whole country! and nothing done—no—nothing. Alas for the wickedness of it! Yet nobody hanged—and these poor brave fellows done to death—not by the enemy, but by their own people!

Besides the embarkation, I remember seeing the return of one of these regiments. It had been terribly cut up at Inkermann or at some other engagement; once, too, a shell burst in the middle of their band. They marched, what was left of them, up the street, colors flying, band playing. And all the way along the women wailed aloud and the men choked. For of all the band there remained but five; of all the gallant boys who marched out playing the fife and beating the drum there were but two; of all the men who played the cornet and the clarion and the serpent and the rest of the wonderful instruments there were but three.

I have gone on too long. One more picture, and I have done. On the Hard, along the railings which ran in the front, only ceasing with the beach and the Logs, extended a long bench, on which every morning all the year round, except in rain and snow, there sat a row of grizzled veterans. They were mostly one-legged; some were no-legged. The bench presented a very remarkable spectacle of "timber toes," i.e., wooden legs sticking out in a horizontal row. The owners of the "timber toes" were affable; they would graciously accept a quid, or the price of one, or the equivalent of a quartern of rum, and in return they would cheerfully tip you a yarn—but, for choice, beyond the hearing of the other old boys. Now the really remarkable thing about these heroes was that every man among them had been on board the Victory at Trafalgar; every man among them had been the first man to observe when Nelson fell, the first man to pick him up, the chief hand in carrying him to the cockpit, the trusted man kept down by the surgeon to perform the last offices for the dying Admiral. Nay, so often had every man told this story that he had at last come to believe it; and the genuine tears would crowd into his eyes when he arrived at the last scene in the mournful history: "'Kiss me, 'Ardy,' was the last words of the Dyinero." They had of course other memories which were, I believe, more authentic. There were memories of the American war in 1814, of French prisons, of actions long since forgotten, of admirals whose fame has been eclipsed by that of Nelson. I remember one man who was in the Mutiny at the Nore, which was in 1796; and one ancient mariner I remember who said he was a cabin-boy with Captain Cook in his last voyage—he saw him speared. Well, it was quite possible; the man looked a mere monument of antiquity; it was quite possible if he was eighty-eight—he looked ninety-eight. It was quite possible, on the other hand—but let me believe that I have myself conversed and shaken hands with one of Captain Cook's crew.

## THE SAILING OF JEAN-PAUL.

#### (In Two Instalments.)

### BY M. L. VAN VORST.

### I.

he grandmother of Jean-Paul was proud of the boy. She said he was as "brave as a lion, as brown as a berry, as straight as a birch." Indeed she talked so much about him, and repeated this so many times, that her companions the washer-women grew tired of hearing about Jean-Paul, and after awhile she found that she talked to deaf ears. "Are there not other boys in the village besides Jean-Paul?" they said. "There are Joseph and Victor and Charles. And what has Jean-Paul done, after all? Nothing." So the old woman held her peace, and ceased to say aloud the things she thought about her big brown grandson.

Jean-Paul lived with his grandmother, Mère Vatinel, in a tiny house made of pieces of flint stuck together with white cement. It had a bright red roof, and looked like a house in a fairy-tale.

It was one of many fisher dwellings standing in rows on either side the narrow village street that ran straight down to the sea. From the great expanse of water washing the pebbly beach and curling up about the high cliff-side all the town gained its living.

Jean-Paul knew little of danger, and cared still less. He only knew that he was strong and fifteen years old, that his father had gone to sea at his age; his friends had left the dull little town, and he too longed to board one of the straight-masted vessels that stood so proudly in the harbors of Fécamp and Havre, and put far out and away to follow his fortune and to know the sea.

Jean-Paul sat before the rough pine table in the room that served as kitchen, bedroom, and all rooms in one; he was eating his supper of lentil soup and a piece of coarse bread. Opposite him sat his grandmother, in her white peasant cap and her short blue skirt; she was knitting, and Jean-Paul watched the candle-light flicker on her needles. "Grandmother," he said, trying to speak at his ease, "I am fifteen years old now."

"Yes," nodded the old woman.

"And I am strong too. See?" and he rolled up his blue sleeve and showed her a stout brown arm of which he might well have been proud. "And yesterday with Père Guillaume, whom thou knowest is a weak old man, I dragged in the boat—our boat. In truth, grandmother, it was I, and not Père Guillaume, who made her slide up on the beach."

"Yes," she said, "thou art strong. Praise God keep thy strength; it is mine as well; I need thee, my son."

The bright face of Jean-Paul fell; he ate on in silence for a little, then said, with an effort, "Grandmother, the Belle Hélène sails to-morrow week."

At this Mère Vatinel let her knitting fall, and clasped her hands on the table and faced her grandson. "Jean-Paul,"[Pg 501] she said, "I am nearly ninety years old; I have but you; the sea has taken all the rest—my two big sons and thy mother's husband, and thou knowest well that when the news came that thy father's ship would never cast anchor again, thy mother fell as one dead, and thus the sea cursed my last child. I hate the sea," she said, raising her old hand as if in turn to curse it; "it is our tomb."

If Jean-Paul heard this it did not make him waver. "One must live, grandmother," he said, stanchly. "It is our friend too. All sailors are not lost. There is Joseph, who comes here every year with his pockets full of louis; and we are poor; I will come home rich, and some day I may even own my bark, grandmother; and it is so cowardly to stay at home with only the old men and the children."

"And thy grandmother, Jean-Paul?"

He did not reply. Then she burst into tears, and rocked to and fro. "Never, never, while I live!" she wept. "All have been taken from me. Jean-Paul, Jean-Paul, thou wilt break my heart!"

"Listen!" he said. "We will speak of this no more. I will not go unless thou art quite content."

It was surprising how quickly the old woman dried her tears. "Thou art a brave gars, a good gars," she said, nodding her head. "Thou shalt perhaps find service at the château. Who knows?"

Jean-Paul did not reply, but Mère Vatinel took it as a sacred promise, for did she not know she would never be content?

Jean-Paul bought his rabbit at the Gingerbread Fair. On certain fête days in the little square before the Mayory all the world goes to buy gingerbread. They are fascinating, those long pieces of brown cake with colored candies on the top. And the extraordinary men! And the animals whose like is seen in few zoological gardens! I should say all the world went to see, and those who had a few sous bought, and the others stood and looked on in admiration and envy. Jean-Paul sauntered along, his blue cap pushed back on his head, his hands in his pockets; he tinkled the ten sous of his savings noisily, for he was the proud owner of ten whole sous. He could buy a good deal of gingerbread with this, but not too much. He thought, however, that he would spend five sous at throwing the rings, and with the rest collect a gingerbread menagerie. To throw the rings is a delightful sport; one can never have too many jack-knives. The knives are stuck by the blades in rows on an inclined board. Then you buy five rings for five sous. You take aim, try to encircle a knife with a ring, and if you succeed the prize is yours. Jean-Paul was an expert, and had his eyes on three "rippers," as he called them in his French slang. The little man who kept the booth knew him, and nodded to him, and held out the rings, when a loud burst of laughter from a group of boys at his right hand made Jean-Paul look toward them. They were gathered in a circle, and intensely watching something in their midst. The lad walked toward them, and looked too. A little brown rabbit, trembling with fright, its eyes wild and startled, cowered in the centre of a chalk circle which the boys had drawn around him.

"Look, Jean-Paul!" said a little boy, plucking his sleeve. "They are laying wagers as to how far the rabbit will[Pg 502] jump when Pierre pokes him with his stick. It is my rabbit, Jean-Paul, and they are to give me a sou for the sport."

Jean-Paul said nothing. He looked at Pierre, who was a big brutal fellow with a coarse face. He was cabin-boy on one of the ships that sail between Havre and New York, and he had come home for a holiday. Leaning forward, he gave the rabbit a sharp poke with the pointed stick. The poor thing leaped clear out of the line, and was greeted with shouts of applause.

"She's better than a gingerbread bunny," laughed Pierre, "and just the color. Jump! Jump, ma belle!"

Jean-Paul adored animals, and having a heart in proportion as big as his strong body, he hated cowardly abuse. His first impulse was to strike Pierre a ringing blow, seize the rabbit, and rush off with it. He chose another course. "Is it really yours, the rabbit?" he said, very fast and in a low tone, to the little boy who stood by his side watching the fun with big eyes.

"Yes, really mine. I am to have a sou."

"Will you sell him for ten?"

The boy gasped. Ten sous! He had never in his ragged existence owned ten sous.

"Quick," said Jean-Paul, rattling the money before his eyes.

To be master of ten sous, and to have at the same time a gingerbread fair at his very side was too great a stroke of fortune for the little peasant to grasp. "I should think so!" he said.

"There, then." Jean-Paul crowded the pennies into the boy's hand, leaned forward, and picked up the little rabbit by the ears, and lifted it over the heads of the group.

"See here!" exclaimed Pierre, angrily, "you are a little too fresh, my fine fellow!" and he sprang to his feet and confronted Jean-Paul.

"It is my rabbit, Pierre Fouget," replied the other, whose eyes, though calm, were dangerous. "I have just bought him for ten sous."

"Yes," nodded his former owner, "that is so; and give me my sou for the sport, Pierre."

Pierre measured the straight figure of Jean-Paul. He looked at his broad chest, and at the big hand that held the panting beast tenderly. Jean-Paul stood quite still and looked back at him. Then Pierre laughed sneeringly, and shrugging his shoulders, "My word, if the monsieur has a fancy to collect animals, and can pay for them, it is his own affair," he said, and turned away.

The little boy of the ten sous, his hands full of cakes, was swinging in the merry-go-round. He waved his hand to Jean-Paul as he passed. "I shall ride twice more, Jean-Paul," he said.

This is how Jean-Paul bought his rabbit at the Gingerbread Fair.

Monsieur le Maire was a very important person. I shall not tell about his duties, or all that he did in the little white Mayory over the post-office. Dear me, that would be dry reading! After one had climbed the steep cliff straight up from the village, and walked three kilometres or more, all the fertile farm-lands, and those forests with the green-trunked trees, and the white château with its high gables belonged to M. le Maire. His ancestors had been royalists, and fought for and served many kings and princes. But M. le Maire of Freport was a good republican, and he used to say he belonged to the people, which, of course, pleased them very much indeed; and those of the town who loved the days of the Emperor loved M. le Maire for his ancestry, and the rest honored him as a good servant of the republic.

Jean-Paul saw him go in and out of the Mairie, and drive home every afternoon in his red dog-cart. He thought the Maire was a great man, and admired him, and stood in awe of him a little, perhaps. He would have told you, that he knew the Mayor very well, but the Mayor did not know Jean-Paul—less than he knew Philip or Joseph or the other fisher-lads—for his grandmother had enough to keep them far from want, and never applied for charity to the government. And then the knitting that she did—well, that was an important item, for she turned off an astounding number of thick stockings, and every six weeks Jean-Paul carried the little package to a village by the cross-roads, where another old woman bought the stockings, and sold them to a dealer at Havre.

The brown rabbit had become Jean-Paul's constant companion. She ate sitting close to the boy's elbow, slept at night huddled in a brown heap at the foot of his bed. He called her La Belle Hélène; it brought him a little nearer to the beloved ship he was never to board to say the name over and over, for although he made no sign, and spoke not at all of his great desire, still his heart was on the sea, and the thought that he must spend his youth and strength fishing a little with Père Guillaume, loitering about the town with a few young fellows, that he was never to see the great ice-fields or know the wild joy of catching the mighty fish, that the fisher-seaman's life was forbidden him, it was hard, bitter hard to bear.

He stood with Père Guillaume on the beach; a fierce October storm was coming thick and fast from the west, and the fishermen stood talking together in little groups; and watching the ink-black clouds.

"How ugly it is," said the old fisherman. "From now on we have the black weather. I shall not venture out to-day, Jean-Paul."

"I should like nothing better," said the boy, eagerly. "It is fine out there. One can hear the waves crash. That is real sea. I will do all the work, Père Guillaume," he added. "The fish fairly leap into the boat to-day."

The old man could not be moved. "It is well enough for you," he said; "you are a strong swimmer, Jean-Paul, but for me, to capsize is death. When one is old one hugs the fireside."

"Oh, it must be dreadful to be old," thought the boy; "one fears everything!" Then he remembered that it was the day for his trip to St. Julian with the parcel of stockings that his grandmother had knitted for sale, and he hurried back to the cabin, while the storm gathered faster and the wind swept along the hard flint roads.

"It is bad weather," said the grandmother, as he stuffed the parcel in the pocket of his jacket.

But the journeys to St. Julian were never postponed, for the Havre dealer only passed once in six weeks, and to succeed one must be punctual. Jean-Paul went in all weathers. In his other pocket he put the rabbit Belle Hélène, and the old grandmother watched him as he pulled his cap down hard and bent his head against the wind.

"How strong he is, how straight!" she murmured, and she thought of the rabbit in his pocket and smiled. "La Belle Hélène, La Belle Hélène, his heart is all with the ship. If I were not so old, and the sea has taken so much! It is not fair," she said, shaking her head. "One may at least keep one out of four brave gars." And then she went into her cabin, shut the door against the wind, and commenced a new pair of stockings.

Meanwhile Jean-Paul went sturdily up, up the hill. The road to St. Julian lay past the woods of the château. The young fellow loved these forests when the tree trunks were all green with a bright moss growth, and where the guests of the Mayor came and hunted during the fall weeks, and flashed through the trees in their bright scarlet coats.

THE GAMEKEEPER'S HAND FELL UPON JEAN-PAUL.

