    The Project Gutenberg EBook of Harper's Round Table, May 12, 1896, by Various

    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'll have
    to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.

    Title: Harper's Round Table, May 12, 1896

    Author: Various

    Release Date: August 28, 2018 [EBook #57797]

    Language: English

    Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1

    *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HARPER'S ROUND TABLE, MAY 12, 1896 ***

    Produced by Annie R. McGuire

A WILD-OLIVE WREATH
GRANDFATHER'S ADVENTURES.
PRACTICAL GOLF.
UNDER THE GREEN-WOOD TREE.
THREE OF US KNOW.
AN "OLD-FIELD" SCHOOL-GIRL.
RICK DALE.
IN THE TOWER OF MANY STORIES.
DAISIES AND DANDELIONS.
A BRAVE WAR CORRESPONDENT.
NURSERY BALLADS.
FROM CHUM TO CHUM.
INTERSCHOLASTIC SPORT.
QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS.
BICYCLING.
THE CAMERA CLUB.
THE PUDDING STICK.
THE DUKE OF ALVA'S HUMILIATION.
STAMPS.

[Pg 669]

Copyright, 1896, by Harper & Brothers. All Rights Reserved.

published weekly. | NEW YORK, TUESDAY, MAY 12, 1896. | five cents a copy.
vol. xvii.—no. 863. |  | two dollars a year.

## A WILD-OLIVE WREATH

### BY S. SCOVILLE, JUN.

Thronged to the gates is the little town of Elis on this the night before the Olympic Games. Here are present not only men of every Grecian city and province, but strange wanderers from the uttermost corners of the world have assembled to view the games that honor the Ruler of the Gods.

Far away across the plain—so far that the many-voiced tumult of the crowded city is but an echo—in dark silence stand the sacred olive groves. Against the grayish-green foliage gleam the white tents of the athletes, chosen from all Greece, who are to compete on the morrow. Close to where towers the vast temple of Olympian Zeus, the world-wonder that Lidon made, is a little group of tents that shelter the men of Croton, famed for the might of her athletes. One of all the competitors lies wakeful. Dion, the son of Glaucus, gazes from his couch with wide-open eyes out into the night, sees the glimmer of the stars through the flickering leaves, listens to the whisper of the boughs overhead, and sleeps not. On the morrow he, a youth of eighteen, is to run in the dolichos, the hardest race of the games. His breath comes in gasps and the blood drums in the boy's ears as for the hundredth time in fancy he runs his race. The horrible waiting, the strain of suspense, have unnerved many an athlete more seasoned than Dion. A short hour before, Hippomaches, the grizzled old trainer of Croton, had made a final visit to see that all was well with his charges. Close on his departure came Glaucus, the boy's father, a man well past three score, yet with massive frame seemingly untouched by time as when, forty-four years ago, the mighty Milo of Syracuse had fallen before him under such a deadly cestus-stroke that the "blow of Glaucus" passed into a proverb. Dion, who had inherited the slighter frame and almost girlish beauty of a Thessalian mother, has always felt more of awe than affection for his silent Lacedæmonian[Pg 670] father, little knowing what a wealth of love for his latest-born the grim old Spartan concealed under his impassive coldness.

To-night Glaucus stands for long without speaking, gazing down at his son, while the stern, unflinching eyes become very soft. Then, to the amazement of Dion, the hand that for nine Olympiads had won the wreath from the world's mightiest rests on his yellow hair, tenderly as a woman's.

"Dion, my son," and the deep voice trembles a little, "thou knowest how that our blood has ever brought glory to Croton. That the statues of thy grandfather, thy father, and thy two brothers all stand in this grove among the winners of Olympiads. Now thy turn hath come. Oh, my son, my son, for the love thy father bears thee, for the honor of city and blood, win the wreath to-morrow!"—and Glaucus is gone.

Through the black tree-trunks steals a wavering glow from where the lone priestess of Hestia tends the eternal flame that forever burns on the Prytaneum. From either side of Dion's tent he hears the deep, regular breathing of his twin brothers, men of tremendous strength and stature like to their father, who have won fame almost equal to his—one as a wrestler, the other as a boxer. Veterans are they in many a hard-fought contest at the great games—Olympic, Pythian, Nemean, and Isthmian—and, certain of success, rest untroubled by any feverish imaginings.

Dion's thoughts go back to that Olympiad in which his brothers scored a double victory for Croton. Before the silent multitude that day Glaucus blessed his sons for the glory they had brought him.

Every honor was heaped on the winners that Greece had to bestow. World poets and singers gave of their genius to adorn the names of the sons of Glaucus. Phidias himself made them immortal in snowy marble. The journey homeward was one long series of triumphs; and when at last the Olympiad-winners reached distant Croton, a breach was made through the solid masonry of the city wall for their entry, no mere gateway sufficing. Met by the assembled Council of Croton, they were formally installed in the Prytaneum as guests of the city for life.

And Dion, still thrilling at the remembrance of that day, falls asleep.

In the gray hour just before dawn Hippomaches rouses the boy from an uneasy slumber, and then with the clear oil rubs out every trace of stiffness from the lithe polished limbs of his charge. The nude youth stands in his manly beauty like a statue to Speed carved in ivory, his white skin crimson-tinged where the friction has brought the warm blood to the surface, while the coiling muscles ripple with every movement across the slim sinewy frame, from which years of training have taken away every ounce of useless fat.

"Ah, my lad," exclaims the old trainer, admiringly, as he gives the white back a farewell pat, "you are fit to-day to run a brave race for old Croton; and forget not all I have taught you!"

Dion dresses, and after a hurried meal proceeds to the temple, there to take the oath of the games—that he is qualified to run, and will use no guile in his race. Thence they go to the Metroön, rich with its treasures of art, to await the triple trumpet-note that shall announce the dolichos. For there are three races to be run this day—two short ones, the aulos and diaulos, and lastly the terrible dolichos, in which the runner covers the course twenty times. During the weary waiting Hippomaches heartens the boy by stories of the performances of his grandfather and father in Olympiads long past. The sun is well up before the first races are over, and the shrill trumpet-tones give the signal for the last of the running events.

At the northwestern corner of the Altis, by the station-entrance that only judges and competitors are privileged to use, the two separate, and Hippomaches hastens away to take his place among the men of Croton, who have their station near the base of the hill Kronion. Dion, with a crowd of other competitors, passes through the vaulted tunnel between long lines of brazen Zanes, and finds himself on the stadion in the full glare of the early sunlight. The heights around are thronged far as the eye can see with a vast crowd. To-day Dion runs before an assembled world. The long straight expanse of the stadion stretches before him. At either end are sunken slabs of white marble. Ten times must a runner touch each block to cover the full twenty courses. High above the stone which marks both start and finish are ranged the ten Hellenodikæ, the judges, while on the opposite side the white-faced priestess of Demeter Chamyrne sits alone—the only woman whose eyes may behold the games.

A great hush has fallen on the multitude as the competitors take the places assigned them by lot. It is broken by the voice of the herald.

"Let him that knows of any stain on the life or blood of a competitor speak now!" it thunders. A moment of tense silence, and then——"Let every runner place his feet on the mark!" echoes along the hill-side.

Each nude figure bends forward; a clear trumpet-note, and they are away, a rushing mass of bodies that gleam in the sunlight.

A little apart from the crowd in the seats of honor sit Glaucus, his twin sons—whose events do not come until late afternoon—and Hippomaches, the trainer.

"'Tis an easy game, this running," remarks one of the twins, the boxer, a little disdainfully.

"I say to you, oh winner with the cestus," Hippomaches responds, sternly, "that the most grievous blows on the palæstra are not to be compared with the suffering of the last five courses of the dolichos!"

But Glaucus hears nothing of this, nothing of the ejaculations and murmurs of excitement, pleasure, and disappointment that sound from all the throng. But for one thing has he eyes—a slim lithe figure far in the rear of the others, yet which moves with a smooth effortless gait like the swoop of a swallow. His iron grip tightens like a vise on the trainer's shoulder. "I know little of contests wherein men trust to their feet," he mutters. "Why lags the boy so far behind? He—he is not losing heart?"

"Watch the first turning, O Glaucus, and thou wilt see why Dion holds back," Hippomaches answers, grimly. "'Tis the bitter stadia that comes last by which thy son's courage will be proven."

Now the crowd of runners are at the end of the first course. The madness of the race is upon most of the novices. Forgetting the long stadia that come after, they strain every muscle to be the first to touch the white stone, and, instantly turning, retrace their course. In the wild jostle that results, Polymnestor, the Platæan runner, is thrown headlong, and though he rises instantly, and limpingly follows the others, never is the lost ground regained. A little group of the older runners, including Dion, who races with all the judgment of a veteran, have held back, and now, avoiding the returning rush, complete the course with no danger of interference, and are soon close upon the heels of the leaders.

It is to this little group that the knowing ones look for the winner. There is Philoctetes, the Spartan, a grim, black-bearded man in the prime of life, who won the dolichos at the last Olympiad. Near him are formidable rivals—Listhenes, Athens's speediest runner, who defeated Philoctetes by a desperate effort at the recent Nemean Games, and Antenor of Corinth, the winner of the event at the Pythian Games, is just at his shoulder. Then come two runners from distant provinces in Asia, who are rumored to have done marvellous racing over their native stadia. Back of them all is Dion, with the smouldering flame in his eyes and the long graceful stride. At the end of the second course the same scene of confusion is repeated, and two more runners go down. Stadion after stadion are traversed, and slowly the leaders drop back. By the end of the tenth the six that had brought up the rear are now in the van. Another course, and they begin to draw away from those who have exhausted their strength during the first half of the race. At last there are but five stadia more—the stadia in which the real race is run, the stadia that are the supreme test of a runner's courage and endurance.

Hippomaches tugs at his grizzled beard excitedly. "Fourteen Olympian dolichoi have I seen run in my day," he exclaims[Pg 671] to Glaucus, "but never a faster than this. Flesh and blood cannot stand that pace much longer; some one will drop soon, and—the gods send it be not our Dion!"

Philoctetes is in the lead. His teeth are clinched, and the foam lies white on his black beard. A fit embodiment is he of the grim Lacedæmonian spirit which is yet to dominate all Greece. Faster and faster he runs, hoping to exhaust his rival from hated Athens—none other does he fear. A deep-throated roar of encouragement rises from the tiers of stern-faced, impassive Spartans as their champion flashes past them. Shrill cries come from the excitable Greeks of the Asiatic provinces as they cheer on their representatives, who are beginning to waver. But it is vain. Very different is an Olympic dolichos from any race of the provinces, and though struggling desperately, they drop back, unable longer to stand the tremendous strain. One stadion, two stadia, are passed, and the third begun, nor does Philoctetes falter aught in his even, rapid gait. Right at his shoulder glare the eyes of Listhenes, who would gladly give his life this day that Athens might win. There is a great hush as the runners traverse the third course. The supreme moment of the race is drawing nigh. All in a moment Antenor the Corinthian, who has held the third place just ahead of Dion, plunges forward in the very midst of a stride, and falls to the ground with the bright blood gushing from his mouth—his last dolichos run.

"Dion! Dion! See our Dion!" roar the men of Croton; for the boy is gaining. Inch by inch the gap between him and the leaders lessens, and soon Listhenes hears a sobbing breath at his ear, and knows that there is another to dispute the victory with Athens and Sparta.

"'Tis thine own son, O Glaucus!" cried Hippomaches, clinching his hands. And indeed the boy's features have changed. On the white drawn face appears that same intense look of deadly earnestness that made the fiercest boxer fear to stand before Glaucus in the old days. Fatigue, pain, danger, death itself count for naught; the race! the race! and his city's honor! are all that Dion knows. They touch the white stone, and turn back for the last course almost in line.

Back and forth among the hills roll the waves of sound, "Athens!" "Athens!" "Philoctetes for Sparta!" But high over all echoes the cry of, "Croton! Croton! Speed thee, O Croton!" Unhearingly Dion runs. There is a sickening pain in his breast, a taste of blood in his mouth; but the boy's will yet upholds the overtaxed body, dead from the waist downwards, and the gap between him and the leaders widens not.

Far, oh, so terribly far, in the distance is the white stone, the goal of all his life. Above it are the calm uneager faces of the ten Hellenodikæ and the pale priestess, who gazes down at the struggling trio with unseeing eyes from which a thousand sacrifices have seared all of human tenderness. Nearer and nearer the snowy gleam approaches, and still the three runners are almost in line, with Dion a little behind. Suddenly from out of the misty cloud of faces that wavers before the boy's hot unwinking eyes Dion sees his father's, the stern features all convulsed, hears a voice cry brokenly, with a world of anguished pleading in its tone,

"On, Dion! on! Oh, my son—for your city!"

"Dion! Dion! for your city!" echoes the mighty voice of thrice ten thousand men—and at the cry the boy's face comes up even with the black beard of Philoctetes, the tense countenance of the Athenian.

Neck by neck, stride for stride the three stagger on, and the finish is but a few steps away. The multitude is mad with excitement. Even the Hellenodikæ forget their stoicism, and lean forward, for who touches the stone first, if by only a hair's-breadth, is the winner. Then above the deep roar of the crowd sounds a voice like a trumpet-peal, the tremendous voice of Hippomaches, wisest of the sons of men in every wile of the stadion.

"The finish! Dion, the finish! Remember!—Now!"

Through the dimness that is slowly clouding Dion's senses the voice pierces. Almost in the last stride of the race the boy, with arms extended, throws himself forward like a diver, and the hands, outstretched, are on the goal-stone a fraction of a second before the feet of the others. And with the feeling of the smooth coolness of the marble at his finger-tips comes a great darkness, and Dion knows nothing more until he finds himself standing in the temple of Zeus on the chryselephantine table that Zeuxis made—the most beautiful in the world. Around him are the strong arms of his father. He hears the pealing chant, "Tenella! Tenella!" "Hail to the victor!" and on his forehead feels the light pressure of the hardly won olive wreath that crowns him before the world the winner of the dolichos.

## GRANDFATHER'S ADVENTURES.

### BY CAPTAIN HOWARD PATTERSON.

"Grandpop," said Ralph Pell, "a little while ago I asked Sam if he had seen many sharks in his lifetime, and he said that he saw more sharks the night he first joined your vessel than he ever saw before or since. When I asked him to tell me the story he shut up as tight as a clam. Do you know what he means?"

"Yes, Ralph, I know what he refers to, and I'll tell you the yarn. It is a good many years ago since I was made proud by receiving as my first command a fine, tight little bark called the Northern Light. I carried out a general cargo to Matanzas, on the north side of Cuba, and loaded sugar for my return voyage.

"The day that I received my clearance papers and was ready to sail, our agent, a Spanish gentleman of the name of Gonzales, invited me to take a farewell dinner.

"The time spent at the table was exceedingly pleasant, and after the dessert had been served we adjourned with the ladies to the veranda for our coffee, which was served by a powerfully built negro who answered to the name of Antonio. I have often thought how different that poor slave's life would have been had I not asked for a second cup.

"As Antonio extended the tray toward me he struck its edge against my chair, and emptied the hot black liquid over my white duck coat and trousers.

"My host jumped to his feet in a passion.

"'You worthless black scoundrel!' he cried, 'I'll cure you of your carelessness." Then he turned to me, and with an air of great politeness said, 'I ask you pardon, Señor Capitan, for my slave's miserable clumsiness.

"Immediately following, two of the plantation overseers, whom he had called, dragged the negro on to the lawn before us, stripped off his jacket and shirt, and produced short cruel-looking whips.

"'Señor,' I said, 'I beg of you to pardon him this time; it was purely an accident, for which I excuse him.'

"'I cannot allow your generosity to be taken advantage of, Señor Capitan,' replied my host. 'You have received an indignity under my roof, and I must render you ample proof of my regret.'

"At a sign from the master, the two plantation hands were about to ply their whips upon the back of the house slave, when, jumping over the railing to the lawn, I interposed between the negro and the overseers, bidding them to hold. My interference angered our agent, for he approached me, and said, haughtily:

"'The Señor Capitan will remember that he is not master here, that this is my slave, and he will oblige me by not concerning himself in the management of my affairs.' Then he added, sneeringly, 'Besides, I understand that Yankee shipmasters are not so humane in the treatment of their crews as to be shocked because a clumsy slave receives a sample of what American captains enjoy to inflict on their own men for little or no provocation!'

"'Señor Gonzales,' I answered, hotly, 'your brutality is only equalled by the discourtesy and contempt that you show to me as your guest. I demand an immediate apology for your language in the presence of these overseers and this slave, before whom you have insulted me!'

"As I ended he snatched a whip from one of the men, and raised it as though to strike me, but changing his mind, he half turned and slashed it across the naked shoulders of the negro.

"Before they could seize him, Antonio lurched forward,[Pg 672] struck his master a stinging blow with his fist, and the next instant had scaled the garden wall and plunged into the cane-fields close by.

"Disgusted with the way in which my visit had ended, and scorning, under the circumstances, to make use of a conveyance belonging to the plantation, I left the grounds without seeing the señora and her daughters, and made my way to the plaza in the city. Later on I made my way to the wharf where I had ordered the bark's boat to meet me.

"Several times, as the men pulled easily toward the ship through the hot night, I thought I heard, between the intervals of the strokes, a sound like that of labored breathing and the noise of broken water just astern; but in the darkness that prevailed I could see nothing, and thinking perhaps that it was caused by the sharks which abounded in the harbor, I paid no further heed to it.

"We had run alongside the bark, and I had stood up in the stern-sheets to leave the boat, when a black hand reached out of the water and seized the gunwale of the boat; then as one of the sailors uttered a note of alarm and raised his oar threateningly, an agonized negro's face was lifted above the rail, and a pitiful voice cried in Spanish, 'Save Antonio, master!'

"I didn't like the idea of stealing another man's property, but I trembled to think of his fate should he be caught, so I took the poor fellow on board the Northern Light, and when morning came I lifted anchor and carried him away from cruelty and slavery forever. To cut him adrift from the past I rechristened him 'Sam.'"

## PRACTICAL GOLF.

### BY W. G. van TASSEL SUTPHEN.

#### (In Five Papers.)

### III.—THROUGH THE GREEN, AND BUNKER PLAY.

THE WAGGLE.