He had often watched the chase, and seen the brown hares jump in the underbrush and the deer fly by. But his thoughts on this day were elsewhere, and do as he would, it was nothing but La Belle Hélène, La Belle Hélène that kept constantly sailing into his thoughts and casting anchor in his brain. It was easy enough to slip off at night, follow the cliff path, and before you know it you are at Fécamp; and the harbor is bristling with barks at this season, and when one knows the mate of La Belle Hélène, and he has said, "Come, Jean-Paul, you will join us next year surely, mon vieux." (That makes one feel so grand to be called old chap by a man of position.) "Next year I will give you a good berth and recommend you to the Captain, and you will do the rest." And this was next year, and he was as far away as ever! Here Jean-Paul drew a big breath that meant a pain was at the other end of it, and went on thinking. When he reached the little[Pg 503] knoll just at the end of the forest château, the hard struggle was at an end, but he felt about as beside himself as a healthy boy of fifteen can. The result was that he was more tired than though he had already gone the whole of the long way to St. Julian. Suddenly he remembered what his grandmother had given him just before he left the house—his luncheon; and he sat down on a big stone, and he drew out of his pocket a chunk of coarse bread and a stick of chocolate. He commenced slowly and meditatively to munch this repast and stare way down the long white road into the fast-deepening twilight, while the wind, which was against him, blew so hard that he could with difficulty keep his seat. Far away behind him lay a glimpse of the sea, which showed black and sullen. Jean-Paul felt La Belle Hélène move restlessly in the right pocket of his coat. "Poor little thing, she is hungry too! I will not eat alone," he said, and drew the rabbit out of his pocket, and put her on his knee, gently stroking her while she nibbled a few crumbs of bread. Just then who can say what strange spirit awoke in La Belle Hélène, or what familiar wood call may have reached her ear, for she gave a violent start, and sprang from the knee of Jean-Paul, made one swift bound, pushed her lithe body through the thick hedge, and was off into the dark woods of the château; but almost as quick in his movements was Jean-Paul, for he sprang to his feet, tore his way through the hedge, and started in hot pursuit. She kept ever just in front of him, maddeningly near, yet maddeningly far. He pushed his way through the bushes, and the two soon found themselves in the beautiful woods of the château. Jean-Paul thought of nothing save that La Belle Hélène had escaped and he must get her once more. He called in vain; freedom was sweet, and the leaves must have felt delightfully familiar; and ever pursuing the rabbit who had allured her away, the brown beast kept just beyond her master's reach. Perhaps, however, she lost for a moment the call of her kind, or the imploring tones of her little master touched her, for she stopped. At that moment Jean-Paul threw himself forward and caught La Belle Hélène. As his hand fell upon her, another hand, not half so gentle, fell upon the shoulder of Jean-Paul, and with the rabbit clasped in his hand, the startled lad turned and confronted the gamekeeper, who stood with his gun in his hand, rudely peering in the young fellow's face. "Ha! ha! my pretty fellow, caught in the act, in the very act," chuckled the gamekeeper, maliciously, and he put his hand over the little brown rabbit.

#### [to be continued.]

## A CHARLES LAMB PARTY.

### BY EMMA J. GRAY.

ho started the thing, I don't remember. Oh yes, I do—it was Edith Worster; you know she's a member of the Cozy Club; and I tell you it was just splendid, a capital idea, and so pretty in all its arrangements that I am willing to risk anything that you would like me to tell you all about it."

At these words the dear old lady laughed aloud, for how could she "keep still any longer," she roguishly asked, "eaten up with curiosity, as I always am about young folks and their doings." And then Maud's long chestnut-brown hair, tied with a ribbon to match, fell over her grandmother's face in the endeavor to kiss her. For grandma sat in a large arm-chair, which her portly figure filled from arm to arm, while Maud stood at her back looking taller than ever this morning, on account of the long red stripes in her dark brown cashmere morning gown.

Grandma had a square of a silk crazy-quilt in her hand, on which she was about to embroider her initials on a field of lustrous yellow silk, and Maud having now drawn up a rocker, seated herself for work also, directly in front, and as close to her grandmother as room could allow.

"Heigh ho! I suppose I must sew on these tiresome napkins, or they'll never be done." And then spreading one smoothly over her lap, she continued: "Isn't it a torment, to have to stitch these things all around to keep the fringe from fraying? Don't you think fringed napkins a nuisance anyway?"

"Yes," was the slowly given monosyllable; and then grandma, who had been energetic all her life, added, "but, child, think how pretty they are."

At these words Maud made a dive into her apple-green silk work-bag, as if on business bent, and rapidly drew out needle, thread, scissors, and thimble. While she was threading her needle, grandma said, "Really, I can't wait any longer, child; let me hear all about it."

"That's a dear. I thought you'd be dying to know. You'll admit I understand something about your inquisitiveness," and then Maud's laughing baby-blue eyes were lifted lovingly towards her grandmother's face.

"Well, while you were away off West visiting Aunt Maria, I gave Charles Lamb's party."

"Charles Lamb! Well, I'll believe you're the crazy one now, for he's been dead many a year."

"Oh, grandma," and Maud laughingly shook her head, "you are funny! Didn't I tell you that Edith Worster is a member of the Cozy Club? And they are all owlish sort of people—the owl is the bird of wisdom, you know. Well, while you were gone she came to call on me, and I'm sixteen and she's twenty-three."

"What of that?"

"Oh, she's seven years older than I am, and awfully wise, and I didn't know what to say to her exactly; and so, as I've been told to entertain people by asking them questions about themselves, I asked Edith what the Club was reading now. 'Charles Lamb,' and then you should have seen her face change; it was so eager, and looked so full of joy as I thought it had before looked full of misery. I'm sure her call on me was a duty one, one of the good-child kind, and then she asked me if I—I remember"—and Maud stretched her left arm out at full length, and, raising the index-finger, pointed to herself—"had lately read the essay of Elia, entitled, 'Rejoicings Upon the New Year's Coming of Age!'

"I shrunk into almost nothingness before her, no doubt, when I impulsively answered, 'Oh my, no! I don't even know who Elia is—any relation to Elias?' and then I laughed.

"But, grandma, she was awfully nice. She wasn't the least bit proud and horrid, hadn't any of that drawn-up lofty air some people would have put on, and she explained all about it, and told me Elia was the name Charles Lamb sometimes used for himself, and she made me so interested in him, telling me of his love for his sister Mary and his father, and that in writing to the poet Coleridge, who was Charles Lamb's greatest friend, he told him, 'I am wedded to the fortunes of my sister and my poor old father.' Did you know, grandma, Mary Lamb was out of her mind at times? Oh, it was such a grief to her brother!

"Well, no sooner was Edith Worster the other side of our hall door than I rushed to the library and pulled down book after book in my hunt for these same essays of Elia. I knew they were around somewhere, but whether the book was big or little, thick or thin, I didn't know. But after a while I found it, and then I got into that big sleepy hollow down there and read the essay Edith spoke about. Read it all through, remember; just put that to my credit."

[Pg 504]

"I will, Maud; but what's that got to do with your party?"

"Do? It did the party, that's all. Only listen, for my party was splendid. Didn't it have a go, though! It was simply delicious!" and Maud smacked her lips over the remembrance. "Oh, you ought to have seen it for yourself, grandma! You'll hear lots of talk about it yet, though, you'll see if you don't," and Maud wagged her head sagely.

"Well, I'm listening and impatient," and grandma's work was dropped in her lap, while her eager face glowed with the one word "more"—for grandma, as she herself expressed it, was very fond of young folks' doings, and, moreover, Maud was her only grandchild.

"It must have been a good fairy that whispered it to me, for no sooner had I finished the essay than the thought came, why not try that scheme for a party? I knew I was promised a party for my sixteenth birthday, and I had heard mamma say, only that very morning, the invitations must soon go out; and then poor mamma sighed, while she said: 'I wish we could think of something new, Maud. Parties are so hackneyed nowadays—the same old things given over and over.' So when the good fairy whispered, I tripped away to mamma, book in hand, as fast as my feet would take me. And then such a scene of excitement as I made! Mamma begged of me to sit down and talk understandingly if I could. For her part, she didn't know what I was trying to get at. And I don't wonder, for she never had heard me mention The Essays of Elia before in all my life. I think poor mamma thought I had gone quite mad. Oh, grandma, such fun!" and Maud laughed heartily over the remembrance of it.

"However, after awhile I calmed down, as grandpa advises me sometimes, and I explained to mamma about Edith Worster's call, and how I happened to hear of this particular thing; and then, because it was the easiest way, I read mamma the essay, adding, 'Now that would make me a brand-new party.' To this idea mamma instantly agreed, and we sent out the invitations so worded that each one knew perfectly he was to wear a costume that would represent a day in the year. And in order that I wouldn't have too many of one kind and too few of the other, each invitation suggested the kind of a day that was meant. In this way I had June Days, Rainy Days, Lenten Days, etc., etc."

"But, my dear grandchild, my brain is all befogged. I can see by what you have said that you had a sort of a masquerade, but your old grandmother knows no more about that essay than you did. You know, I never was much of a scholar, had to work too hard in my young days to find time for an education, and I've been sorry and ashamed over my lack of knowledge many's the time," and at the remembrance the old lady's eyes filled with tears.

This was too much for impulsive Maud, who in a trice had both her arms around her grandmother's neck, sternly saying: "Take those words back or I'll never kiss you again. No education indeed! You had the education which comes from hard work and denial. Where would all our comforts have been to-day—what would papa have known, I'd like to ask, had it not been for you? What sort of an education would I have had? It's a burning shame," and the hot blood reddened Maud's cheeks, "that I have not made better use of my advantages! But 'it's never too late to mend' are the old words, which I shall apply to myself hereafter; and there, now, dearest grandma," and Maud kissed her, saying aloud: "One, two, three; that's our seal to the bargain. And remember, you are not to say another word against yourself, and I am to study harder than ever before. Who knows, I may be a second Edith Worster, if I try."

"If you try, you can do all things, Maud," and then grandma felt around for her handkerchief, and slowly wiped away the moisture which had dimmed her gold-rimmed spectacles.

"Now I'll run away for a second, and get the book to read you the opening of the essay. You will understand it better than my wordy jargon"; and then off Maud flew, napkins, scissors, and all the rest of her sewing paraphernalia dropping at her feet in a hurry to be gone; however, she stopped for a second, and gathering them up, threw them hastily on the table while she rushed on. In a minute she returned, and though all out of breath, at once found the place and commenced:

"'Rejoicings over the New Year's Coming of Age.'

"'The Old Year being dead, the New Year coming of age, which he does by Calendar Law as soon as the breath is out of the old man's body, nothing would serve the young spark but that he must give a dinner upon the occasion, to which all the Days in the year were invited. The Festivals, whom he deputed as his stewards, were mightily taken with the notion. They had been engaged time out of mind, they said, in providing mirth and good cheer for mortals below, and it was time they should have a taste of their own bounty. It was stiffly debated whether the Fasts should be admitted. Some said the appearance of such starved guests, with mortified faces, would pervert the ends of the meeting. But the objection was overruled by Christmas Day, who had a design upon Ash Wednesday (as you shall hear), and a mighty desire to see how the old domine would behave himself in his cups. Only the Vigils were requested to come with their lanterns to light the gentlefolks home at night.

"'All the Days came to their day. Covers were provided for 365 guests at the principal table, with an occasional knife and fork at the sideboard for the Twenty-ninth of February.

"I should have told you that cards of invitation had been issued. The carriers were the Hours, twelve little merry whirligig foot-pages, as you should desire to see, that went all around and found out the persons invited well enough, with the exception of Easter Day, Shrove Tuesday, and a few such movables who had lately shifted their quarters.

"'Well, they all met at last—foul Days, fine Days, all sorts of Days—and a rare din they made of it.'

"Now, grandma," exclaimed Maud, slamming the book together, "that's enough to give you the idea. Our cards of invitation were decorated, some with hour-glasses, others with clocks or watches, and all stating the day the receiver was to represent. Example: Costume, May Day. Those who didn't understand asked me what was meant; others again told each other, and some did not need any information, as the invitation was called 'A Charles Lamb[Pg 505] Party.' From what I have read, you will understand that no masks were worn.

"Oh, it was so unique and so pretty, and mamma and I had lots of fun selecting the days for each guest! Of course we couldn't have 365 people—our house isn't big enough—so we only had a few Lenten Days, and while all the months were represented, we didn't have every day of the month.

"April-fools' Day was so funny! Oh, grandma, how you would have laughed had you but seen her! She came prepared with all sorts of jokes; one of them was some bits of wood covered with chocolate, which she passed off on her friends as chocolate caramels."

"How was she dressed, Maud?"

"She wore a brown domino, and a blue paper fool's-cap; and such a sight! Why, it nearly reached the ceiling, it was so tall! I don't see how she managed to balance it. And on her back, in big letters cut out of red calico, were the words, 'April Fool.' Oh, she made lots of fun, I tell you!

"At supper-time she played a most unexpected joke, for she threw aside cap and domino, and was just the sweetest thing I ever saw, dressed in pale pink silk embroidered with forget-me-nots. You know she is sweet anyway, grandma."

"I don't know who you are talking about."

"That's true; why, Alice Douglass!"

"Yes, she is sweet, and pretty too. She has such beautiful hair. What Day were you, Maud?"

"I was St. Valentine's Day. I wore rose color, because it is love's own color, and I had several tiny valentines basted on my dress. We had a game during the evening, and I used them as prizes. They were considered valuable souvenirs too, I can assure you. There was no one in the room but who would like to have gotten one.

"Mitchell Morgan was Christmas Day, and he did it to perfection. You know he has the same jolly face that Santa Claus has, and he copied him to the smallest detail, even to the bells, sled, and pack of presents. Of course these were cheap toys. I cannot help being sorry, though, we had such good times, and you weren't in them. Maybe some vacation I'll have one again. Papa thinks it would be just the thing to give in a barn in summer-time.

"The longest boy I knew I had represent the 21st day of June, and the shortest one the 22d of December.

"Rainy Days came in with water-proofs and umbrellas, and would even pretend they were dripping wet and shaking the drops off, while Sunshiny Days looked merry and jolly, and were dressed in all the colors imaginable; some of the girls carried summer flowers as wreaths or garlands, while others had their frocks trimmed with them.

"But you should have seen the Wedding Day. She was the youngest girl invited. Her mother made her a white satin gown with a long train, embroidered with beads and flounced with lace. She wore a white veil which trained with her dress, and carried a big bouquet fastened with white satin ribbon with flowing streamers, exactly the same as a bride would have. I tell you we all clapped when she entered.

"One boy represented Pay Day, who came late, as he always does; another was May the 1st, and he pretended to be moving all the while, and besides all the Days who came to my party, there came lots of goodies to eat—some very old-fashioned refreshments, such as mamma used to have when she gave a party, she said; and we played games, danced, and sung, and had the jolliest time. No one wanted to go home. It wasn't one bit like an ordinary party.