The "green" is used generically to designate the whole course, specifically it is the putting green. Now we know that after the tee-shot we must "address" and play the ball as we find it. We are not permitted to tee it again, nor must we touch it with anything except a club, under penalty of one stroke. The choice of club naturally depends upon the distance from the hole, but more especially upon the "lie" of the ball. Should it be resting cleanly on close firm turf, we may be able to use the driver again; but, generally speaking, our American courses are too rough and cuppy to permit the employment of so fragile an instrument as the wooden driver. On some of the English "greens," and notably Westward Ho, the lies are so good that one's ball seems to be always teed, and proficiency with the wooden club is consequently at a premium. But on ordinary courses the "lie" is pretty sure to be more or less bad, and the play-club, as the driver is sometimes called, must be laid aside in favor of a coarser and more effective weapon. Speaking roughly, the brassy is first choice, followed by cleek, medium iron, lofter, mashie, and niblick, the last being used only in the most desperate of straits, and where nothing more is expected than to get the ball upon the course again.

The fascination of golf lies in its variety and difficulty. If it were only a question of holing balls, one long hole laid out over a smooth meadow would be all that would be necessary. But it would be very monotonous and uninteresting kind of work, and certainly not golf. Given six or nine or eighteen holes of different lengths, and the task at once becomes interesting through the introduction of the element of variety.

GETTING OUT OF A BUNKER.

But a simple variation in distance is not enough; the game is still too easy. We must have difficulties to avoid or overcome, and these difficulties, lumped under the general name of "hazards," may be either natural or artificial. The idea is that these hazards should be so placed as to punish only poor strokes, and that with perfect play we may avoid them altogether. But for present purposes we may ignore their existence, and assume that the way is clear, and that our only difficulty is the particular position, or "lie," of the ball.

Now there are many kinds of bad lies, but the one oftenest encountered is the "cupped" ball. Here the ball is lying in a shallow hole or depression, making it very difficult to get the club well under it. If the cup be not too deep we may take a brassy, but the stroke will differ slightly from the regular full drive. It should be what is called a "jerked" shot, although the "jerk" has nothing to do with the swing proper. That must be as smooth and regular as possible, but it may be permissible to keep the arms in a trifle, and thereby bring the club up straighter. The principal difference is that the club head cuts into the ground instead of sweeping cleanly over it. The ball is struck in precisely the same manner, and the jerk is simply the after impact of the club head upon the turf. This stroke is particularly effective with the iron clubs, and indeed many players use it for all their iron shots. It certainly drives the ball almost if not quite so far as the clean swing; but the author of the Art of Golf thinks that its constant use tends to unsteadiness at the tee. Nevertheless, it is the only effective treatment for a cupped ball, and it must be learned. When playing the stroke do not think about the jerk. Swing down so as to nip in between the lip of the cup and the ball, and let the club head make its own explanations to the ground. Should the ball be badly cupped you may have to take the mashie or even the niblick to get it out; but the cleek will generally do the work if you hit accurately.

BEGINNING OF HALF-IRON SHOT.

A hanging ball is one that is lying upon a slope that runs down in the direction of the proposed drive. It looks hard to handle, but the difficulty is purely imaginary. The brassy, or any other club whose face is laid back, will easily raise it into the air if you swing properly and trust to the club to do the work. The beginner is apt to think that he must make an extra turn with his wrists to get the ball up, but he is mistaken. Place the club so that it rests naturally on the slope behind the ball, and swing precisely as though you were at the tee, and the "spoon" of the club will do the rest.

Balls lying on a side hill, whether above or below you, are best played with an easy swing, and with the grip of the right hand comparatively loose. Long grass is very annoying because it interferes with the swing. You will[Pg 673] have to take the lofter or mashie, and play with a firm grip. But do not "press" or try to strike extra hard. Generally speaking, the worse the lie the more particular you should be to swing and not to hit. Accuracy and not strength is the essential thing. And get well under the ball.

Coming now to hazards and bunkers, it may be said that bunkers are, properly speaking, sand-pits; while a hazard is any permanent feature of the course, such as briar-islands, roads, water, trees, or fences. Of course you will try to avoid these difficulties, but to be successful in doing so you must be reasonably sure of always getting your ball well into the air. A ball trundling along the ground may often make more yards of distance than a nicety lofted one, but then the "green" must be comparatively smooth and clear. If there is a brook or a fence in the way, it must be cleared on the fly, or you will find yourself in trouble. Now the lofter and mashie, from their shape of head, tend to raise the ball higher in the air than the straighter-faced clubs, and the novice should especially cultivate the use of the first-named. If the ball be struck clean and true, it may be lofted higher than is absolutely necessary, but that is better than too low. There is a particular stroke, called the high loft, but that need not concern us now. Use the regular driving swing, and get well under the ball.

Being fairly in a bunker or hazard is a painful situation, and the one thing to do is to get out with all possible expedition. If you are in a bunker proper, or sand-pit, you will have to take the niblick or mashie, and you must remember that you are not allowed to "sole" the club—that is, rest it on the ground as in the ordinary address. The idea is that the mark made on the sand by the club head is an unfair guide for the eye, and therefore if you touch sand you lose a stroke. It is often effective in a sand-bunker to aim at a point a little behind the ball, rather than at the "gutty" itself. The club cuts into the yielding sand, and, as it were, explodes the ball into the air and out of danger. An experiment or two will make this clear to you.

With the ball in an ordinary hazard, play to get it back on the course, rather than to make any extra distance by a little extra effort. If you "press," you will probably leave yourself worse off than before. In a "score" game a player has the option of lifting his ball out of a difficulty of any description and teeing it behind the same, the penalty being two strokes. Of course you must use your judgment as to when this course is the part of wisdom.

In match play, where the scoring is by holes, a lost ball means the loss of the hole. In medal or score play the player must return as nearly as possible to the point where the ball was struck, and tee a new one, the penalty being one stroke.

There are several other contingencies noted in the rules of the game; it is worth while to procure a copy of these and study them carefully.

A HAZARD.

It is to be remembered that all of the foregoing refers to play through the green when the hole is at an indefinite distance away, and we are simply trying to drive the ball the greatest distance possible. But in playing out of a hazard it is often advisable to use what is called, in approaching the hole, a half or a three-quarter swing. Roughly speaking, if the full distance covered by your regular drive be not desirable, make the length of your swing shorter in proportion, but do not try to hit a little more easily. Distance is measured by the length of the swing and not by the force applied. Let the left wrist be taut; and, finally, Keep your eye on the ball.

## UNDER THE GREEN-WOOD TREE.

### BY EMMA J. GRAY.

"Not going to the country, did you say, mamma?" and sorrowing faces accompanied the words.

"Not this summer, my dears."

"Then if we are not going, I know just what to do."

"What's your plan, my son?"

"Simply to make country for ourselves here at home."

"How, Jack? I don't quite understand," said his sister.

"Divide our big yard. You take both the side beds, and plant in them whichever flowers you would most miss by staying home, and I will take the back bed and surprise you with it."

"Oh, that will be fun! I'll plant one side full of daisies, and the other just as full of buttercups. Then I can make all the daisy wreaths I please, and find out who loves butter and who don't, just the same as when we are up in the mountains."

John was a tree lover. It was his greatest joy to lie off with a favorite book under wide-spreading branches. So he instantly began devising what could be arranged to take a tree's place. He measured his plot, and then set about collecting old brooms. When he had eighteen he cut off the handles close to the brush, and then he sank them one foot in the ground. From the top of each handle he drew stout cord to the back fence, where, having driven some nails, he firmly fastened each cord.

Then he raked the earth down about half a foot, and sowed in a straight line from base to base of the handles a package of Japanese hops. His mother had told him this had most luxuriant foliage and was fine for trellises. Nothing hurt it—neither heat, drought, nor insects. However, John carefully watched the seeds' growth and watered the tender shoots frequently.

While the vines were growing, as he was somewhat of a carpenter, he made a low divan on which to throw a rug and pine pillows for the use of visitors who did not care to lie on the soft tan-bark, which served as carpet for his cool restful greenroom, and which throughout all the hot sultry summer gave thorough satisfaction.

Entrance was made at the extreme right, space for which was allowed at time of building. This part was kept well sodded, as the effect was prettier when viewed from the[Pg 674] house. It also was in pleasing contrast to the dark brown of the tan-bark, and made the whole more effective in every way.

As for John's sister, she rarely missed the country, for she so very much enjoyed the freedom of gardening on her own account—weeding, watering, making wreaths and bouquets for her friends and herself.

But, as often happens to older gardeners, she met with disappointment in regard to her buttercup bed. Beyond the first few weeks they refused to bloom, so one day they were all dug up and verbena roots planted instead. These fairly ran riot, and the fantastic gay coloring had the veriest kaleidoscopic effect until frost came and out-of-door gardening was over.

## THREE OF US KNOW.

### BY MARIE L. VAN VORST.

Who are my playfellows?
Wait, you shall see;
Sometimes a little bird,
Sometimes a bee.
All through the summer world
Gayly we go.
Where is the greenest close,
Where is the sweetest rose,
Three of us know.
Bee seeks the rose's heart,
Bird seeks the tree,
I seek a little brook
Clear as can be.
It singeth all day long
Sweetly and low,
Ballad of sun and star.
What its song-secrets are
Three of us know.
Bee takes the honey home
To the Queen bee;
Bird seeks a nest that hides
High in the tree;
I seek a little house
Where sweet vines grow.
What in God's world is best—
Trees, flowers, home and rest—
Three of us know.