"Was it anything like what you had when you was a girl, grandma?"

[Pg 506]

## THE PAINTED DESERT.[1]

#### 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 IX.

### HOW THE VALLEY OF PEACE WAS DISCOVERED.

n the evening of the day that had introduced Todd Chalmers to the modern cliff-dwellers of the Valley of Peace, he and they gathered about a cheerful fire burning on the open hearth of the castle, and the Professor gave him a history of their coming to that place as follows:

"It is now twelve years since I filled the chair of Biblical Literature and American Ethnology in Calvert College. About that time I was confronted by certain problems that could only be solved by a visit to the pueblos of New Mexico and Arizona, in which, as thee doubtless knows, the manner of life remains to-day practically unchanged from what it was at the time of their discovery by the Spaniards. Through the liberality of thy father were the means for making such a visit furnished.

"Apprehending no danger, I brought with me my wife and my only son Reuben, a well-grown lad of eighteen. We travelled from Albuquerque in a light wagon drawn by two stout mules, and provided with all necessaries for our comfort. Everything went well with us until after we left Zuñi for the Moqui towns of northeastern Arizona, 'the seven cities of Cibola,' as they were named by the Spaniards. Toward them we travelled in company with two Mexican traders who, though they had never visited the Moqui towns, thought they knew the way.

"The Mexicans proved unreliable guides, however, and by the time we crossed the Flax River had managed to lead us from the trail. Still, we believed ourselves to be moving in the right direction, and pushed on, though the country became more and more desolate with every mile.

"Toward evening of the day on which we crossed the river our wagon was halted by the breaking of a piece of harness, and the Mexicans, keeping on, were quickly lost to view behind a rise of ground. I soon had the harness mended, and Reuben, who was mounted on a saddle-horse, rode ahead to catch sight of our companions before they should gain too great a distance.

"INDIANS ON THE WAR-PATH!" HE SHOUTED.

"I followed with all speed, but had not passed the rise when the lad came dashing madly back, shouting: 'Indians! Indians on the war-path!' In another minute he had told his story. A band of Apaches who had broken from their reservation had killed the Mexicans, and were busily engaged in examining their bales of goods. They were so surprised by Reuben's approach that they could only let fly a few arrows as he turned and fled. Being on foot, they pursued him but a short distance; but one of their arrows had struck him and passed through his body, inflicting a most dangerous wound.

"I got him into the wagon, and then, not knowing what better to do, turned it at right angles to the course we had been pursuing, with the idea of making a circuit around the Indians. After that I hoped to regain our original direction, for I knew that in reaching the Moqui towns lay our only hope of safety.

"For three days we wandered over the burning sands and amid the magic paintings of the desert, while our poor lad suffered agonies from his wound. By nightfall of the third day, our horse having already given out and been abandoned, the mules were too weak to travel another step, and I turned them loose to die. One staggered but a few yards before he fell, while the other wandered feebly out of sight.

"That night, amid the crashings of a thunder-storm, our poor boy was mercifully relieved of his sufferings by death, and our only comfort was that we should shortly follow him. But we were to be reserved for further work, and even as we sat with our dead, the cry of one who was to save us was borne to our ears. I stepped from the wagon to listen, and by a flash of lightning saw the figure of a little child standing beside a dark object that lay on the ground. This proved to be an Indian woman, alive and conscious, but too feeble to rise.

"Believing her to be starving, I carried her food, which both she and the child ate ravenously, and by daylight she was able to come to us. By signs I tried to learn from her if any of her people dwelt so near that we might hope to reach them; but she gave me to understand that she was lost, and knew not in what direction they might be found. The child, who was no other than this dear boy"—here the speaker laid his hand lovingly on Nanahe's shoulder—"was in so much better plight than his mother that she had evidently sacrificed her own strength to save his.

"Months afterward we learned that she had been the Moqui wife of a Navajo brave, who had died shortly before our meeting with her. She had hardly been left a widow when a party of Navajos decided to make a raid on the flocks of their Moqui neighbors, and demanded that she should guide them to the best locality for their purpose. This, in spite of all threats, she refused to do, whereupon they drove her with her child into the desert, which they regarded as the place of lost spirits, forbidding her ever to return, under penalty of torture to her child and death for herself. So she, like ourselves, had wandered hopelessly until she had discovered the dying mule that I had turned loose, and followed his trail to our vicinity. From the first I called her Hagar.

"All the previous day we had been slowly approaching a great white mesa toward which, without special reason, I had directed our course. Now we were close beside it, and I conceived the idea that at its base we might find some shaded crevice in which to lay our dead boy. At any rate, I could better bear to leave him there than out on the pitiless desert. So with mother's aid and that of Hagar, I finally succeeded in bearing him to the place I desired. We found a deep cool recess in the rocky wall, and there laying him down, rested for a while before undertaking to complete our sad task.

"We were in so pitiable a plight from weakness and our recent exertions that the woman Hagar seemed to have lapsed into unconsciousness, and allowed her child to wander unnoticed from her side. All at once there came from him a shrill cry, accompanied by a muffled crash from the inner end of the recess, to which he had penetrated. Hagar sprang to her feet and sped toward the sound, while I followed close after. We found the little one lying unharmed at the foot of a rocky slope, while just beyond, as though it had leaped over him, lay a bowlder apparently newly fallen from above.

"Glancing up in the direction from which it must have come, I was amazed to perceive a ray of light shining from beyond the barrier. Cautiously making my way up the slope, I discovered the light to shine through a small opening caused by the displacement of the bowlder already mentioned. Looking through this as through a window, I beheld a sight so marvellous that for a time I could not believe in its reality. I need not attempt to describe it to thee, Todd Chalmers, for thee is already familiar with the aspect of the Valley of Peace, and can judge of my feelings at coming thus unexpectedly upon it.

"Soon after we discovered a ruined hut of stone that told of former human occupancy of the valley, and, as it stood near a stream, we lighted our fire close beside it. Taking Hagar with me, and again visiting the wagon, we brought back a number of things most needful for immediate use. Among them was a fowling-piece, which was the[Pg 507] only firearm that I possessed. With this I fired at and killed a rabbit that regarded us from a short distance without the least trace of fear. The effect of that shot was prodigious. It roared and echoed among the cliffs like a thousand thunders, and caused the appearance of such an amount of animal life as satisfied me that we were in no danger of starving so long as we should remain in the valley.

"After a supper of stewed rabbit, thin cakes of cornmeal that Hagar deftly baked on the heated surface of a flat stone, and tea, the Indian woman and I made one more trip to the wagon, from which we brought in all our bedding. Then, after collecting a sufficient supply of firewood to last until morning, we sought our rude couches, and prepared to pass our first night in the wonderful place to which we had been so strangely led.

"The next day we brought in all our effects from the wagon, cleaned out the old hut, rebuilt its walls, chimney, and fireplace, and stretching our wagon cover above it, found ourselves comfortably housed. In all this work Hagar proved herself invaluable, knowing much better than I how to handle clay and building stones, while even little Nanahe, working under his mother's direction, willingly performed such light tasks as came within the limit of his strength."

### CHAPTER X.

### MODERN LIFE IN AN ANCIENT CLIFF DWELLING.

"No sooner was our work on the hut completed," continued the Professor, "than I determined to make an exploration of the valley, for I had yet to learn of its size, what it produced, whether it contained any inhabitants besides ourselves, and if there was any entrance to it other than the one by which we had come. So, after an early breakfast, I set off down the stream that flowed past our camp, carrying the fowling-piece over my shoulder.

"As I advanced, the fertility of the soil was a constant source of delight, for it not only produced a heavy growth of grasses, besides the useful amole, or soap-root, and many other plants, but a great variety of trees, among which I recognized cottonwood, cedar, the piñon or nut-bearing pine, and peach-trees that had run wild from some long-ago planting. These last showed the valley to have been visited by human beings since the coming of Spaniards to this country, for by them were peaches introduced. I also found an abundance of cotton-plants with full bolls, which, though small in size from lack of cultivation, would yield a serviceable fibre. No trace of human beings was to be seen save the ancient ruins of a few huts, together with mounds of broken pottery and stone implements of every description.

"When late in the day I regained camp, almost my first greeting from mother was, 'Whatever thee has discovered, Rufus, I am persuaded that we who remained behind have found something of still greater value.'

"Then she told me how, with the keen instinct of her race for such things, Hagar, while gathering pine-nuts, had run across a trail leading up the face of the cliffs, and had followed it to this very place. Mother had also climbed to the platform, taken a hasty glance at its marvels, and then, leaving Hagar and the child up there, had returned to meet me, and conduct me to the wonderful place they had found.

"Smiling at her excitement, for I could not then realize the value of the discovery, I followed her up the steep acclivity, wondering at her endurance, especially when we came to the last fifteen feet of perpendicular steps. When we finally gained the place where Hagar smilingly awaited us, I was amazed at the width of the platform and the extent of the view to be obtained from it. I longed for the spy-glass which had formed part of the equipment of our wagon, and which had been left in the hut. I even proposed to return and get it, thinking that the platform and view from it embraced the whole of Hagar's discovery. At that mother interfered, and saying that she had something of much greater importance than a view to show me, directed my attention to the further end of the platform. Then for the first time I became aware of a small house occupying the entire space beneath a jutting of the cliff.

"It was built of stone, so deftly laid and so colored by time that even a short distance away it could not be distinguished from the adjacent rock. From the shape of its doorway, which was thus"—here the Professor traced a rude diagram in the ashes of the hearth—"but which we afterward altered to suit our own notions, I knew that the structure was a cliff-dwelling of the most ancient pattern.

"In an instant I was as excited as mother, though with a different reason, for this was the very type of dwelling I had been most anxious to study, and if it should prove to have remained unvisited since its abandonment, my fondest hopes of discovery would be fulfilled. Nor was I disappointed, for an examination of the interior revealed a profusion of unbroken pottery, implements of stone, horn, and bone, pictographs or rude drawings on the walls, agate and jasper fragments of fossil trees, such as I had noticed in abundance at the lower end of the valley, and many other things, all in such a fine state of preservation as gave instant proof that here was a treasure not yet duplicated in America.

"Over all these things and on the floor the dust of ages lay thick, and rose in suffocating clouds with our every movement. Heedless of it, I penetrated each of the three rooms contained in the house, wild with delight over what I saw. I was somewhat taken aback when I found that mother, who had seemed to share my enthusiasm, was all this time regarding the place with the eye of a housewife, and as one in which we might establish a home for such time as we should remain in the valley. Finally, however, she won me to her way of thinking, and though we returned to the camp for that night, we set to work early the next day to put 'Cliff Castle,' as mother called it, in a habitable condition.

"On my second visit to it I discovered the steps leading to the top of the mesa and the ruined watch-tower that crowns it. There I also found a rock cistern, and a broken conduit, that could be opened at pleasure, by which its waters had formerly been conveyed to the house. This, with Hagar's skilled assistance, I soon repaired, and by nightfall of that day we had the ancient cliff dwelling cleansed and ready for occupancy. Another day was necessary for the removal of such goods as we needed from below, but with that accomplished, we were comfortably settled in what has been from that day to this our home.

"Of course much has been done to it since then in the way of enlargement, the making of a more generous provision for light and ventilation, and in the adding of many comforts, but in its general aspect Cliff Castle stands to-day unchanged from the time it was built, many centuries before the continent of America was discovered by Columbus.

"Although so long as my meagre supply of ammunition lasted I had no difficulty in procuring all the meat needed for our table, a supply that Nanahe has kept up since by means of his throw-stick, I began the making of a field as soon as our dwelling was put in order. My greatest labor lay in fencing this against goats and rabbits. When it was ready I planted it with corn, oats, beans, and squashes, the seed for which were yielded by a bag of feed for our poor mules that I had procured in Zuñi. I also set out peach-trees and grape-vines, improving greatly the quality of their fruit by cultivation, and a little later I captured two young goats, from which our present domestic flock has been reared.

"In all our labors, both mine in the field and mother's in the house, Hagar was our invaluable assistant and instructor. She it was who taught me to use the ancient stone hoes and planting sticks of my remote predecessors, to construct wattled fences, to cure meat so that it might be kept, and to work in clay until I could produce rude but serviceable articles of pottery. She taught mother how to spin cotton thread on the stone spindles that we found in this and other cliff dwellings, and afterwards to weave them into a coarse cloth on a rude loom that she herself constructed.

"She gave lessons in making matting of yucca fibre, in plaiting baskets, dressing hides, and in sewing[Pg 508] rabbit-skins with bone needles. Before we began to harvest our planted crops, she gathered up large quantities of certain grass-seeds, ground them into flour on old stone metates, and made of this a palatable bread. She taught us where to look for wasp honey, as well as how to extract sugar from grapes and peaches.

"I discovered the deposit of salt that seasons our food, and the selenite that, cleaved into thin sheets, serves instead of glass to close our windows against the cold of winter; but nearly every other comfort with which thee finds us surrounded we owe to the knowledge, skill, and cheerful industry of that splendid woman. She remained with us nearly two years. Then, with her life work nobly accomplished, she left us, and we buried her beside our dear boy.

"Since then Nanahe has been as our own well-loved son, bravely filling his mother's place. With his increasing strength he has gradually assumed the duties that my failing powers have caused me to relinquish, until now he is our mainstay and dependence, as well as the delight of our declining years. He has been quick to learn all that I could teach him, and is fitted for a wider sphere of activity than that in which he now moves. But I know not how we could exist without him, nor how he might gain the outer world, even though we knew in what direction lay its most accessible point.

"In all these years I have not been able to determine our locality nor our distance from any known place, nor have we been visited by any human being beside thyself since coming to the valley. On account of the marvellous coloring of the desolate region surrounding us I have called it the Painted Desert, though I am not certain that the name originated with me, for I have a dim memory of hearing it before. I cannot satisfy myself, however, as to whether the Moqui towns lie to the east or the west of us. I am of the former opinion, but Nanahe, for some reason, inclines to the latter. At the same time, neither of us can form any idea of how far away they may be."