## AN "OLD-FIELD" SCHOOL-GIRL.[1]

### BY MARION HARLAND

### CHAPTER VIII.

"Running for her life" is not too strong an expression to describe Flea's flight. She had had experience of the temper of the man she had injured to the extent of her ability. She believed that he would kill her, in his fury, if he overtook her. With the instinct of a hunted hare she made for the thickest part of the woods, tearing through matted jungles of cat-briers and saplings, redoubling her speed as she heard a shout behind her. She had run a mile when she stopped for breath. Her hat was gone, and the muslin spencer worn under a sleeveless jacket, because of the late warm weather, was torn into ribbons. Her arms and face were bleeding; her heart beat so loudly that she could hear nothing else distinctly; but she fancied, presently, that she distinguished from afar off the noise of somebody crashing through the undergrowth. She bethought herself instantly that her flight must have left a wide trail in the forest. Winged by terror, she dashed on, but she no longer ran straight. With an undefined idea, gained from reading Cooper's novels, of losing trail in the water, she directed her course toward the swamp lying on both sides of the creek near where it emptied into the river. She could wade for a mile there, if necessary. Once in the depths of the swamp, she could defy anybody to find her unless he had a blood-hound to guide him. She had read and heard of blood-hounds, but had never seen one.

In her blind haste she miscalculated distances and direction, becoming aware of the blunder as the woods grew lighter. Long level lines of light from the early sunsetting hit her like arrows shot from behind the leafless trees. Where was she going? If she kept on, where would she come out?

A new sound smote her ears. It was not the shout of the pursuer or the bay of the hound which her imagination had conjured up. As it arose and wailed upon the still air, she fancied something familiar in it. Creeping cautiously nearer the road, which she espied through the brushwood, she saw first the white top of a "tumbler-cart" crossing a bridge laid over an arm of the creek, then the long ears of a mule, lastly her father's one man-servant, Dick, walking alongside of the mule, his hand on the thill of the cart. As he walked he uplifted voice and soul in sacred song:

"An' mus' dis body die?
Dis martial frame de-cay?
An' mus' dese actyve lim's o' mine—"

"Min' yo' eye dar, y'u ole buzzard!" as the mule touched the driver's cowhide boots with his hoof—

"Lie mould-ing in de clay?"

The truth flashed upon Flea. Chaney's sister, who had belonged to a planter living ten miles further down the river, had died a week ago, and word had been sent to Chaney that "a right smart chance o' clo'es an' blankets an' things" had been left to her by the deceased. Mrs. Grigsby had asked her husband that morning at breakfast if Dick could have a mule and a cart and a day's holiday, in order to fetch home his wife's legacy. The master had given his consent readily, and Dick was now on his way home, bearing his goods with him. He was, likewise, charged with all the particulars of his sister-in-law's sickness and death, with which he had it in his mind to regale his faithful Chaney. Behind him were the fertile low grounds; before him the road stretched straight into the heart of swamp and forest.

"I'm goin' home!"

wailed the chorus.

"I'm going home! I'm goin' ho-o-me!
I'm goin' ho-o-oome, to die no mo'!"

FLEA CREPT IN OVER THE BACKBOARD.

Crouching low, and treading as lightly as a panther, Flea quitted the bushes, stole up behind the cart as Dick threw up his head, to open his mouth back to the ears in the final howl of "ho-o-o-ome," and crept in over the backboard, unseen and unsuspected by the musician.

A feather bed filled the body of the cart, and into this the fugitive sank, pulling the "things" over her. How soft and how safe it felt! and how tired! tired! tired! she was, now that she had stopped running and need not fear pursuit. She had eaten nothing since breakfast, and was giddy and faint. She was very wet, too. In emptying the bucket upon her tormentor she had drenched herself to the skin.

Flea had not thought of going home when she ran out of the school-house. She would have said that she dared not meet her father and mother after what she had done. Maddened by her wrongs, she was conscious of but two impulses—to revenge herself upon the guilty party, and then to get out of sight of everybody. The best thing that could happen to her, she told herself, would be to die in the woods, of starvation and exposure, and to be found there by a search party sent out by her parents. Everybody would cry over her lifeless remains, and the wicked cause of her death would be driven out of the county. Perhaps he might be hanged for her murder. He would certainly be the victim of remorse all the rest of his days.

These thoughts had shot through her mind in little bits at a time while she pushed through the thickets. There had been no time for connected plans or expectations. But now, lying secure in her dark and downy nest, she[Pg 675] concluded that, after all, home was the only refuge for her. Her shoulders and arms were naked, her skirts were wringing wet, her shoes heavy with swamp mud, her legs were torn by briers and thorns, and her head began to feel queer. Her brain swam and swung; her skull seemed to be filled with boiling water which was trying to get out at her ears. They were deafened by the sound of the boiling, and the steam pressed on the back of her eyes. Her mouth was so dry that the surface of her tongue "crazed," as crockery goes into tiny cracks when overheated.

Yes, home was the place for her. She would meet with punishment there. In a strange half-sleep she heard herself whispering, "Not knowing the things that shall befall me there, save that bonds and afflictions await me." Rest and comfort could never be hers again. But home was better than the wide, wide, wicked world.

Awaking herself with an effort, she set in order what she should say when she got home. Her father would not believe that she had lied and cheated. But what would he say to the revenge that began to taste less sweet than at first? He would have to pay for Mr. Tayloe's spoiled clothes. She might even have to go to court to answer for her misdeed. Her spirit leaped up again at the thought. She would tell her story boldly to judge and jury, and show what had been done by "the wretch who was a disgrace to his cloth."

That sounded fine; but did "cloth" always mean a broadcloth coat? She had a notion that it was only "cloth" when black and on a clergyman's back. At any rate, she would defy the little monster. The memory of his grinning face and insulting tone stirred up the mire and dirt anew.

The cart had no springs. It jolted and bumped over the rough road, and rocked up and down: but she was used to the ways of the tumbler-cart, and Dick's singing was making her drowsy again. She would put off thinking until she got rested. Perhaps by then her ears would roar less and her head stop aching.

Creak and rumble! Seesaw! and fainter and further away sounded Dick's monotonous wail—

"We'll pass over Jerdan!
How happy we shall be!
We'll pass over Jerdan,
And shout de jubilee."

Snail Snead was singing that tune yesterday to what the girls said were "wicked words." They got into Flea's head now, and would not get out:

"We'll pass over Jerdan,
An' drink sweeten'd tea;
We'll passa over Jerdan,
An' climb the 'simmon-tree."

She smiled foolishly in saying them over.

Cart and song had come to a halt. Flea put her eye to a crevice in the cover. It was Miss Em'ly on horseback, a mounted groom leading a third horse. Dick pulled off his whity-brown wool hat, and scraped his foot.

"Howdy, Uncle Dick!" called the sweet, shrill voice. "Have you seen Mr. Tayloe anywhere?"

"Naw, my mistis, I 'ain' see him nowhar. Is you los' him? I moughty sorry."

His eyes twinkled, and Miss Em'ly snapped her whip at him, blushing and laughing.

"Shut your mouth, Uncle Dick! He was to go riding with me, and he isn't at the school-house. If you should see him, tell him I couldn't wait for him. Good-by."

She gave her horse a smart cut and galloped down the road.

"He is looking for me all this time!" thought Flea, fearfully. Her teeth chattered, and she pulled a blanket up over her.

Another adventure was in store for her at the next turn of the highway. Mr. Tayloe stepped out of the edge of the woods and hailed Dick. Flea could have thought his eye met hers as she peeped through the hole in the cover. He stood within six feet of the cart. His hat was the only dry thing he had on. His blue coat, buff waistcoat, and gray trousers were discolored and streaked with wet. "Beggars' ticks" and "Spanish needles," sticking to his clothes, told of a tramp through marsh and field. He looked cross and ugly and fierce.

"Aren't you Grigsby's man?" he asked, harshly.

Dick touched his hat, but did not take it off. "Yas, suh. I has de honor for to be Mister Grigsby's body-sarvant! At yo' sarvice, suh!"

The superior quality of his manners did not impress the white man. His tone was more offensive than before.

"You tell him he must come up to the house to-night. I want to see him on particular business. Do you hear?"

"Yas, suh!" Dick's roving gaze took in all the details of the forlorn figure, and he grew exasperatingly polite. "You been fall in de creek, 'ain' you, suh? Carn't I give you a lif' home, suh? You mought happen to meet somebody 'long de road. Miss Em'ly Duncombe, she done parss 'long hyur, jes now, a-lookin' fur you. It's more'n likely she'll tu'n back at de cross-roads. Lordy! dar's a moughty big dus' down yonder," arching his hand over his eyes to make sure they did not deceive him. "Hit looks mightily like dat's her now."

Flea had never heard the teacher swear until he flung a round and abusive oath at the negro and plunged back into the woods. Sly Dick had been morally certain that the fine gentleman would never in any circumstances demean himself to become a passenger in a tumbler-cart. He had not risked dampening his Chaney's "things" by the invitation, or it would never have been given. Flea, half dead with dread lest it might be accepted, felt the blood rush wildly from her heart to her head in the relief of the escape, sank back upon the feather bed, and fainted away.

Dick plodded along the highway too full of wicked glee to sing any more hymns. Twice he stopped in the middle of the road to laugh—a regular darky "Ki-yi!" enjoyed by every atom of his being. Mr. Tayloe was very unpopular with the Greenfield servants, and tales of his "high-handed, low-down ways," had been repeated throughout the colored community. The fall moon was high above the horizon when the tumbler-cart was driven up to the kitchen door. Chaney bustled out with importance, becoming an heiress in her own right, but with a decent show of indifference to her own interests where those of her employers were concerned.