"I do not know," said Todd, "for I am very much ashamed to say that I was so filled with visions of hunting as to neglect my opportunities for gaining profitable information while with my brother's expedition. I too, however, am of the opinion, that the Moqui towns lie to the eastward of this place. Nor do I think they can be at any great distance, certainly no further than two active young chaps such as Nanahe and I might cover without danger during a time of rains. Don't you think, sir, that we might make the attempt?" concluded the boy, eagerly.

"What does thee think would become of mother and me if thee should take Nanahe from us?" asked the old man.

"We would only be gone a short time, and would return with such assistance as would enable you also to rejoin the world from which you have been cut off so long," replied Todd.

"My son, when first we came here I too was impatient of imprisonment, and fretted against it; but since then I have come to a knowledge that, with our present freedom from the cares and anxieties of the world, our life is happier here than it could possibly be elsewhere. More than that, this place is our home, which we have learned so to love that mother and I hope never to leave it, save for the better land of our Father. I would not seek to detain thee here one moment against thy will, nor would I hinder the departure of Nanahe if I knew of a way for his going and an object to be gained. At present neither of these seems to be offered; but in the Lord's own time, if it be His will, they are certain to come, and until then we must be content to await His pleasure. Therefore, my dear lad, satisfy thyself as well as may be in this place, gain from it whatever of health, strength, and knowledge thee can, and have faith to believe that in due time a way of escape will be opened to thee."

Todd accepted this advice in silence and with a heavy heart, for to him the Valley of Peace, in which he could not regard himself as other than a prisoner, was only a refuge from the perils of its encircling desert; while the great, outer world from which he was cut off contained all of life that he deemed worth the having. Therefore during the next few weeks, while he found much pleasure in the company of Nanahe, under whose guidance he explored every foot of the valley and became an expert climber of its frowning cliffs, he brooded constantly over plans of escape. He even went so far as to propose to the Indian lad that they two should set forth on a search for the Moqui towns in spite of the Professor's protest, but was met with an unqualified refusal.

#### [to be continued.]

[Pg 509]

## ONE TOUCH OF NATURE.

#### A LEGEND OF WESTERN NEW YORK.

### BY G. T. FERRIS.

hat d'ye think it all means?" said Mark Lytte, peering through the tangled thicket of hazel and sumach, where the earliest autumn dyes had begun to lay their crimson.

Buckskin, before answering his young comrade, pondered on the scene before him. In the hollow nestling at the foot of the hill and clasped in the bend of the river lay the large Indian village, all astir with motion and excitement. But it seemed not to be the fever of war and slaughter which so often convulses the aboriginal man, but a jubilee of mirth and innocent delight. They were looking down on one of the most considerable towns of the Seneca tribe in western New York, near what is now Olean. Hurrying through the village streets, laughing groups of dark-skinned youths and maids carried wreaths of wild-flowers, branches of trees, and great sheaves of maize-stalks toward a lofty pole which towered in the centre.

"To think I shouldn't 'a' known quick as powder flashin'" finally said Buckskin John, whose iron face and tanned skin showed his occupation no less than his garb. "It's the Feast of the Green Corn[2] among these Iroquois devils, an' then they're allus as frisky as so many lambs. They put off the wolf-skin for a while, but they keep it mighty handy, I kin tell ye."

"Perhaps it'll give us a better chance to try our luck," answered Mark, whose face was that of a lad of sixteen, though his height and the sturdy square of his chest looked older. He wrung his hands excitedly, and continued, with a quiver in his voice, shaking his long rifle in the direction of the village: "What can we do? I shall go crazy if we fail. Mother's grievin' to death, fadin' each month into a mere shadder. 'Twas all right till last year, Buckskin, and she showed no sign but what she'd a'most forgot about our lost Nellie. Then we heard of the little white gal in Cornplanter's village, and that he was the very chief who made the raid when we lived at Fort Pitt. Then Cunnel Johnson over to Fort Niagara, though he did fight agin us in the late war, came to see Cornplanter six months ago. An' the chief would say nuthin' but that the little gal, whoever her parents were, was no longer white, but Indian, his adopted sister, whom he loved dearer than life. That broke mother's heart, for she began to pine soon as she found as Cornplanter ud never let the captive free."

Mark's brief rehearsal did scant justice to a typical drama of the border. Six years before, during the early days of the Revolutionary war, a war party of the Senecas had made an irruption into western Pennsylvania, and among their captives was a girl of four years old belonging to the Lytte family. The great chief, who shares with Red Jacket the highest mark in Seneca tradition, took the trembling captive to his mother with the words:

"My mother, I bring to you a daughter to supply the place of my brother, killed by the Lenapé six moons ago.[Pg 510] She shall dwell in my lodge and be my sister." So little Eleanor Lytte became Ma-za-ri-ta, "the Ship under Full Sail," so named from her joyous and energetic disposition.

"Waal, we'll have to go slow," Buckskin had answered his companion. "I'll resk my topknot to help ye, lad, but we'll see how the lan' lays." The old hunter knew that at this festival-time hospitality would be flung with both hands to all comers. So they moved down the hill into the main village street, where a tall Indian, with all the insignia of a great sagamore in his tattooing, head-dress, and port, received them with a grave welcome.

"My white brothers have come to the green-corn feast of the Senecas. They are welcome. Our hearts are glad, and all we have is theirs." Then he ordered his guests conducted to a well-built log house, where a generous provision for all their wants was found. They had scarcely satisfied their simple needs when the music of Indian flutes and drums drew them to the door, and there they found the messenger ready to conduct them to the "long house," where the procession was forming which would begin the festivities.

MA-ZA-RI-TA LED THE CHANT AS THEY DANCED ABOUT THE PILLAR.

Foremost, hand in hand with the chief, was a brilliant little figure, a girl about ten years old. With a skin naturally snow-white, but now kissed to a ruddy hue by the sunshine, and long brown plaits glittering with the most brilliant beads; petticoat and bodice of the finest broadcloth, and around her neck and shoulders rows of silver brooches and strings of white and purple wampum; on her feet deer-skin moccasins embroidered with porcupine quills, contrasting with the scarlet leggings above—Ma-za-ri-ta looked indeed the fit princess of the revels. The pride which shone in Cornplanter's eyes, the admiration with which all the Indians gazed on the dancing girl—for her feet had already begun to move to a nimble measure—struck a chill to the heart of Mark, for it seemed a portent of sure defeat. Her blue eyes sparkled with joy as she danced in the van, followed by the Seneca girls in pairs, all attired in gala dress, and with wreaths of flowers on their heads. Then came Cornplanter and his lesser chiefs, the warriors, the squaws, and the children, and the march advanced to the pole in the centre of the village, shaped in a square enclosure, that painted pole horribly etched with the scars of innumerable tomahawks when the frenzy of war-dancing made it the symbol of the enemy's body. Now the great mast was belted thick with greenery to its very top, corn-stalks with pendent ears, bunches of golden-rod, and all the richest spoil of the thickets and meadows. Ma-za-ri-ta's sweet voice, as the dance of the maidens gyrated more and more swiftly about the gorgeous pillar, led the chant among the more shrill and unmusical notes of her companions.

Mark edged his way through the throng, for a fancy had suddenly come to him, and he stood in the inner ring next the circle of dancers.

"Nellie! little Nellie! don't you remember Mark?" he said, in a piercing whisper, as she approached several paces in the van of her choir.

Ma-za-ri-ta slowed her pace, looking at him wonderingly with a flush of offended pride, for the little princess felt she was the queen of the Senecas, child as she was. Again as she neared his place she heard the words, "Nellie, can't you remember?" The beautiful child face was troubled, as though some dumb vague memory were stirring under the surface, but again she moved on, shaking her head. Bitterly did Mark bewail his failure to Buckskin, for, "I'm sure," he said, "she is our lost Nellie, and I can see our mother's look in her pretty eyes." Something worked like yeast in the old hunter's thoughts as he listened in silence to Mark's passionate rambling words that night, when all the camp was hushed to silence, and they lay tossing on their bear-skins.

"Why don't you answer?" the boy burst out, with petulance.

"Mark, I'm glad," the other said, deliberately, "that there seems to be no chance of takin' the little gal away by force or cheatin'. I rayther guess there's a doggone poor show of doin' anything that-a-way, and we might 'a' known it afore. But I'll swar she's her mother's darter, as ye said a minnit since, and when ye talk about the mother, thar's the key of the hull sityvashun, as the lawyer chaps ud say. Ye don't quite unnerstan' what I mean, hey? Waal, it's jes this, my young master. Your mammy must come down here to Cornplanter's village, and she'll do mor'n all the guns and bagnets of Gen'ral St. Clair's army to get the little gal back, ef so be she is the right one, and I genooinely believe it. The chief loves his adopted sister with every drop of his blood, and his people adore her as their little princess. They'd lay their lives down afore givin' her up, onless ye tech 'em jess right. But I know 'em well, blood-thirsty varmints and wild beasts as they are when you cross 'em, and a redskin's got a heart as beats big and strong as any white man's, ef ye can find it oncet. Then I've heerd uv Cornplanter fur the last fifteen year, and they all say he's one of the best as well as bravest critturs as ever wore a scalp-lock. Cheer up, laddie; we'll git her, but we can't do it yet. Trust ole Buckskin's idee."

Buckskin's solace scarcely calmed Mark's restlessness, and after the hunter's snores proved him in the realm of dreams, he arose with the idea of strolling through the moonlit village, and walking off the fancies that would not let him sleep. The lonely streets were wrapped in the pallid shine which silhouetted the log houses and the trees in ghostly shadows, and had it not been for the occasional howl of a distant wolf or the snarl of an Indian dog, he might have fancied himself the only waking creature. He wandered aimlessly, in a maze of fear and doubt what would be the outcome of it all. His careless footsteps finally carried him to the edge of the village, where, at the very shadow of the forest, stood a large double house apart from all the others. Then he saw he was not the only sleepless soul, for from its doorway glided a figure whose height and garb—for the moonlight glittered on the costly bead-work—showed it to be the one who filled his heart full to bursting. He forgot all prudence and doubt, and sprang forward swiftly.

"Nellie! Nellie!" he cried, in tones that cut the silent air like a knife. "I am your brother Mark—your playmate that loved you so dearly. Come home with me to mammy, who is dying for you, away from this dreadful place. A long time ago they carried you away from us, and now I've found you again, and will not let you go, my darling little sister." He forgot all the surroundings—all but need of giving voice to the feeling that shook him as the wind shakes the leaves in the trees.

Ma-za-ri-ta's face quivered in the starlight as she shrank from the hand that eagerly clutched her arm, as if he would have led her away at once; then something like half-awakened intelligence was quenched in a wave of blind terror, and she shrieked aloud.

A tall figure leaped like a tiger from the dark of the doorway, and Mark felt the grip of iron fingers on his throat which threatened to strangle him. As he lay helpless in that clutch, he saw an upraised tomahawk sparkling in the moonshine; but Cornplanter did not strike, though his words were edged with cutting disdain.

"Such is the honor of palefaces," said he; "from the cub to the full-grown wolf the same. The Senecas welcomed their guests and did them honor. Their hearts were warm and friendly, for it is now their festival of peace and goodwill. But what should they do to one who would steal in the dark, and rob them of their dearest?"

"Do?" said another voice, for Mark was speechless with rage, shame, and impotence, and Buckskin darted forward, grasping Cornplanter's uplifted arm, though the chief showed no immediate purpose to use his gleaming weapon. "Do? They should respect the voice of natur' and blood cryin' aloud!" Honest Buckskin had wakened suddenly, and alarmed at Mark's absence, sought him through the Indian village. "Look ye here, chief, this is a foolish boy, and he couldn't 'a' done what ye think, had he been in ever so much airnest. But he suspecks he's found his little sister that you and yourn took from his mammy's arms six year ago durin' the time o' fightin'. The great Seneca is just; and let him say, then, who's the thief, ef it comes to a matter o' stealin'."

The ferocity which had hardened Cornplanter's lineaments still threatened the offender in spite of the hunter's[Pg 511] plea. But Ma-za-ri-ta, who had listened with shifting emotions chasing over her face, vainly striving to pierce the meaning of the words, now threw her arms about the neck of the chief, and spoke rapidly in the Seneca tongue. The Indian's stern aspect melted and took on its more wonted expression, in which there was something almost benignant.

"Go without harm even while it is night," he said, "lest the Senecas discover all, and sore mischief befall." He brought them their arms, loaded their wallets with food, and dismissed them. And as Mark turned before entering the forest, he caught a last look of Ma-za-ri-ta, watching their retreating footsteps with clasped hands and head bent forward.

It was about a week afterwards that Colonel Johnson received a visit at Fort Niagara in Canada, just across the river, which whetted his interest keenly. This whilom British agent of the Iroquois tribes still exercised a powerful influence over them, though their territory now belonged to the conceded limits of the new republic. To him they looked even yet for advice and authority. He recognized the Lyttes, mother and son (for the father was dead), and his feelings guessed shrewdly at the occasion as they walked up the esplanade from the jetty where they had landed.

"Well, Mrs. Lytte," he said, after the first look at her pale and working features, which were full of news, "I see you've learned something more."

"Cunnel, in the name of God, and for the sake of your own dear wife and children, you must help me now," the woman gasped, for her throat was too full. "Mark has jess come from Cornplanter's village, and he says for sure and sure it's little Nellie. An' she didn't know him! But, Cunnel, she will know the mammy that bore her and gave her suck, for I'll die of a broken heart ef she don't."

"We must trust for the best, my dear lady," said he, cheerily. "The first thing will be the child's knowing you. That clearly proven, the question will be as to Cornplanter. It will be a knock-down blow, but the Seneca has great qualities. He may set his face against it like flint, yet I shall be surprised if he thinks of self alone in the matter. And what idea did you get of Cornplanter?" he concluded, turning to Mark.

"Pretty good for an Indian," said Mark, moodily; "but ef he don't give up Nellie to mother, I'll brain him with his own hatchet, ef I die for it next minute."

"Well crowed, young cockeril," laughed the Colonel, "but we'll find better weapons than tomahawks. It's the heart and not the skull we've got to reach." There was no need to waste time, and quick outfit was made for the journey to the Seneca village, about eighty miles away.

Cornplanter received the message from the Indian runner, giving warning of Colonel Johnson's proposed visit, but with no further hint of purpose. Yet he felt a keen pang of foreboding. Stoic as he was, there was something in the air that mocked him with the notion of fate lying in ambush close at hand. As Ma-za-ri-ta afterwards recalled, the chief treated her with a clinging, pathetic tenderness during these days she had never known before. And finally, when he saw with Colonel Johnson the youth who had been his recent guest, and a pale-faced woman with questioning gaze that wandered and hunted like that of a mad-woman, it was no longer guesswork. It was as if a bullet had pierced his chest. The Englishman knew his man, and made a plain appeal with all the fling of that bullet.

Cornplanter heard with a stern, impassive face. "My father's words are good and just," he said. "Let Ma-za-ri-ta decide," and hope knocked again faintly at the gate that his little sister would not know the white woman who had come to rob him of his heart's blood. The girl was led from her lodge, unknowing the test, and ran gayly to her Indian brother's side, and looked curiously at the little white group in the centre of the watchful throng of red men. Her eyes glanced smilingly at her Indian friends, till they were fastened as if by a magnet on the white woman's face, and there they hung, fascinated, open-mouthed, spellbound, as though they could never drink their fill. The woman stood, arms half extended, burning eyes unquenched by their own tears, lips dumbly moving. Fear, wonder, longing, doubt, swept over the girl's face, till all thought was swallowed up in a light unspeakable, and her tongue babbled "ma-ma." She tottered, but Mrs. Lytte leaped at her and locked her fast with convulsive cries and sobs.

The chief's rigid face was that of a bronze man. All listened for his lips to speak. But it seemed as if the jaws were locked. And when the voice came his followers scarcely knew its hollow accents:

"The Great Spirit has spoken, and who are his red children that they should refuse to listen." Then he covered his face with a corner of his deer-skin robe and passed swiftly from their midst, this Indian Agamemnon, who would not reveal his own agony of spirit.

Eleanor Lytte never saw her Indian brother again, but costly presents each year proved his indelible memory till his death.

## THE REMARKABLE ADVENTURES OF SANDBOYS.

### A BIG HAUL.

### BY JOHN KENDRICK BANGS.

There was great excitement at the hotel. The oldest guest—that is to say, the one who had passed the greatest number of summers at the Mountain House—had just come in from his morning's fishing, and had brought with him the largest trout that, so far as any one knew, had ever been caught in the lake. It was a perfect beauty. Its body was long and graceful in its lines and curves, and its "speckles" were of such a lovely hue and quality that a little girl who was looking at them remarked that she "wouldn't mind gettin' her nose all over freckles if they was only pretty and pink like that instead of rusty-lookin' little yeller spots." And everybody in the hotel, even the fishers who had fished for days and days without catching anything, or getting even any bites save those of the black-flies, were glad that the luck had come to the oldest guest, for he was a great favorite with everybody; grandfathers as well as boys had a great affection for him, he was such a fine fellow, and so pleasant and courteous to every one. Probably no one else in the hotel could have caught the "record" trout without making somebody jealous of him, but in this case it was different, the oldest guest had such a habit of seeming to share his good-fortune with all with whom he came in contact. So it happened that there was great rejoicing over the morning's catch, and everybody said it was a wonderful one—even Sandboys acknowledged that it was a catch to be proud of.

"Never been beat as an individual catch," he said. "Never. Biggest trout I ever see; but not the biggest haul—not quite. No, not by a long shot, by hookey!"

This remark made in the hearing of Bob and Jack naturally aroused the curiosity of the two boys. They had been, on the whole, the chiefest of the admirers of the oldest guest for a long time, and when he came in just before dinner with his three-and-three-quarter-pounder, Jack ranked him on the score of achievement with Napoleon Bonaparte, and Bob admitted that he stood second to none but George Washington. Sandboys's observation, however, changed this somewhat. If somebody had once made a bigger haul, even if he had not caught a bigger fish, there might have to be some slight rearrangement in the order of their lists of heroes.

"What do you mean by that, Sandboys?" they asked.

[Pg 512]

"Just what I say," replied Sandboys. "As a fish, that's the biggest fish that's ever been took out of any of these lakes about here; but as a haul on a single cast, it ain't in it with one I know about."

"Who made it?" asked Bob. "Jimmie Hicks?"

"Jimmie nothin'," retorted Sandboys, scornfully. "Jimmie was a mighty smart lad at fishin'; but I'm talkin' of something alongside of which smartness ain't no more'n a peanut side of an elephant."

"Then who did do it?" queried Jack. "You?"

Sandboys gave a significant little nod, and answered modestly, "Well, I had something to do with it; but old Spavinshanks is entitled to some of the credit—most of it, in fact."

The boys settled down on the settee, which, when he was on duty, was Sandboys's throne.

"Tell us about it," they said.

Sandboys glanced anxiously around, and then he shook his head.

"Some other time," he said in a whisper. "When he ain't in ear-shot. He don't know nothin' about it, and if he did he'd be awful mad."

"He" to whom Sandboys so mysteriously alluded was Mr. Bingle, the owner of the Mountain House stables.

"If he ever suspected," continued Sandboys, "he could ruin me. It was his tackle I used!"

And with that he was off out of ear-shot, and away from the sharp eyesight of Mr. Bingle, whose glance seemed to penetrate to the core of his conscience, as it is apt always to be when consciences with something weighing upon them are involved.

Later on when he was off duty, and Mr. Bingle was far away, Sandboys made confession to Bob and Jack, and it ran somewhat in this wise:

"The reason I didn't want old Bingle to hear," he explained, "was exactly as I told you. It was his tackle I used with my big haul, and he'd be fightin' mad if he knew who it was as done it. He knew it had been done, of course, but he never knew it was me."

"But I don't see," said Bob. "Using somebody else's tackle isn't any crime. Everybody does it, don't they?"

"It all depends on the tackle," said Sandboys. "Some tackle's more expensive than others, and more easily damaged. Old Bingle holds his at about eighteen dollars a day—and I must say when he got it back it was pretty wet and muddy—'specially old Spavinshanks."

Bob looked at Jack and Jack looked at Bob. Sandboys when he spoke plainly was hard enough to find otherwise than queer, but when he chose to veil his words in mystery, he was even harder to see through than a stone wall. The idea of any man's holding his fishing-tackle at a valuation of eighteen dollars a day was preposterous enough; that he should object to its being brought back wet and muddy was surprising; but the phrase "'specially old Spavinshanks" was absolutely past comprehension.

Jack laughed, however, in spite of his mystification, and said, "Who was old Spavinshanks? The worm?"

"Not a bit of it," returned Sandboys. "Old Spavinshanks was that old gray horse Mr. Bingle paid ten dollars for thirty years ago, and has been earning fifteen dollars a day out of every summer every year since. I borrered him, though Bingle didn't know it, and that's how I came to get the big haul, and my, what a wet and muddy beast he was when he got back into the stable that night! He was so muddy they thought he was the black mare for a minute.

"The way it came about was this. I got word one day that an old schoolmate o' mine I hadn't seen for two years was down at the Flume, and I thought I'd like to go down and see him. So I went to old Bingle, and asked him to let me have a horse and buggy to drive down there in, for, as you know, it's over five miles from here. Bingle looked at me calmly for a second, and said all right. The reg'lar fare down an' back is ten dollars. You can have the rig for six—four dollars off. He knew I couldn't pay it, and I told him so. Well what of it, says he. You don't think I'm keepin' a livery-stable for fun, do ye? No, says I, but I've done lots o' things for you for nothin'; you might do somethin' for me. Well I will, says he. Next winter, when there ain't no call for hoss-and-buggies, you can have the rig free. Now it'll cost you six dollars. That made me mad, an' as it was in days when I didn't think much about right or wrong, not havin' studied theeligy, as I have since, I made up my mind to have the rig, an' have it free. And when I make up my mind to a thing, it's as good as done. I had the rig when night came on an' I was through with my day's work, and old Bingle had locked up for the night and gone to bed—he generally got so tired figerin' up his profits at night he went to bed about half past eight—I sneaked down to the barn, took old Spavinshanks, harnessed him up to the buggy, and started off for the Flume. I spent a very pleasant evening with my friend Silas, and along about eleven o'clock I started back home again. Everything went well until I got up to within a half-mile of the lake, when it began to rain like buckets. I never see such a pour in all my life.

"'Whoa!' says I to old Spav., an' when he come to a standstill I fastened the reins to the whip-stock, an' jumped out to put up the leather cover of the buggy. I wasn't goin' to be drenched if I could help it. Spav. stood still enough whilst I was fixin' the buggy-top and fastenin' down the flaps at the sides. He was a good old horse, and had worked so hard for the money he'd earned for Bingle that he hadn't any false pride about bein' skittish. He was just a tired, sensible old hoss. But there's a limit to what horses'll stand, an' when lightnin' strikes a tree back of 'em, with a noise like a slew of artillery let off all to once, no self-respectin' hoss can be asked to stand quiet. That's what happened. Just as I was gettin' ready to get back into the buggy again, flash! boom! comes the streak, and Spav simply flew off in a great scare. As he approached the lake he shied, an' when he got to the part of the road that's right on the lake he lost his senses and plunged in, the buggy, with the top up, trailin' after him. I was kerflummexed that time, I can tell you. I thought sure Spavinshanks'ld be drownded and the buggy bust, but it didn't happen that way at all. He swam right around the lake, luggin' the buggy right along too, an' by the time I got to the boat-house he was nearin' the shore just beyond. I made a rush for him, and as he came out had him by the bridle, and inside of five minutes we was at the barn. There he was, covered with mud and the buggy just reekin' with fish. There was two hundred an' twenty trout, forty-seven suckers, and 'most a million minnows—every one of 'em caught in the buggy-top!"

"Dear me!" cried Jack. "Really?"

"Yes, really," said Sandboys. "An' that's why there's so few fish left in that lake now. Old Spavinshanks must have hauled that buggy through every blessed school in the place. Which is why I say that while that trout we see to-day was the record trout, he ain't no record haul for one cast, not by a long shot, by hookey."

And the boys agreed with him that it was indeed a marvellous haul, and with a mighty strange kind of tackle too. Nor did they wonder that Sandboys was reluctant to have Mr. Bingle hear of it. Hardly any owner of horses would care to have his horse and buggy used in exactly that way, no matter of how grasping or of how generous a spirit he might be.

[Pg 513]

The Arlington High-School Polo Team has won the High-School Championship in Massachusetts, winning seventeen games out of nineteen played. Aside from these successes in the League matches the Arlington players have met and defeated nearly all the other high-school teams in the vicinity of Boston, and have played two tie games with the Harvard 'Varsity team, and one tie game with the Cambridge League team, which is considered the strongest in the State.

The championship of the Interscholastic Association in the polo series was won by Cambridge High and Latin; but this school's team has been twice defeated by Arlington, so that it seems only just to award to the latter the credit of being the best school polo team in Massachusetts.

THE ARLINGTON HIGH-SCHOOL POLO TEAM.

A few words only concerning the individual players. Johnson, the captain, played first rush, and is considered one of the cleverest men at this position. He is a very fast skater. He played on the team last year, and is somewhat of an all-round athlete, holding down centre-field on the nine and playing half-back on the eleven. Puffer, the second rush, was captain of the polo team last year, and in the fall he played tackle on the football eleven. His strong point is the accuracy of his shots, and he is credited with having scored the greatest number of goals during this season.

The half-back position was well played by Pierce, who was a new man, but had had some athletic training on the eleven in the fall, where his position was that of guard. Wood also played half-back, and was on the team the year before. He, too, is a member of the school nine and eleven. The goal was looked after by White, and he did as good work in his position as any of the goal-keepers of the neighborhood. It was his first year as a polo-player, but like the other members of the team he has had football and baseball experience. His brother played centre, and is a veteran, having been a member of last year's team, second base on the nine, and quarter-back on the football team.

The hardest games that Arlington has played were those against the Felton A.A., the Harvard 'Varsity, and Summerville High-School. The Felton team was a very strong one, and after two twenty-minute halves defeated Arlington 1-0. Summerville High also got a game away from Arlington, but in the return match was defeated 4-0 in a fifteen-minute half.

BASEBALL CHAMPIONSHIP CUP.
New England Interscholastic League.

The Interscholastic Baseball Championship Cup, which has been played for for seven years, has finally been awarded to the Cambridge High and Latin School, their team having won it the greatest number of times. This cup is of solid silver, nearly nine inches high, in the form of a loving-cup with handles. In design the bowl rests upon a circular wreath of holly, and the bulge of the bowl itself is decorated with wreaths of wild roses.

The first winner of this cup was the Boston Latin School, which secured it in 1889. In 1890 and '91 Cambridge[Pg 514] High and Latin held the trophy, but surrendered it in 1892 to English High, getting it back from them again in 1893. In 1894 C. H. and L. was tied with two other teams for the championship. No award was made that year. Then again in 1895 C. H. and L. was tied with Hopkinson's. No school in the seven years' struggle having made so good a record as Cambridge, the cup is consequently now the permanent property of the school.

The principal feature about the two most important in-door scholastic tournaments held in this city within the last two weeks was the promptitude with which the events were disposed of. As a rule, these in-door games drag along until after the dinner hour; but the Berkeley games were over quite early in the afternoon, and the Barnard games, a week later, took little more time to be decided. The credit in both cases is doubtless largely due to Mr. E. J. Wendell, who acted as referee on both occasions.

As usual, the Berkeley athletes did not enter the competition for points in the cup contest, leaving it to their guests to struggle for this trophy. But in spite of this they took more points than any of the other schools, leading with 3 firsts, 1½ seconds, and 1½ thirds, a total of 21 points. Barnard captured the prize with 2 firsts, 2 seconds, and 2 thirds—making a total of 18 points. The Jerseymen from Pingry School made a strong showing on this occasion and scored 2 firsts and 2 seconds, earning 16 points, and thus coming in a close second to Barnard.

One of the most interesting performances of the afternoon was Paulding's vaulting, the height he reached being 10 ft. 6 in., which is two inches higher than the in-door record established by him only a short time ago. We may, indeed, look for some excellent work in this event at the Madison Square Garden games next Saturday. Another record that was broken at the Berkeley games was the shot put, Bigelow going 41 ft., which is considerably beyond the former mark of 39 ft. 8½ in. Tomlinson, who took second to Bigelow, also passed the old record.