"'Ain' no time fur to tech dem things now!" she declared. "Marster's sister done come from Philadelphy or Pennsylvany, or wharever 'tis. De big pot's got to be put in de little one, you better b'lieve. Did you git de baid [bed]?"

"Yas, an' a pyar o' blankets, an' a counterpin, an' a shawl, an' two linsey-woolsey coats Dorkis never had on her back—an' I don' know what else beside. Dars a chaney tea-pot an' sugar-dish. Jes you take a peep in dar!"—leading the way to the back of the cart. "Put yo' han' inter dat 'ar baid. Dem's fedders as is fedders!"

"The chamber" of the Grigsby house was ablaze with three candles and a great fire upon the hearth. To escape from the heat of this last the visitor, Mrs. McLaren, had drawn her chair to an open window. She was two years older than her brother, and had worn black for ten years for her only child, who had borne her name—Jean. Her husband, who had been an invalid for fifteen years, had died only six months before this, her first visit to Virginia. Her brother, of whom she was very fond, had been to Philadelphia for a few days every summer since her marriage. Against his wife's wish he had slipped "Jean" in after the high-sounding name bestowed by her upon their second child. Mrs. Grigsby considered her sister-in-law "right down hard favored," and indeed her reddish hair, high cheek-bones, and prominent mouth robbed her of all claim to beauty. She had, however, a sensible, kindly face, and looked and spoke like a refined lady. She had arrived from Norfolk at three o'clock that afternoon, and had seen all the children except her namesake.

"She had to stay for a while after school to do a sum, poor thing!" Bea explained, with amiable unwillingness.

Mrs. Grigsby heaved her usual sigh over Flea's shortcomings. Good woman and good mother though she was, she would not have been sorry to see Bea in high favor with her rich aunt, even at the expense of her less attractive[Pg 676] sister. Bea would do her mother's training credit anywhere. "Poor Flea," as her mother often lamented, "was nobody's pretty child, and too odd for anything."

"Is she often out as late as this?" asked Mrs. McLaren. "Is it quite safe for her to come home alone from school after sunset?"

Mrs. Grigsby repeated her sigh. "Flea takes after her father in headiness," she remarked, in sickly jest.

Her husband paid no heed to the fling.

"If she is not in soon, I shall go to look after her," he said, peering through the window at the darkening landscape. "Mr. Tayloe is an excellent teacher, but, as you say, Jean, it is not right to keep a girl out after dark. She wasn't kept in over the sum she did last night, was she?"—looking at Bea. "I know that was right."

Bea was discreet and mysterious. "I didn't ask any questions, sir. I only heard Mr. Tayloe say she must stay in for an hour after school."

Mrs. McLaren glanced at Dee. He sat upon a cricket in a corner near her, apparently asleep; but at Bea's reply he unclosed his eyes in languid surprise upon his sister.

"The laddie knows something he could tell, if he would," said his aunt, laying her hand upon the bullet head.

"'Twould be tellin' tales out o' school," muttered the boy, reddening bashfully. "If 'twouldn't, I could tell a heap o' things."

Mrs. McLaren's hand, passing gently over his head, was checked by something she felt there.

"How came this big bump here?" she inquired. "Have you had a fall?"

"Naw,'m."

"A fight, perhaps, then?"

"Naw,'m."

She raised his chin to search his eyes.

"Would it be telling tales out of school to answer that question?"

Dee nodded, got redder and more bashful.

"Ef you had a tole me, I'd 'a' rubbed it with operdildoc," said the mother. "Boys that won't steddy mus' look for hard knocks."

"Does Felicia study?" pursued the visitor.

"I can't exac'ly say she don't steddy," returned the mother. "But she is the greatest one fur gittin' inter scrapes—"

Her husband interrupted her again, as if he had not heard what she said.

"Study! She's the best scholar of her age I or you or anybody else ever saw. She has more brains than all the rest of them put together. You'll be proud of your name-child some of these days, Jean."

"How happens it then that she was kept in?" was the next and natural question. "Perhaps she is not industrious?"

"She works like a horse!" came from Dee, who had laid his head back against the wall, and sighed and turned white behind his freckles. The boy looked ill.

Mr. Grigsby was troubled.

"I have had thoughts," he said, more hesitatingly than he was accustomed to speak, "about Mr. Tayloe's management of that child. She's high-strung and sensitive, and so little like most girls of her age, that an ordinary teacher would not know how to get on with her. But she learns so fast under him, and is so eager about her lessons, that it doesn't seem wise for me—"

A piercing yell from without broke the sentence in the middle. Another and another, with never a breath between, drew the whole party to the back door, from which direction the screams had come.

The moonlight showed the cart and mule at the door of the kitchen, which was built twenty yards or so from the house. The moon also showed Chaney jumping up and down like a crazy thing at the back of the cart, and screeching at the top of her lungs. Two children clutched her skirts and screeched in sympathy.

"What is to pay out there?" shouted the master, angrily. "Stop that noise!"

"Dar's somefin' 'live in dar, suh!" Dick called back in trembling accents.

Mr. Grigsby stepped back into the house for a candle; his sister followed him with another. He pulled aside the cover of the cart. Mrs. McLaren held the light above his head, and leaned forward with him to look in.

When Chaney had thought to thrust her hand into her feather bed, it had encountered something that moved and moaned. That something now sat upright and stretched out two naked arms encrusted with dried blood. A voice nobody there would have known cried out: "Father! father! don't let that man get me! He wants to kill me."

Such was Mrs. McLaren's introduction to the namesake of whom she would some day be proud.

#### [to be continued.]

[Pg 677]

## RICK DALE.

### BY KIRK MUNROE.

### CHAPTER XXIII.

### ALARIC TODD'S DARKEST HOUR.

"Hello, Rick Dale! Hold on!" was the hail that caused Alaric to halt in his flight from the most recent of the chasings that were becoming so common a feature of his life.

It was Bonny who called, and who now came running up to him. "Where have you been all this time?" he asked. "I've waited and watched for you ever since we got in, a good two hours ago, and was getting mighty uneasy for fear you'd fallen overboard or got left at Seattle, or something. You see, I feel in a way responsible for you, seeing that I got you into all this mess."

"That's queer," said Alaric, with a faint smile, and sitting down wearily on a huge anchor that lay beside one of the warehouses, "for I've been thinking that all your troubles were owing to me. I'm awfully sorry, though, I kept you waiting, but I suppose I must have been asleep."

"You had better luck than I did, then," growled Bonny, seating himself beside his friend, "for I haven't had a wink of sleep since we left Seattle. I was just getting into a doze when a miserable deck-hand swashed a bucket of water over me. Then they found me out, and set me to work cleaning decks and polishing brass. They kept me at it every minute until we got here, and then fired me ashore."

"Did they give you any breakfast?" inquired Alaric, with an interest that betrayed the tendency of his thoughts.

"Not much, they didn't. Have you had anything to eat?"

"Not a bite; and do you know, Bonny, I think I am beginning to realize what starving means?"

"I know I am, and what being entirely worn out means as well. Do you suppose it's just hunger that makes a fellow feel sick and light-headed and weak as a cat, the way I do now, or is it that he is really in for something serious, like a fever or whooping-cough or one of the things with big names?"

"I expect it's hunger, and nothing else," replied Alaric, "for I feel just that way myself, and I've been really ill times enough to know the difference."

"Then it must be starvation, and something has got to be done about it," exclaimed Bonny, starting to his feet with a resolute air, "for I don't believe any two fellows are going to be allowed to starve to death in this city of Tacoma. So I'm going to get something for us to eat, even if I have to steal it."

"Oh no, Bonny! don't steal. We haven't quite come to that," objected Alaric. "Did you say this was Tacoma, though?"

"Yes, of course. Didn't you recognize it?"

"No, I didn't, for I wasn't given much chance to get acquainted with it last evening, you know. But if this is Tacoma, I've an idea that I believe will bring us some money. So suppose we separate for a while? You can go one way looking for something to eat, and I'll go another in search of that which will mean the same thing. When the whistles blow for noon we'll both come back here and compare notes."

"All right," agreed Bonny. "I'll do it, and if I don't bring back something to eat, it will be because the whole city is starving, that's all."

So the two set forth in opposite directions, Bonny taking a course that would lead him among the shipping, and Alaric walking up the long easy grade of Pacific Avenue toward the city proper. His pride, which no personal suffering nor discomfort could overthrow, had given way at last before the wretchedness of his friend. "It is I who am the cause of it," he said to himself, "and so I am bound[Pg 678] to help him out by the only way I can think of. I hate to do it, for it will be owning up that I am not fit to care for myself or able to fight my own way in the world. I know, too, just how John and the others will laugh at me, but I've got to do something at once, and there doesn't seem to be anything else."

The scheme that Alaric so dreaded to undertake, and was yet determined to undertake, was the telegraphing to his brother John for funds. Of course John would report the matter to their father, who had probably been already notified of his younger son's disappearance, and our lad would be ordered to return home immediately. Or perhaps John would come to fetch him back, like a runaway child. It would all be dreadfully humiliating, and on his own account he would have undergone much greater trials than those of the present rather than place himself in such a position. But for the sake of the lad who had befriended him and suffered with him, it must be done.