Another mark that was lowered was that of the 60-yard dash for Juniors, which now stands 7-1/5 sec., and the deed was done by Whitmore. Manvel of Pingry did well, as usual, but he did particularly well on this occasion by winning both the quarter and the half mile runs. The mile event went to Tomlinson of Barnard, and the walk was taken by Ladd, although Boyesen had been counted on for the winner.

At the Barnard games the record of 7-1/5 sec. for the 60-yard dash (Senior) was lowered by Wenman of Berkeley to 7 sec. Tomlinson, who won the mile run at the Berkeley games, also took first at the Barnard tournament, and brought the record down to 4.49-1/5, which was a much better performance than he made the week previous—5 min. 1-3/5 sec. At these games Pingry again showed up well, and tied with the Brooklyn High-School for first place, each having scored 11 points.

As these last two in-door scholastic games are undoubtedly the most important that will be held in the city this winter, it may prove of value in making some sort of a prognostication of what will happen at the Madison Square Garden next Saturday to append the summaries:

### THE BERKELEY GAMES.

> 60-yard Dash, Senior.—First heat won by Byrd Wenman, Berkeley; H. Cadenas, Columbia Grammar, second. Time, 7-1/5 seconds. Second heat won by C. A. Sulzer, Pingry; B. T. Doudge, Blake School, second. Time, 7 seconds. Third heat won by J. Holland, Barnard; S. Millbank, Trinity, second. Time, 7-1/5 seconds. Fourth heat won by Ira Richards, "Poly. Prep."; W. S. Hipple, Barnard, second. Time, 7-1/5 seconds. Extra heat, for second men, won by H. Cadenas. Time, 7-1/5 seconds. Final heat won by Wenman; Sulzer, second; Holland, third. Time, 7 seconds.

> 60-yard Dash, Junior.—First heat won by W. Silleck, Barnard. Time, 7-2/5 seconds. Second heat won by G. Whitmore, Dwight. Time, 7-1/5 seconds. Third heat won by J. Lackey, Brooklyn High. Time, 7-1/5 seconds. Fourth heat won by J. Deering, Berkeley. Time, 7-3/5 seconds. Fifth heat won by W. Sartorius, Barnard. Time, 7-2/5 seconds. Sixth heat won by W. Dougherty, Harvard. Time, 7-2/5 seconds. Final heat won by Whitmore; Lackey, second; Sartorius, third. Time, 7-1/5 seconds.

> 440-yard Run.—Won by H. E. Manvel, Pingry; J. Storms, Barnard, second; B. Campbell, Brooklyn High, third. Time, 55-3/5 seconds.

> 880-yard Run.—Won by H. E. Manvel, Pingry; A. Tomlinson, Barnard, second; B. White, Berkeley, third. Time, 2 minutes 9-1/5 seconds.

> One-mile Run.—Won by A. Tomlinson, Barnard; P. H. Christensen, Harvard, second; R. L. Sanford, "Poly. Prep.," third. Time, 5 minutes 1-3/5 seconds.

> 60-yard Hurdle-race.—First heat won by F. Bien, Jun., Berkeley; C. Robinson, Trinity, second. Time, 8 seconds. Second heat won by C. A. O'Rourke, Trinity; L. Herrick, Brooklyn High, second. Time, 8 seconds. Third heat won by S. H. Plum, Jun., Newark Academy; E. Johnson, Trinity, second. Time, 8-1/5 seconds. Final heat won by Bien; O'Rourke, second; Herrick, third. Time, 8 seconds.

> One-mile Walk.—Won by H. W. Ladd, Melrose; B. Boylesen, Berkeley, second; D. McGrew, Trinity, third. Time, 8 minutes 9-3/5 seconds.

> Running High Jump.—Won by G. Serviss, Brooklyn Latin, with 5 feet 7 inches; C. L. Du Val, Berkeley, second, with 5 feet 6 inches; W. Grace, Columbia Grammar, third, with 5 feet 6 inches. Du Val got second place on the toss.

> Pole Vault.—Won by R. G. Paulding, Berkeley, with 10 feet 6 inches, beating the in-door scholastic record of 10 feet 4 inches, made by himself earlier in the year; P. A. Moore, Pingry, second, with 9 feet; L. Curtis, Barnard, A. J. Forney, Adelphi, and M. W. Forney, Adelphi, a tie for third at 8 feet 9 inches.

> Putting 12-pound Shot.—Won by J. Stewart, Barnard, with 41 feet, breaking the in-door record of 39 feet 8½ inches, made by R. H. Bigelow, Wilson and Kellogg, in 1893; J. C. Tomlinson, Jun., Collegiate, second, with 40 feet 4 inches; M. Page, Trinity, third, with 38 feet 4 inches.

### THE BARNARD GAMES.

> 60-yard Dash, Senior.—First heat won by A. Kennedy, Brooklyn High; M. Arnold, Berkeley, second. Time, 7-2/5 seconds. Second heat won by B. Wenman, Berkeley; B. T. Doudge, Blake, second. Time, 7 seconds. Third heat won by J. Holland, Barnard; H. Cadenas, Columbia Grammar, second. Time, 7 seconds. Fourth heat won by S. Millbank, Trinity; A. Manara, Columbia Grammar, second. Time, 7-2/5 seconds. Extra trial, for second men, won by Doudge. Time, 7 seconds. Final heat won by Wenman; Holland, second; Doudge, third. Time, 7 seconds.

> 60-yard Dash, Junior.—First heat won by W. B. Sartorius, Barnard; G. Ralph, Collegiate, second. Time, 7-2/5 seconds. Second heat won by H. Leopold, Dwight; J. B. Smith, Collegiate, second. Time, 7-1/5 seconds. Third heat won by F. Wickham, Pratt Institute; A. Meyers, Pingry, second. Time, 7-1/5 seconds. Fourth heat won by V. Dougherty, Harvard; R. Auchincloss, Cutler, second. Time, 7-1/5 seconds. Fifth heat won by C. Warren, Cutler; A. Lackey, Brooklyn High, second. Time, 7-2/5 seconds. Sixth heat won by G. Whitmore, Dwight; E. Bill, Cutler, second. Time, 7-1/5 seconds. Final heat—Whitmore and Wickham, a dead heat; Sartorius, third. Time, 6-4/5 seconds. Run-off won by Whitmore. Time, 7-1/5 seconds.

> 220-yard Run, Senior.—First heat won by H. Ficke, Barnard; M. D. Evans, Oxford, second. Time, 26-4/5 seconds. Second heat won by Ira Richards, Polytechnic Preparatory Institute; B. Wenman, Berkeley, second. Time, 26-2/5 seconds. Third heat won by E. Pury, Barnard; R. Topping, Adelphi, second. Time, 27 seconds. Final heat won by Richards; Pury, second; Wenman, third. Time, 25-3/5 seconds.

> 220-yard Run, Junior.—First heat won by W. B. Sartorius, Barnard; J. B. Smith, Collegiate, second. Time, 27 seconds. Second heat won by F. Wickham, Pratt Institute; A. Myers, Pingry, second. Time, 26-2/5 seconds. Third heat won by R. McClave, Trinity; J. Ralph, Collegiate, second. Time, 28-4/5 seconds. Fourth heat won by A. Lackey, Brooklyn High; V. Dougherty, Harvard, second. Time, 27 seconds. Final heat won by Wickham; Lackey, second; Myers, third. Time, 25-3/5 seconds.

> 440-yard Run.—Won by H. E. Manvel, Pingry; G. Burlingame, Brooklyn High, second; V. Earle, Barnard, third. Time, 56-1/5 seconds.

> 880-yard Run.—Won by H. E. Manvel, Pingry; A. Tomlinson, Barnard, second; J. Beasly, Adelphi, third. Time, 2 minutes 9-3/5 seconds.

> One-mile Run.—Won by A. Tomlinson, Barnard; P. H. Christensen, Harvard, second; R. L. Sanford, Polytechnic Preparatory Institute, third. Time, 4 minutes 49-1/5 seconds.

> 60-yard Hurdle-race.—First heat won by L. Herrick, Brooklyn High; W. Halsey, Barnard, second. Time, 8 seconds. Second heat won by T. Pell, Berkeley; S. H. Plum, Newark Academy, second. Time, 8 seconds. Third heat won by C. O'Rourke, Trinity; G. Smith, Columbia Grammar, second. Time, 8-1/5 seconds. Extra heat, for second men, won by Halsey. Time, 8-1/5 seconds. Final heat won by Herrick; Pell, second; O'Rourke, third. Time, 7-4/5 seconds.

> Running High Jump.—Won by W. Grace, Columbia Grammar, with a jump of 5 feet 2¼ inches; W. Duvan, Newark Academy, second, with a jump of 5 feet 2 inches; L. Curtiss, Barnard, third, with a jump of 5 feet 1 inch.

> Pole Vault.—Won by R. G. Paulding, Berkeley, with a vault of 10 feet; C. Eastmond, Brooklyn High, second, with a vault of 9 feet 2 inches.

> Putting 12-pound Shot—Won by J. Stewart, Barnard, with a put of 41 feet 11½ inches; John Tomlinson, Collegiate, second, with a put of 38 feet 4 inches; G. Miller, De La Salle, third, with a put of 37 feet 7 inches.

[Pg 515]

For some time past the athletes at the public schools of this city have felt that they could make a good showing in various branches of sport if they only had the opportunity, but as the Interscholastic Association admits to its competitions students from private schools only, the public-school boys have never been able to meet them. It is reported now, however, that a meeting is soon to be held by representatives from a large number of the New York public schools, with a view to establishing an association similar to the Interscholastic Association.

It is greatly to be hoped that this movement may prove a success, and that the public schools will hold tournaments, as the private schools do; and in baseball and football it would be well if, toward the close of the season, the best teams of the two leagues could meet and settle the supremacy of New York schoolboy teams.

A meeting of the executive committee of the National I.S.A.A. is announced for next Saturday evening at the Knickerbocker Athletic Club.

#### "TRACK ATHLETICS IN DETAIL."—Illustrated.—8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25.

The Graduate.

## QUESTIONS FOR YOUNG MEN.

### GOOD MANNERS.

The average young man scoffs a little at a chap who is noticeable for his good manners. Many a healthy boy thinks a certain roughness in speech or manner is a sign of vigor and manliness in contrast to the weak and womanly ways of one who is always bowing and scraping to the people whom he meets. There could not be a greater mistake; because, while an over-display of politeness is a sign of hypocrisy, natural courtesy will never permit boy or man to behave in any way except in the thoughtful, quiet, refined way which belongs to good manners. A rough, honest chap is better than a slippery, well-mannered, dishonest one, to be sure. That perhaps is the reason for so much of this deliberately rough way some of us adopt. But this does not prove that courteous behavior is wrong or to be avoided. It means that courteous behavior is sometimes used as a cloak for other motives.

There is no reason, therefore, why the average young man in school or college or business, in his daily occupation, or when he comes in contact with women or men, girls or boys, should not make it a point to be reserved, self-contained, tolerant, and observant of the little rules which every one knows by heart, and which go to make his company and companionship valuable to others. It is the same in his contact with men as with women. A systematic method of observing ordinary rules in such cases invariably has its effect. For example, you will see many a boy in some discussion among his friends talking all the time, demanding the attention of others, insisting on his views, losing his temper over a game of marbles and declining to play longer, or making himself conspicuous in a hundred other ways. He may be a very good chap, full of push and vigor, and so sure of his own views that in his heart he cannot conceive of any other person really having a different view of the subject. That is an estimable character for a healthy boy to have. Confidence in one's own ideas often carries one over many a bad place. But the fact that the boy has such a character and his disagreeable way of forcing it upon you are two entirely different things; and the difference of being confident and disagreeable and confident and agreeable is the difference between good and bad manners.

Besides, this aggressive confidence never has the weight that quiet belief in one's ideas has. It is a very familiar incident in the course of business men's meetings and of boys' meetings for one to propose something, the others to agree to it, and then for one quiet man to express his contrary views, and bring the assembled company over to the opposite side of the question. This reversal of opinion is caused by the fact that one man, who has been reserved until all the others have finished, has now by the force of his quiet confidence turned the whole tide the other way. Such quiet methods are real portions of good manners, and they act far more strongly than aggressiveness. The old proverb advising you to count ten before doing something on the spur of the moment is meant to prove the same point.

> 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.

> E. L. Smith, 64 Sparks St., Cambridge, Mass., wishes to exchange stamps.

> W. A. Wheeler.—I never heard of a "Walkers Penny Post." If it is on the original letter or envelope, I should like to see it.

> R. Bowers.—The stamp Cerrado y Sellado is a Mexican "officially sealed" stamp. These are, properly speaking, labels, not stamps, and consequently are no longer catalogued.

> W. M. Foord.—As the Olympian stamps are still in use they are worth face value only, if unused. Used they are very common.

> J. Kranz.—All the leading dealers in New York sell stamps by auction at irregular intervals throughout the season. Catalogues are sent free on application.

> H. Bunker.—Entire envelopes are collected by comparatively few compared with those who collect stamps. Envelopes can be bought for one-quarter, or in some instances one-tenth, the price which adhesive stamps of equal rarity would command.

> F. X. Stahn.—Nova Scotia stamps are not being bought up by speculators. The fact is, no one knows how many were sold by the government to the syndicate now controlling the same. One set should satisfy you under these circumstances.

> A. Lobenthal.—Join your local stamp society, if there is one. If not, then join the American Philatelic Association.

> A. Howard.—Inverted centres on U.S. stamps are extremely rare. The price quoted by you is very reasonable if the stamp is in good condition.

> A. Seng.—The Canadian new issue has not been definitely announced.

> A. Thalman.—Philatelic literature is a feature in a few public libraries. Pittsburg set the example in this respect. It will pay you as an active collector to take the three periodicals mentioned.