The only telegraph office in the city of which Alaric knew was in the Hotel Tacoma, where he had passed a day on his northward journey, and thither he bent his steps. As he entered its open portal and crossed the spacious hall in which was located the telegraph station, the well dressed who paced leisurely to and fro or lounged in easy-chairs stared at him curiously. And well they might, for a more tattered, begrimed, unkempt, and generally woe-begone youth had never been seen in that place of luxurious entertainment. Had Alaric encountered a mirror, he would have stared at himself and passed by without recognition; but for the moment his mind was too busy with other thoughts to allow him to consider his appearance.

The boxlike telegraph office was occupied by a fashionably attired young woman, who was just then absorbed in an exciting novel. After keeping Alaric waiting for several minutes, or until after she had finished a chapter, she took the despatch he had written, and read it aloud:

> "To Mr. John Todd, Amos Todd Bank, San Francisco:

> "Dear John,—Please send me by wire one hundred dollars. Will write and explain why I need it.

"Alaric."

"Dollar and a half," said the young woman, tersely, and without looking up.

Although many telegrams had been forwarded at various times and from distant parts of the world in Alaric Todd's name, he had never before attempted to send one in person. Now, therefore, although somewhat startled by the request for a dollar and a half, he replied, calmly:

"Send it collect, please. It will be paid for at the other end."

"Can't do it; 'gainst the rules," retorted the young woman, sharply, now glancing at the lad before her, and contemptuously scanning him from head to foot.

"But," pleaded poor Alaric, "this is so very important. The money that I ask for is sure to come, and then I will pay for it a dozen times over, if you like. It will certainly be paid for, though, in San Francisco, at the Amos Todd bank, for my name is Todd, Alaric Todd."

"It wouldn't make any difference," remarked the young woman, "if your name were George Washington or John Jacob Astor; you couldn't send a despatch through this office without paying for it. So if you haven't any money you might as well make up your mind not to waste any more of my time."

With this she resumed the reading of her novel, while Alaric moved slowly away, stunned and despairing. Now was he indeed cut off from his home, his people, and from all hope of assistance. He hadn't even money enough to pay for a postage-stamp with which to send a letter. As he realized these things, the reaction from his confidence of a few moments before, that his present trouble would be speedily ended, was so great that he grew faint, and mechanically sank into a leather-cushioned chair that stood close at hand.

He had hardly done so when an alert porter stepped up, touched him on the shoulder, and pointed significantly to the door.

The boy understood, and obeyed the gesture without remonstrance. Thus it came to pass that a son of Amos Todd, the richest man on the Pacific coast, was driven from a hotel of which his father was one of the principal owners, and in spite of the fact that he had just acknowledged his own identity.

Once outside, Alaric walked irresolutely, and as though unconscious of what he was doing, for a short distance, and then found himself seated on an iron bench at the edge of a broad asphalted driveway. Here he tried to think, and could not. He closed his eyes and wondered vaguely if he were going to die, or, if not, how much longer he could live without food. It wasn't worth worrying about, though, one way or the other. He had made such a complete failure of life that no one would care if he did die. Of course Bonny might feel badly about it for a little while, but even he would get along much better alone.

From such terrible thoughts as these the lad was aroused by the sound of cheery voices: and glancing listlessly in their direction, he saw a well-dressed young fellow, apparently not much older than himself, a little boy in his first suit of tiny knickerbockers, and a big dog. They had just come from the hotel and were playing with a ball. It was Phil Ryder with little Nel-te, an orphan whom he had rescued from the Yukon wilderness, and big Amook, one of his Eskimo sledge dogs that he was carrying back to New London as a curiosity.

While Alaric watched them, wondering how it must seem to be as free from both hunger and anxiety as that happy-looking chap evidently was, the ball tossed to Nel-te escaped him and rolled under the iron bench. As the child came running up, the lad recovered it and handed it to him.

"Fank you, man," said the little chap, and then ran away.

After a while the ball again came in the same direction, and, as the child did not follow it, Alaric picked it up and tossed it to Phil.

"Hello!" cried the latter. "It seems mighty good to be catching a baseball again. Give us another, will you?" With this he threw the ball to Alaric, who caught it deftly and flung it back.

The ball was one that had been found in a certain canvas dunnage-bag the evening before, and begged by Phil Ryder as a souvenir of his experience as a smuggler. After a few passes back and forth Alaric became so dizzy from weakness that, with a very pale face, he was again forced to sit down.

"WHAT'S THE MATTER?" ASKED PHIL, ANXIOUSLY.

"What's the matter?" asked Phil, anxiously, coming up to the trembling lad. "Not ill, I hope?"

"No; I'm not ill. It's only a little faintness."

"Do you know," said Phil, as he noted closely the lad's mean dress and hollow cheeks, "that you look to me as though you were hungry. Tell me honestly if you have had any breakfast this morning."

"No," replied Alaric, in a low tone.

"Or any supper last night?"

"No."

"Did you have any dinner yesterday?"

"I can't exactly remember, but I don't think I did."

"Why, man," cried tender-hearted Phil, horror-stricken at this revelation, "you are starving! And I've been keeping you here playing ball! What a heedless brute I am! Never mind; just you wait until I can carry this little chap inside, and don't you stir from that seat until I come back." With this Phil, picking up Nel-te and bidding Amook follow him, hurried away, leaving Alaric still holding the baseball, and filled with a very queer mixture of conflicting emotions.

### CHAPTER XXIV.

### PHIL RYDER PAYS A DEBT.

In a very few minutes Phil Ryder hastened back to where Alaric awaited him. "Now you come with me," he said, cheerily, "and we'll end this starvation business in a hurry. I won't take you to the hotel, for those swell waiters are too slow about serving things, and when a fellow is hungry he don't care so much about style as he does about prompt attention to his wants. I know, for I've[Pg 679] been there myself. There's a little restaurant just around the corner on the avenue that looks as though it would exactly fill the bill. Here we are."

Almost before he realized what was happening Alaric found himself seated before the first regular breakfast table that he had seen in weeks, while the young stranger facing him, who had so unexpectedly become his host, was ordering a meal that seemed to embrace pretty nearly the whole bill of fare.

"Bring the coffee and oatmeal first," he said to the waiter, "and see that there is plenty of cream. If they burn your fingers, so much the better, for you never saw any one in quite so much of a hurry as we are. After that you may rush along the other things as fast as you please."

Alaric attempted a feeble protest against the munificence of the order just given, but Phil silenced him with:

"Now, my friend, don't you fret; I know what you need and what you can get away with better than you do, for I've experimented considerably with starving during the past year. As for obligation, there isn't any. I am only paying a debt that I've owed for a long time."

"I don't remember ever meeting you before," said Alaric, looking up in surprise from a dish of oatmeal and cream that seemed the very best thing he had ever tasted.

"No, of course not, and I don't suppose we have ever been within a thousand miles of each other until now; but I have been in your debt, all the same. Just about a year ago I was in Victoria without a cent in my pocket, no friend or even acquaintance that I knew of in the whole city, and so hungry that it didn't seem as though I had ever eaten anything in my life. Just as I was most desperate and things were looking their very blackest, an angel travelling under the name of Serge Belcofsky came along, and spent his last dollar in feeding me. I vowed then that I'd get even with him by feeding some other hungry fellow, and this is the first chance I've run across since. You needn't be afraid, though, that I am spending my last dollar on you, glad as I would be to do so if it were necessary. That it isn't is owing to one of the best fathers in the world, who hasn't had a chance to keep me in funds for so long a time that he is now trying to make up for lost opportunities."

"You must be very fond of him," said Alaric, who was now at work on beefsteak and fried potatoes.

"Well, rather," replied Phil, earnestly, "though I never knew how much a good father was to a boy until I lost him, and had to fight my way alone through a whole year before I found him again. It's a wonder my hair didn't turn gray with anxiety while I was hunting him up in the interior of Alaska; but it's all over now, and I have him safe at last right here in Tacoma, along with my aunt Ruth and little Nel-te and Jalap—"

"Is he the dog?" asked Alaric, beginning an attack on the omelette.

"Who?"

"Jalap."

"Not much he isn't a dog," laughed Phil. "He is one of the dearest of sailormen. He's one of the wisest, too, only he lays all of his wisdom to his old friend Kite Roberson. Besides all that, he is one of the most comical chaps that ever lived, though he doesn't mean to be, and it's better than a circus to see him on snow-shoes driving a sledge team of dogs. I should have brought him over here to cheer you up, only he's off somewhere among the ships this morning. He says he got the salt-water habit so badly that he can't keep away from them. Are you ready now for the buckwheats? Here are half a dozen hot ones to top off with, and maple-syrup too. Don't they look good, though! I say, waiter, you may as well bring me a plate of those buckwheats. I forgot to have any at breakfast."

So Phil rattled on, talking of all sorts of things to keep his guest amused, and allow him ample opportunity to attend strictly to the business of eating, without feeling obliged to answer questions or sustain any part of the conversation.

And how poor, heartsick, hungry Alaric was cheered by the thoughtful kindness of this strange lad who had so befriended him in his hour of sorest need! How grateful he was, and how, with each mouthful of food, strength and courage and hope came back to him, until, when the wonderful meal was finished, he was ready once more to face the world with a brave confidence that it should never again get the better of him! He tried to put some of his gratitude into words, but was promptly interrupted by his host, who said:

"Nonsense! You've nothing to thank me for. I told you I owed you this breakfast, and besides, though I haven't eaten very much myself, I have certainly enjoyed it as much as any meal of my life. Now we have a few minutes left before I must go, and I want you to tell me something of yourself. What is your name? Where is your home? And how did you happen to get into this fix?"

"My name is Rick Dale," began Alaric, who did not feel that he could disclose his real identity under the circumstances, "and my home is in San Francisco; but it is closed now. My mother is dead. I don't know just where my father is, and I was left with some people whom I disliked so much that I just"— Here he hesitated, and Phil, noting his embarrassment, hastened to say,

"Never mind the particulars; I had no business to ask such questions anyway."

"Well," continued Alaric, "the result of it all is that I am here looking for work. I had a job, but it didn't pay anything, and I lost it about two weeks ago. Now I am trying to find another."

"What kind of a job do you want?"

"Anything, so long as it is honest work that will provide food, clothing, and a place to sleep."

"In that case," said Phil, thoughtfully, "I don't know but what I can put you in the way of one, though—"

"It must be a job for two of us," interposed Alaric, "for I have a friend who is in the same fix as myself."

"I only wish I had known that in time to have him breakfast with us," said Phil; "but the job I am thinking of, if it can be had at all, will serve for two of you as well as for one. You see, it is this way. There is a Frenchman over at the hotel whose name is Filbert, and who—"

Just here both lads started at the sound of a shrill whistle announcing the hour of noon.

"I had no idea it was so late," exclaimed Phil, "and I must run; for we leave here on the one-o'clock train."

"I must hurry too, for I promised to meet Bonny at noon," said Alaric.

"Who is Bonny?"

"The friend I told you of."

"Then I want you to give this to him from me, for fear he may not have found any breakfast." So saying Phil slipped something hard and round into Alaric's hand. "Now good-by, Rick Dale," he said. "I hope we may meet again sometime. At any rate, be sure to call on Monsieur Filbert at the hotel this afternoon. I guess you can get a job from him; but even if you don't, always remember that, as my friend Jalap Coombs says, 'It's never so dark but what there's a light somewhere.'"

Then the lads parted, one filled with the happiness that results from an act of kindness, and the other cheered and encouraged to renewed effort.

With grateful and loving glances Alaric watched Phil Ryder until he disappeared in the direction of the hotel, and then hastened to keep his appointment with Bonny. On the road leading to the wharves he passed a tall, lank figure, whose whole appearance was that of a sailor. His shrewd face was weather-beaten and wrinkled, but so kindly and smiling that Alaric could not help but smile from sympathy as they met.

He found Bonny impatiently awaiting him, and in such cheerful spirits as to be hardly recognizable for the despondent, half-starved lad of two hours before.

"Hello, Rick!" he shouted, as his friend approached. "I know you've had good luck, for I see it in your face."

"Indeed I have!" replied Alaric; "and, what's more, I've had the best breakfast I ever ate in my life."

"That's what I meant by luck; and I've had the same."

"What's more," continued Alaric, "I have brought something that was sent especially to you, for fear you hadn't found anything to eat."

[Pg 680]

Thus saying, he handed over a big bright silver dollar.

"Well, if that don't beat the owls!" exclaimed Bonny at sight of the shining coin, "for here is his twin-brother that was handed to me to give to you, or rather to the first fellow I met who needed it more than I did."

"I must be the one then," said Alaric, joyously, "for I haven't a cent to my name, and as you now have two dollars, I'm willing to divide with you. But who gave it to you, and how did he happen to?"

"The queerest and dearest old chap I ever saw. You know how badly I was feeling when we separated. Well, that was nothing to what came afterwards. I set out to board every ship in port until I should find a cook or steward who would fill me up and let me have something extra to bring to you. On the first half-dozen or so I was treated worse than a dog, and fired ashore almost before I opened my mouth. It made me feel meaner than dirt, and but for thinking of how disappointed you would be if I came back as miserable as I went, I should have given up in despair. I must say, though, that all the fellows who treated me that way were Dagoes, Dutch, or Chinamen.

"At length I boarded a Yankee bark that carried an Irish steward, and the minute I said I was hungry he cried out:

"'Don't spake a wurrud, lad, for ye couldn't do yer looks justice. Jist be aisy, and come wid me.'

"With that he led me to a sort of a cuddy at the forward end of the after deck-house, and set me down to such a spread as I haven't seen since I left Cape Cod. There was cold roast beef, corned beef, potatoes, bread and butter, pie, pickles, coffee, and—well, it would be no use to tell all the things that steward gave me to eat, for you just wouldn't believe it. He laid 'em all out, told me to pitch in, and then went off, so, as he said, I'd be free to act according to nature.

"I sat there and ate until I hadn't room for as much as a huckleberry. As I was looking at the last piece of squash pie, and thinking what a pity it was that it must be left, I heard a chuckle behind me, and turned around in a hurry. There stood one of the mates and the dear old chap I was just telling you about.

"'Why don't you eat it, son?' says the mate.

"'Reason enough,' says I; 'because I can't; but if you don't mind, sir, I'd like awfully to take it to my partner in starvation,' meaning you.

"'Who is he? And how does he happen to be starved?' says the dear old chap. Then I up and told them the whole story of our experience on the Fancy, being chased by the revenue-men, and all, and it tickled 'em most to death.

"When I got through, the stranger, who was just down visiting the vessel, slipped a dollar into my hand, and told me to give it to the first chap I met who needed it more than I did. He said he used to know Cap'n Duff, and told me a lot of yarns about him as we walked back here together."

"Was his name Jalap Coombs?" asked Alaric.

"I expect it must have been, for he had a lot to say about somebody named Kite Roberson, who allus useter call him 'Jal.' Why? Do you know him?"

"Yes. That is, I feel as if I did. But, Bonny, I mustn't stop to tell you of my experiences now, for I have made an important business engagement for both of us uptown, and we must attend to it at once."

#### [to be continued.]

## IN THE TOWER OF MANY STORIES.

### HENRY THE EIGHTH.

#### (In Two Parts.)

### BY MRS. LEW. WALLACE.

### II.

THE MIDDLE TOWER.

Among Anne's maids of honor was a delicate girl of exquisite charm, and as witty as the Queen herself. Jane Seymour came of a haughty house, but had missed the imperious bearing that was the heritage of her race. The winsome presence, all sweetness and grace, caught the restless fancy of the ungoverned King, and so bewitched was Bluebeard that he determined to slip off the bonds that bound him, and lead another wife to the altar and throne. To be sure, he had worn the light fetters of his second marriage loosely enough, and how to rid himself of the tireless devotion of Anne must have made him ponder and hesitate.

Not for long did he ever wait; patience was not a trait of even the best of the Tudors. One day, at Greenwich Palace, the Constable of London Tower suddenly appeared, and announced it was the King's pleasure that the Queen should at once depart with him. She was in an agony of terror, but calmly said, "If it be the King's pleasure, I obey." Without changing her dress, she entered her barge and was silently rowed to the Traitors' Gate. Under the fatal black arch she knelt and solemnly protested her innocence, prayed and wept, then laughed, and cried again, distracted like one insane. Two of her worst enemies were appointed ladies in waiting, in reality to watch her every movement day and night, tormenting the woful prisoner with questions. "The King wist what he did when he put such women about me," cried the wretched Anne. Faithful friends were lodged near, but not allowed to come close enough to ward off her persecutors.

On the fourth day of her captivity the Queen wrote a heart-breaking letter to the brute she called her sweet lord. It is so touching and tender I wish for more space that I could give it in full. The original MS. you may see in the British Museum. She prayed for a lawful trial, not before her enemies, and generously begged she alone might be[Pg 681] condemned, if any. Here is the conclusion:

> "If ever I have found favor in your sight, if ever the name of Anne Boleyn has been pleasant in your ears, then let me obtain this request, and I will so leave to trouble your Grace any further, with mine earnest prayers to the Trinity to have your Grace in His good keeping, and to direct you in all your actions.

> "From my doleful prison in the Tower this 6th of May.

> "Your most loyal and ever faithful wife,

"Anne Boleyn."

The trial was held the 16th May in the great Hall of the Tower, the scene of much iniquity, but none so black as this. The twenty-six "lords triers" were picked men who knew Henry's will and pitiless cruelty. The defenceless prisoner had no counsel or advice of any kind, but she bore herself composedly, and fearlessly held up her hand and pleaded not guilty. The records of the trial were destroyed, but it is said she defended herself with power and eloquence. It was a mere form; she was sentenced to be burnt or beheaded in three days, at the pleasure of the sovereign, and was requested to lay aside her crown, which she did, swearing herself innocent of any crime against her husband. Then clasping her hands, she appealed from earth to heaven, to the One who judgeth quick and dead: "O Father! O Creator! Thou who art the Way, the Truth, and the Life! Thou knowest that I have not deserved this fate!"

The whole proceeding was a bitter mockery, the deliberate sentence of death of a wife to make room for another.

She knew him too well to entreat for life or an extension of time. Three days more were allowed her, and of the hundreds the lovely lady had befriended not one was bold enough to stand between the murderer and the Queen. He was surrounded by flatterers who compared him to Absalom for beauty, Solomon for wisdom, and heroes ancient and modern for courage. And the same day she was condemned bluff King Harry signed the death warrant of his "entirely beloved Anne Boleyn."

In the dismal Tower she wrote her own requiem, so pitiful, yet so brave a thing few souls could dare. It begins:

"O Death! rock me asleep!
Bring on my quiet rest;
Let pass my very guiltless ghost
Out of my careful breast.
Ring out the doleful knell;
Let its sound my death tell;
For I must die.
There is no remedy,
For now I die!"