> J. J. Briggs.—Age does not determine the value of coins. It is altogether a question of supply and demand. If dealers have ten copies of a scarce coin and twenty collectors want them, the price will go up. If, on the other hand, there is little or no demand the prices will go down. As to U.S. coins in general I would say that the supply in the hands of the dealers is equal to any prospective demand. The immense quantity of old U.S. coins in the hands of the public will not command a premium. Coin-collecting to-day is very much what stamp-collecting was twenty years ago—that is to say, the speculative element is lacking.

> W. Smithson.—Collect Seebecks all you want. No society or association can prevent you. The stamps are pretty in themselves, and they have undoubtedly been used for postal purposes.

> G. H. Davis.—I never heard of the stamps issued by the "Stamp-Saving Society." They are interesting as curiosities.

Philatus.

Celebrated for its great leavening strength and healthfulness. Assures the food against alum and all forms of adulteration common to the cheap brands.

#### ROYAL BAKING POWDER CO., NEW YORK.

## Arnold

## Constable & Co.

SPRING IMPORTATIONS.

## PARIS LINGERIE.

Tea Gowns, Matinées.

### SHIRT WAISTS.

Glacé Silk Petticoats.

### CHILDREN'S WEAR.

Outing Suits,

Gingham and Organdie Frocks,

Reefers, Jackets.

#### Broadway & 19th st.

#### NEW YORK.

### MR. LAURENCE HUTTON

contributes a short story

## The

## Uncertain Glory

## of an April Day

to the next number of

### Harper's Round Table

#### Five Cents a Copy. Two Dollars a Year.

#### HARPER & BROTHERS, Publishers, N. Y.

[Pg 516]

> This Department is conducted in the interest of Amateur Photographers, and the Editor will be pleased to answer any question on the subject so far as possible. Correspondents should address Editor Camera Club Department.

### LANTERN SLIDES.

So many of our new members have written asking how lantern slides are made, and what is required for an outfit, that we publish another paper on the subject.

Most young amateurs have an idea that it requires a great deal of skill to make lantern slides, but any one who can make a good negative can soon learn how to make a good lantern slide. The simplest way is by contact-printing. Select a negative free from spots, scratches, or pinholes. It must have fine detail in the shadows, and no harsh contrasts of light and shade. The regulation size of a lantern slide is 3½ by 4, so choose a negative which will still make a good picture if all but the portion included in these dimensions is blocked out. Cover the part of the negative which is to be blocked out with needle-paper, or paint it with non-actinic paint, applying it to the glass side of the negative. The negative is placed in a printing-frame, and then by a red light, the slide is placed over the part to be printed from, the film side toward the negative.

If one has a lantern the light of which is suitable for printing lantern slides, cover the negative, open the door of the lantern, and then holding the printing-frame about fifteen inches from the light, expose from five to twenty seconds, according to the density of the plate. A plate that prints quickly will need but five or eight seconds, but a denser plate will require a much longer exposure, often as long as thirty seconds. Cover the plate as soon as it is printed, close the lantern, remove the slide from the frame, and place it face up in the developing-tray. Turn the developer over it quickly, taking care that the whole surface of the plate is covered immediately. Any developer that makes good negatives will make good lantern slides. A weak developer is to be preferred to one which brings out the image quickly. Develop till the detail is well out, wash and fix same as a negative.

As every imperfection in a plate is magnified many times when thrown on the screen, great care must be taken in the developing, fixing, washing, and drying. When the slides are washed enough, take a piece of clean surgeon's cotton and wash the film very gently, then place to dry where no dust will settle on the surface.

If there are any spots on the plate after washing and before drying, they may be removed with ferricyanide of potassium in solution. Tie a small piece of surgeon's cotton to the end of a glass rod, dip it into the solution, and touch the spot very lightly. Rinse the plate at once, and if the spot has not entirely disappeared, repeat the operation. The ferricyanide works very quickly, and must be rinsed off as soon as applied.

Negatives which are too large for contact-printing are made into lantern slides by the process known as reduction,[Pg 517] directions for which will be given again if requested.

The making of lantern slides is one of the most fascinating branches of photography, and the work is specially appropriate for winter, both in making the slides and showing them with the lantern.

FIRST PRIZE, JUNIOR COMPETITION, LANDSCAPES.
By Anton H. Schefer, New York, N. Y.
SECOND PRIZE, JUNIOR COMPETITION, LANDSCAPES.
By Lesley Ashburner, Media, Pennsylvania.
THIRD PRIZE, JUNIOR COMPETITION, LANDSCAPES.
By Howard Cox, Helena, Montana.

> S. F. Macquaide, 46 Mechlin St., Germantown, Pa., says that she has a number of 4-by-5 views which she would like to sell. If any of the Camera Club wish to purchase, a letter sent to address given will bring list of subjects and price of same. Our correspondent also wishes to buy a second-hand No. 2 Bull's-Eye camera.

> B. Cover, 713 Avenue W, Ashland, Wis., has a 5-by-8 Anthony view camera, with three double plate-holders, which he will sell cheap, or exchange for a 4-by-5 camera.

> William O. Wickman, Great Barrington, Mass., wishes to purchase a picture of the White House, Washington, D.C. Would like either 4 by 5 or 5 by 8.

> John G. Volkes, 324½ Eighth St., New York city, would like to correspond with members of the Camera Club on photographic subjects.

> Claude A. Wolfe, 1701 Diamond St., Philadelphia, would like to exchange a print of the State Capitol building of Tennessee for one of the Capitol buildings of New York, Massachusetts, and Maine; he also asks if any member has a good view camera which he wishes to sell, or exchange for a bicycle and a 5-by-7 Premo camera with five plate-holders.

> B. A. Porter, 212 Tulip Ave., Brooklyn, N.Y., has views of Strong, Me., and of Brooklyn and New York, which he would like to exchange for views of other localities. Our correspondent asks those members sending prints to use an extra fixing-bath in toning the prints, as he is making a collection, and many of the prints fade after a while. For those who do not care to exchange, and who would like good views of the places named, he will sell unmounted views for 10c. each.

> Dudley Gregg, Hogsett Military Academy, Danville, Ky., asks if any member of the Camera Club has a pocket-kodak which he would like to sell.

> William S. Johnson asks what is sel d'or; a good formula for mounting-paste; a formula for metol developer; if hydrochloric and muriatic acids are the same; and where rubber finger-tips may be purchased. Sel d'or is a salt of perchloride of gold and hyposulphite of soda. Starch paste made by mixing with cold water and then boiling until of the proper consistency makes an excellent paste for mounting photographs. It will not keep, but must be made fresh when wanted. A good formula for metol developer is: Metol, 30 grs.; sodium sulphite crystals, 180 grs.; carbonate of potassium, 90 grs.; and water, 4 oz. Hydrochloric and muriatic acid are the same. Dealers in photographic supplies sell rubber finger-tips. Three finger-tips cost 15c.

> R. B. T. asks if there is any remedy for a negative which is under-developed after it is fixed. It can be intensified—in other words, redeveloped. See directions for intensifying in No. 824, August 13, 1895. If you have not this number, it will be mailed you from this office on receipt of 5c.

> Frederick S. Collins asks if solio toning solution can be used for toning albumen and aristo prints; and what makes a thin negative. The solio toning-bath can be used for aristo, but is not suitable for albumen paper. A thin negative may be the result of over-exposure, under-exposure, or under-development. Over-exposure makes the negative a uniform color and lacking in contrast. Under-exposure gives strong high lights and no detail in the shadows. Under-development gives good detail, but the negative is too weak to make a good print. Such a negative can be redeveloped or intensified. See answer given to R. B. T.

> L. K. asks where to get the magazine American Amateur Photographer. The address of the publishers is 239-241 Fifth Avenue, New York city. The price of the magazine is $1 per year.

> Henry Read wishes a remedy for keeping the film from looking as if it were crackled; also how to make dry-plates. The tray should be rocked during the development of the film. The crackled appearance will then be avoided. Do not try to make dry-plates. The operation is too long, and the plates can be bought much cheaper than they can be made at home, besides being always reliable.

The stores which keep the best that's made
Secure the highest class of trade;
The shoppers who are shrewd and wise
Select such stores to patronize;
And stores and shoppers all attest
Pure Ivory Soap is far the best.

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

Royal in their beauty, strength and speed. They are leaders in every sense of the word. $100 to everyone. Tandems, $150.

#### Middletown Cycles, $60, $50, $40.

CATALOGUES FREE.

#### WORCESTER CYCLE MFG. CO.

17 Murray Street, New York.

Factories: Middletown, Conn.; Worcester, Mass.

Few bicycles selling for $100 have better quality or more elegant finish and equipment. Guaranteed for one year.

SEND FOR CATALOGUE.

#### The CRAWFORD MFG. CO., Hagerstown, Md.

NEW YORK, BALTIMORE, ST. LOUIS.

## EARN A GOLD WATCH!

We wish to introduce our Teas and Baking Powder. Sell 50 lbs. to earn a Waltham Gold Watch and Chain; 25 lbs. for a Silver Watch and Chain; 10 lbs. for a Gold Ring; 50 lbs. for a Decorated Dinner Set; 75 lbs. for a Bicycle. Write for a Catalog and Order Blank to Dept. I

#### W. G. BAKER,

#### Springfield Mass.

### Right Prices

You can pay more money for a bicycle, but you cannot secure a machine of higher grade than the Crescent, or one that will please you better. $75, $50, $40.

Crescents are the most popular bicycles made—70,000 Crescents sold in 1896.

Crescents for everybody—men and women, youths and misses, boys and girls. Light, strong tandems.

#### WESTERN WHEEL WORKS

#### Chicago New York

Catalogue free. Agents everywhere.

## 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.

"Hold their place in the front rank of the publications to which they belong."

## HARPER'S

## PERIODICALS

MAGAZINE, $4.00 a Year
WEEKLY, $4.00 a Year
BAZAR, $4.00 a Year
ROUND TABLE, $2.00 a Year

## CARDS

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

[Pg 518]

### Florida Pines and Pickaninnies.

> Pines are the principal trees of this part of Florida, though gnarled and mossy oaks are common. A glimpse of a sunset or the glow of a forest fire behind a group of these trees outlined against the sky forms many a beautiful picture. The pines are very picturesque too, they stand so tall, and the gray Florida moss hangs from their branches like draped garments.

> A picturesque feature of the Florida woods is the numerous negro cabins made of logs. All have the same kind of mud and stick chimneys, built hardly up to the peak of the hut, so that when the thick black smoke, perhaps full of sparks, comes out of the mouth of the chimney, it curls against the under part of the projecting shingles, and then passes away. It is certainly very curious that the huts do not burn down, but it is a fact that they rarely do.

> The cabins are very dirty, and passing one, you may see from two to perhaps five negro "pickaninnies" laying in the sand with a pig or two sometimes. The pigs here are commonly termed "razor-backs," because they are so small and thin that their backbones seem almost to prick through their skin. This county is named Alachua (the ch is pronounced as k), meaning in the Seminole Indian tongue "big jug," because there is a sink in an open space that is called Paine's Prairie when it is dry, and Kanapaha Lake when it is changed—after a heavy rain—into a sheet of water. The sink is so deep that no one has ever discovered the bottom.

> The names of some of the places in Florida, and the flint arrow-heads which are frequently found, are all the traces that are left here of the Seminole Indians who once owned the land. Down by the coast, about fifty miles west from here, are found mounds of sand and oyster-shells, which, when dug into, reveal skeletons of Indians, and Spaniards who were killed. There is a place south of here which is historic. A great many soldiers were killed there by the Indians when asleep and off their guard. The Seminoles have been driven down into the "Everglades" of South Florida, a great swamp into the heart of which no white man has ever penetrated. Here the Indians stay, never daring to venture out to massacre in their old way, for there is no use in trying to do that now. Palmettoes grow in great abundance here. Sinks are very numerous, and so are natural wells.

> There is a place called Waldo in Florida, where there is a swamp in which cedar-trees grow, and a lake in which alligators live in great numbers, and on the banks of which beautiful wild-flowers grow. The alligators lay their eggs in straw on the land, go back to the water, and visit the eggs from time to time until they hatch. Then the parents lead their young to the water, where they live. These alligators are caught for their handsome skins, of which many things are made.

Elsie Vermilye Smith (aged 12).
Arredonda, Florida.

Accompanying this most interesting letter is a wash-drawing of a negro cabin, with the too-short chimney, and the pig and pickaninnies in the foreground. It is a clever drawing. The Table is glad to print descriptive letters like this one, because everybody likes to read these interesting insights into peculiar features of other parts of the country. Will other readers send the Table equally good morsels?

### It Went to Paradise Valley.

There are always hurry and confusion at the end of every session of Congress, and these are multiplied severalfold, if that be possible, when the Congress dies, by Constitutional limit, with the expiration of a President's term. In these busy hours droll things sometimes happen and witty things are said. In the Congress just expired—the extra session just called by President McKinley is of the new and not of the Congress that sat during the winter—an incident occurred that illustrates how great things often come about from small causes—a slight turn in the tide of their fortune at the right time.

A railroad company wanted a right of way through a forest reserve in the West. Senator Vest, of Missouri, opposed the grant for the reason that in the dry summer seasons forest fires would be kindled by the locomotives. The time was limited, and many important measures were to come up. A Senator sitting near the famous Missourian whispered something.

"Time presses," remarked Senator Vest, "and I am just informed that this road leads to 'Paradise Valley.' If the road helps anybody to get to Paradise, why, let it go through."

And it went.

### How the Prisoner Escaped.

H. D. Dantzler, St. Matthews, S. C., and several other readers, ask about the solution of the "prisoner puzzle." A prisoner was offered his liberty if, by starting at the warden's office, he could enter each of the thirty-six cells once, and only once, double on his route, and arrive at the office again.

Here is his route.

### Programme for April-fool Day.

> The Table is asked: "Can some one through your columns suggest some entertainment for a young people's party to be given on April-fool day? Something appropriate for the day is wanted.

"I. S."

If any reader will favor us, we will mail direct to this inquirer, since the time is growing short, and print for the benefit of other readers in future years.

### The Sign in the "Sail" Puzzle.

"I hope you will not think me very stupid, but even with the answer I cannot read the sign of the boat-house in the puzzle. Will you kindly explain through your columns now to read it?"

The preceding, either in these words or others of the same meaning, came to us from several readers. The first word is read by taking not the letters on the sign, but the succeeding one in the alphabet, as "b" for "a," "e" for "d," and so on. The second word is read by taking the preceding letter in each case, as "l" for "m," etc. The remaining words are read by taking the letters in reverse alphabetical order. For example, the fourth word on the sign begins with "x," which is the third letter, reading backwards, or from the end of the alphabet. For it read "c," and so on.

### In that Fifteen Problem.

The way to place the figures one to nine on a "tic, tac, toe" diagram so that in eight ways the sum of the three figures will be fifteen is: Reading from left to right, the top line, 4, 3, 8; the second line, 9, 5, 1; and the lower line, 2, 7, 6.

### Thirty Cents and Five Cents per Dozen.

Frank Smith figures out that A, B, and C sold eggs at the following prices. Did you get answers agreeing with his?

A sold 9 doz. at 30 cts., and 1 doz. at 5 cts. = $2.75
B sold 5 doz. at 30 cts., and 25 doz. at 5 cts. = 2.75
C sold 1 doz. at 30 cts., and 49 doz. at 5 cts. = 2.75

### Questions and Answers.

"B. H. S." asks: "To whom is application made in order to get a position in any of the large railroad offices? I have heard that in order to get a position in any of the New York Central offices certain examinations had to be taken." The railroad you name examines applicants for positions in the auditors' and all departments where good penmanship and accuracy in figures are required, but it does not examine applicants for positions in other departments. But it has no regular examining-board. Nor do railways of the country have, as far as we know, such boards for applicants to apply to. If one desires to get into the telegraph service of a railway, he applies to the superintendent, or in some cases to the chief operator or train-despatcher. Any local telegraph operator can give the name of the proper official on his road. For positions in auditors' and other accounting offices applications are made to those officials. For places on trains apply to the superintendent, and on locomotives to the master-mechanic. As a rule the best course is to get acquainted with some employé, and through him make the application.

J. B. Coles asks how to get into West Point. Old readers must bear with us when we answer again this much-answered query to say: Apply to your member of Congress. The appointment is made by him, and by him only, save in the case of a very few appointments made by the President of the United States, which appointments are usually reserved for sons of army officers, who have, as a rule, no legal residence and, therefore, no member of Congress to apply to. The same course is to be followed to get an appointment to Annapolis. If you prefer, you can write, merely for information about vacancy and conditions, to the Secretary of War or Secretary of the Navy. Address your communication as here named, and add, Washington, D. C. Make the request plain and brief, and you will receive a reply in good time. Don't hesitate to write to these officials. They are public servants, and are always ready to answer such proper inquiries. Only one cadet from each district can be at West Point and at Annapolis, respectively, at a time.

Ralph Leach: Address G. A. Hentey, in care of Boys' Own Paper, Paternoster Row, London, and Kirk Munroe, in care of this publication.—Minnie Louise Naething asks what a "parchment eater" is. We give it up—because our reference-books, like hers, are silent on the subject. Can some one enlighten us?—"Cape Vincent" asks us some questions, and desires answers by mail. We are always glad to oblige our readers, but our purpose in answering questions is to give information to all. Why not have answers published?

Robert H. Nead asks for information about the "Mad Yankee," which occurred in one of the recent puzzle questions. We discarded "Mad" Anthony Wayne because he was not a Yankee. Robert retorts that Elisha Kent Kane was born in Philadelphia. The question was, in effect, what public man went by the nickname "Mad Yankee"? The answer was Kane. Whether the nickname was or was not correctly applied we cannot say. Nor is it material. Wayne could not be accepted, for he was not the bearer of that nickname, and our conditions included nicknames in the list of questions.

Louise A. Littlepage, who lives in Colon, Guatemala, sends us a poem of six verses on "The Noble Boy." The Table rarely prints poems—for obvious reasons. Louise says, "If the Table wishes, I will send some more verses." Will she not tell us in plain prose not about noble boys, because such are not rare with us, but about Guatemala—the school she attends, the interesting sights of the city she lives in, what time blackberries are ripe, if she have such fruit, the flowers that bloom in Colon in March, what the people of Colon think of the new republic of which Guatemala is now a part? Does Colon have cable cars? Has she ever been out in the country on a visit to a country house? If so, what was it like, how furnished, and what did the housewife have for dinner? Noble boys are noble boys the world over. But Guatemala is different from Georgia, Maine, or Dakota. Please describe for us some of these interesting differences.—A member: Wood-engravers' tools are for sale only by a few first-class dealers in hardware. They are purchased in the rough, and have to be finished and put in condition by the engraver. A set of tools, including leather-pad and magnifying-glass, suitable for a beginner would cost about ten dollars.

[Pg 519]

### THE LUXURY OF SOAP.

Dr. Nansen is not a man whose happiness depends much on the possession of luxuries, but there was at least one luxury which he confesses that he missed during his long tramp with Lieutenant Johansen after they left the Fram. The winter they spent in a hut passed comfortably, he says, and if they had had a little flour, a little sugar, and a few books they could have lived like lords. They did not complain at the absence of these things, however, but one thing they did long for was soap. "It was difficult enough," Dr. Nansen writes, "to get one's person clean, but that we managed to a certain extent by rubbing in bear's blood and fat, and then rubbing this off with moss." But this process was inapplicable to clothes, and they were very desirous of washing their under-clothes before beginning their spring journey. "After trying every other possible way, we found, to our despair, no better expedient than to boil them as best we could and then scrape them with a knife. In this way we got so much off of them that they did to travel with, though the thought of putting on clean clothes when we once got back to Norway was always in our minds as the greatest enjoyment that life could bestow."

An analogy is traceable between this pleasure of anticipation and the glee of Dan Troop, as described in Kipling's Captains Courageous, at the prospect of getting back to Gloucester after five months on the Banks and sleeping in a clean boiled night-shirt.

There is a picture in Farthest North of Nansen at the end of his long ice journey, and still in the soapless state, meeting Captain Brown of the Windward, who brought him home.

### A RESTLESS BOY'S REASON.

"I'm going to be a minister," said Tommie, forcibly.

"Why, Tommie dear?" asked his father.

"So's I can talk in church," said Tommie.

## Postage Stamps, &c.

60 dif. U.S. $1, 100 dif. Foreign 8c., 125 dif. Canadian, Natal, etc. 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.

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.

ALBUM AND LIST FREE! Also 100 all diff. Venezuela, Bolivia, etc., only 10c. Agts. wanted at 50% Com. C. A. Stegmann, 5941 Cote Brilliant Ave., St. Louis, Mo.

### STAMPS

Best in the market at 50% disc.; rare foreign at 33-1/3%; U.S. at 25%. Reference required. Give us a trial.

#### BOSTON STAMP CO., Box 2789, Boston, Mass.

### 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.

FREE! Sample P'k (250) Stamp Hinges with New Stamp List. Dover & Co., St. Louis, Mo.

CONFEDERATE STAMPS, reprints, 100, all dif., 12c. S. Allan Taylor, 24 Congress St., Boston.

155 VARIETIES! some unused, 12c. 25 No. Amer., 10c. Sheets 50% com. HARRY S. LEE, Mattapan, Mass.

## Nansen's Great Book—"Farthest North"

SCOTT-HANSEN'S OBSERVATORY

Being the Record of a Voyage of Exploration of the Ship Fram (1893-1896), and of a Fifteen Months' Sleigh Expedition by Dr. Nansen and Lieut. Johansen. By Dr. Fridtjof Nansen. With an Appendix by Otto Sverdrup, Captain of the Fram. With over 100 Full-page and Numerous Text Illustrations, Sixteen Colored Plates in Facsimile from Dr. Nansen's own Water-Color, Pastel, and Pencil Sketches, an Etched Portrait, Two Photogravures, and Four Maps. About 1300 pages, 2 Volumes, Large 8vo, Gilt Tops and Uncut Edges, $10.00.

#### Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York

[Pg 520]

t was at Vicksburg during the war. A company were out on a foraging expedition, when one of the privates, in nosing around the out-houses of a farm, ran across a barrel of prime cider. Now, as the private expressed it, a barrel of prime cider was not to be sneezed at, and with the help of an aged darky he carried it after nightfall into the camp. The next day he went to work rigging up a little counter, and before noon was ready to dispense the refreshing beverage at the small sum of ten cents a cup, according to the rudely scrawled sign outside the tent flap.

Now liquid refreshment was scarce, and with a luxury like cider to soothe the palate it was but a short while before the front of that tent resembled the entrance to a circus. Business was brisk, exceedingly brisk, and the private's arms ached in passing out the cups of cider. His little till was rapidly filling up with coin, when there was a perceptible dwindling in his customers.

The change was alarming, and he looked around for the cause. A loud noise in the rear of his tent attracted his attention, and warily closing up his shop, he walked around. A large crowd had gathered, and after a great deal of struggling he managed to see that another barrel of cider had reached the camp, for in the midst of the crowd he could hear a man shouting, "Here ye are—cider five cents a glass!"

He hastened around to his tent and changed the sign from ten cents to three cents a glass. In a short time the crowd discovered the change, and his business boomed. Then his competitor could be heard shouting, "Here ye are—cider for nothing!"

That settled it: he closed up his tent flap, and went around to see what sort of a man gave cider away. This time he was able to get near, and found, to his astonishment, that his competitor had driven a spigot into the other end of his own barrel, which he had placed so carefully in the rear of the tent.

According to the New York Press, when John C. Reid was managing editor of the Times he had an office-boy whose nerve and cheek were colossal. Greatness never embarrassed him, for he was no respecter of persons. One day he entertained in the reception-room a waiting visitor, whose patronizing way nettled him. All kinds of questions concerning his life and occupation were fired at him, and finally he was asked how much he earned a week. His reply was, "Fifty dollars," which caused the interrogator to whistle. At that moment the visitor was summoned by Reid, to whom he related his experience with an office-boy who said he made fifty dollars a week.

Reid rang bell; enter boy.

"Did you tell this gentleman that you made fifty dollars a week here?"

"I did not tell him any such thing."

"What! You mean to say you didn't tell me a moment or two ago that you made fifty dollars a week?"

"Never said any such thing."

"Why, you little liar! You—"

"What did you tell the gentleman?" put in Reid.

"I told him I earned fifty dollars a week; but you pay me only three dollars."

The visitor was so excited that he forgot his business with the managing editor. When he had taken leave of the office Reid raised the boy's salary to six dollars.

The late Jay Gould used to tell a good story of Mr. William M. Travers. As Mr. Gould related it, he described Mr. Travers's going downtown to a dog-fancier's place in Water Street, New York, in search of a rat-terrier. The dog-fancier scented the value of his possible customer at once, and cheerfully dilated upon the merits of the different canines in stock. Finally, he selected a ratter, assuring Mr. Travers that the dog would go for a rat quicker than lightning. Mr. Travers was rather sceptical as he observed the shivering pup, and the dog-fancier noticing this, said,

"Here, I'll show you how he'll go for a rat," and he put the dog in a box with a big rat. The rat made a dive and laid out that unfortunate terrier in a second. Mr. Travers turned around to the fancier and said,

"I say, Johnny, what will you take for the rat?"

An Oakland, California, bootblack deserves special mention as an honest man who would not deceive his patrons. When he first went into business, six years ago, he put up a sign which read:

"Joe Garibaldi, bootblack. Has two small children."

Each succeeding year found him deserving of more sympathy, for he kept amending the sign, until it read eight small children. A few days ago Joe's bootblack stand was locked for a whole day, and when he returned the next morning, he confided to the butcher's boy that his baby had died. His first work was to amend the sign so that it might not mislead the public, and it then read: "Joe Garibaldi, bootblack. Has seven small children." Then, to avoid being placed in a false position before the public, he added with his finger and shoe-blacking, "One he die."

Senator Voorhees relates a story of emotional eloquence which came to an ignominious end, as Current Literature tells it. He had succeeded in delivering an appeal which had brought tears to the eyes of several jurymen. Then arose the prosecuting attorney, a gruff old man with a piping voice and nasal twang.

"Gentlemen," said he, deliberately helping himself to a pinch of snuff, "you might as well understand from the beginning that I am not boring for water."

This proved so effectual a wet blanket to the emotions excited by Mr. Voorhees that he realized the futility of his own "boring."

"Oh, your song is most annoying,
And unless you take it back,"
Said the Doctor, "I will fire."
But the Duck still shouted: "Quack!
"Of your powder and your shot, sir,
I am not the least afraid:
So long as pills and potions
You don't summon to your aid."

### FOOTNOTES:

[1] Begun in Harper's Round Table No. 904.

[2] The Feast of the Green Corn among the powerful Iroquois Confederacy, or Six Nations, occurred in the latter part of August or early September. Its rites so resembled the Hebrew Feast of the Tabernacles that it furnished an additional argument for the notion that the American Indians were remotely descended from the ten lost tribes of Israel.

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HARPER'S ROUND TABLE, MARCH 23, 1897 ***
Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will be renamed.
Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away—you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark license, especially commercial redistribution.
START: FULL LICENSE

## THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE

PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work (or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online at www.gutenberg.org/license.
Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™ electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property (trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in your possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic works even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project Gutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.
1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the United States and you are located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™ works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg™ name associated with the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg™ License when you share it without charge with others.
1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project Gutenberg™ work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any country other than the United States.
1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must appear prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™ work (any work on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, copied or distributed:

> This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg™ trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is posted with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all works posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg™ License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg™.
1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project Gutenberg™ License.
1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work in a format other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ website (www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg™ License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™ works unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing access to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works provided that:

- • You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from the use of Project Gutenberg™ works calculated using the method you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, but he has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.”
- • You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™ License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™ works.
- • You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of receipt of the work.
- • You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works.

1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
1.F.
1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™ electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment.
1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGE.
1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further opportunities to fix the problem.
1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg™
Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution of electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from people in all walks of life.
Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™’s goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection will remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure and permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and future generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org.
Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit 501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws.
The Foundation’s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact
Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations ($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt status with the IRS.
The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate.
While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who approach us with offers to donate.
International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate.
Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg™ concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printed editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
Most people start at our website which has the main PG search facility: www.gutenberg.org.
This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™, including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.