Her old friend, Sir Henry Kingston, was charged to announce the dreadful sentence that she be beheaded at noon the 19th of May, 1536, and, instead of the axe, the King graciously ordered she be beheaded by a sword; there was an expert in the horrid business who should be sent for to come from Calais.

Said the messenger, "I told her that the pain would be little, it was so subtle"; and then she replied, "I have heard say the executioner is very good, and my neck is very slender," upon which she clasped it with her two hands and smiled serenely; was even cheerful.

ANNE BOLEYN.

A few minutes before noon the Queen of England, attended by four maids of honor, appeared on Tower Hill, dressed in a robe of black damask, with deep white crape ruffling her neck, a black velvet hood on her head. Her cheeks were flushed with fever, and her beauty, says an eye-witness, was fearful to look upon.

In sight of the scaffold she made a speech, resigned and gentle: "I come here to die, not to accuse my enemies.... I pray God to save the King, and send him long to reign over you, for a gentler and more merciful Prince was there never. To me he was ever a good and gentle sovereign lord.... Thus I take my leave of the world and of you, and I heartily desire you all to pray for me."

[Pg 682]

Then she bade her weeping ladies farewell, refusing to allow her eyes to be covered, and the skilful Frenchman, avoiding her reproachful glance, with one blow of the sharp steel parted the burning brain from the true heart, and Anne Boleyn entered the strange peace we call death.

The dripping head with its soft silky tresses and the dis-severed body reeking in blood, were thrown into an old elm chest that had been used for keeping arrows, and carelessly buried in the chapel, without hymn or prayer.

Again the Tower guns sounded—the signal for death, not life. The solemn knell was music of wedding-bells in the listening ear of Henry. Dressed for the chase, he had stood under a spreading oak waiting impatiently till the sun-dial told noon, when the heavy booming filled the air. "Ha! ha!" he cried, with unnatural joy. "The deed is done. Uncouple the hounds, and away!" And mounting his horse, he rode at fiery speed to his bride expectant at Wolf Hall. The peerless Seymour, the pure white lily-bud, in the freshness of life's morning married Bluebeard the very next day.

The wedding feast was spread, the coronation a cloudless splendor; submissive courtiers held to the ancient proverb that the crown covers all mistakes, and they kissed the bloody hand of their master and hung on the smiles of the youthful Queen.

The sins of Anne Boleyn lie lightly on her now. Whatever her vanity and follies, she was a thousand thousand times too good for her "merciful Prince."

The fair Seymour, happily for herself, died the next year after her marriage, and Henry made offers to several royal ladies, and to an Italian Princess who had the shrewdness to decline, saying she might consider the proposal if she had two heads, but could not afford to lose her only one by the axe. And it was a good answer. A German Princess married him, and was divorced for Catherine Howard, who was murdered as Anne Boleyn had been; and then came the last wife, Catherine Parr, widow of Lord Latimer. By that time the King was grown a beast, with savage will unbroken, ready to kill, kill, kill whatever opposed caprice or whim. She lived to nurse him, this proud lady, till his bloated body almost rotted; he became a loathsome object, polluting the air (I may say the world), fearful to approach; and she paid a high price for her diamond coronet and whatever else came by the death of the despot she outlived. Of the latter days of Henry the Eighth the less said the better.

Beloved, these are sorry tales to tell young readers, but the Tower is a dreary place, and the greater portion of its history was made in barbarous ages. The historian mousing through the records of a terrible past has little pleasure, except in the thought that these murderous old days are ended forever. It is now a government store-house and armory.

One more little story, and we say good-by to the famous Tower whose foundations were laid by Julius Cæsar.

Not every reader of its history remembers that the greatest of England's rulers was once prisoner there. When Bloody Mary, daughter of Henry the Eighth and Katherine of Aragon, was Queen, she had Elizabeth, daughter of Anne Boleyn, arrested for conspiracy. The Princess, who could look down a lion, clad herself in white to proclaim her innocence, and rode to her prison in an open litter, that she might be seen by the people. A sick girl, faint and pale, her mien was lofty and defiant. It was but eleven days since Lady Jane Grey had been beheaded, and no one, high or low, knew when he might be marched to the dungeon or the block.

At the Traitors' Gate the Princess Elizabeth refused to land. One of the lords attending told her she must not choose, and, as it was raining, offered her his cloak. She dashed it from her "with a good dash," and setting her foot on the stairs, exclaimed: "I am no traitor! Here lands as true a subject, being prisoner, as ever landed at these stairs. Before Thee, O God, I speak it, having no other friend but Thee." Instead of passing through the opened gates, she sat on a cold wet stone, determined not to enter the prison of her own mother. However, the dauntless maid was forced to yield. The death of her half-sister made her Queen, and she reigned long and wisely, with a strange mixture of weakness in the midst of her wisdom and strength.

Once in a time of peril she mounted a white horse and rode through her army, very stately, in a steel corselet, bareheaded, her page bearing her plumed helmet, and spoke in words unsurpassed for appeal:

> "My loving people, we have been persuaded by some that are careful of our safety to take heed how we commit ourselves to armed multitudes, for fear of treachery; but I do assure you I do not desire to live to distrust my faithful and loving people. Let tyrants fear. I have always so behaved myself that under God I have placed my chiefest strength and safeguard in the loyal hearts and good will of my subjects; and therefore I am come amongst you as you see me at this time, not for my recreation and disport, but being resolved in the midst and heat of battle to live or die amongst you all, to lay down for my God, and for my kingdoms, and for my people my honor, and my blood even in the dust. I know I have the body of a weak, feeble woman; but I have the heart of a King, and of a King of England, too, and think foul scorn that Parma of Spain, or any Prince of Europe, should dare to invade the borders of my realm; to which, rather than any dishonor should grow by me, I myself will take up arms. I myself will be your General, judge, and rewarder of every one of your virtues in the field. I know already for your forwardness you have deserved rewards and crowns, and we do assure you, on the word of a Prince, they shall be duly paid you.

> "For the mean time my Lieutenaut-General shall be in my stead, than whom never Prince commanded a more noble or worthy subject; not doubting but by your obedience to my General, by your concord in camp and your valor in the field, we shall shortly have a famous victory over these enemies of my God, of my kingdoms, and of my people."

No wonder the troops fell on their knees as one man, and shouted themselves hoarse in applause for their lion Queen, mother of all true Englishmen.

HENRY THE SEVENTH'S CHAPEL.

The gentlest of peacemakers is Time. The two daughters of Henry the Eighth—Mary and Elizabeth—so wide apart and repellent in life, are at one now. Henry the Seventh's Chapel of Westminster Abbey contains a narrow vault that holds what remains of the rival Queens. Their tomb allows no other tenant, and they will never more be divided. In calm after storm the unquiet Tudor sisters lie there alone, the leaden casket of Elizabeth resting on the coffin of Mary, well named the Bloody. Heirs of a contested throne, they sleep together in their Palace of Peace awaiting the call of the Angel of the Resurrection.

#### the end.

## DAISIES AND DANDELIONS.

"Doctor, lawyer, merchant, priest,
Rich man, poor man, beggar-man—"

The last petal was reached as my little friend came to "beggar-man."

"Oh, dear," she said, with a comical look of make-believe distress on her pretty face. "A beggar-man for a husband! It's too dreadful for anything! Naughty daisy! I don't believe you are a good fortune-teller."

She was right. The daisy is not a good fortune-teller. But it is a nice flower, or rather group of flowers, to study. The whole yellow centre is a crowded mass of flowers, and the white petals along the edge are not petals at all, but rays.

Squeeze a daisy between your thumb and finger. Let the rays drop off, but keep one of the tiny florets, as they are called, and place it under a reading-glass or, better still, a pocket microscope. You cannot spend two or three dollars better than for a pocket-microscope, which will make a small seed look as large as a pea. In our daisy floret we shall find all the parts which the larger flowers have. The calyx is low down, clinging to a single hard[Pg 683] seed. Such a seed is called an achenium (plural, achenia). The corolla is a tube with five points cut in the top. There are five stamens, joined, and making a ring by their anthers. The pistil is in the centre, where it belongs, with stigmas, and the style cut in two at the top. The flowers grow on a smooth white receptacle. There are two more things to notice about flowers belonging to this great Composite family: one, that each floret has a long, narrow bract standing beside it; the other, that the calyx-cup is crowned with stiff points, or coarse teeth, or bristles, or feathery-looking things. These are called the pappus. In the daisy there is no true pappus, but you have seen it in thistledown and in the dandelion-seed. The pappus serves for little wings for the flower, by which the wind blows the seed about.

Perhaps you like yellow daisies better than the too common white ones. Their seed was brought to us with clover-seed from the West, and now the yellow daisy or cone-flower is a tiresome weed to farmers about New Jersey, and soon will be over all New England. The florets are dark brown, and grow on a pointed receptacle. It is certainly a handsome thing, but it is a weed all the same. It differs from the white daisy in one particular. The rays of the white daisy have each a pistil like the florets, while the rays of the cone-flower are neutral—that is, have no pistil.

The marnta, or mayweed, is a small daisy growing on sandy roads. Its leaves are prettily cut, and smell like tansy leaves. The handsome asters which keep goldenrods company in autumn, marigolds, thorough worts, and hosts of others belong to the daisy family.

The dandelion has been called "the bright eye of spring." Did you ever curl its hollow stem or blow off its seeds? Blow three times, and you will have as many children as there are seeds left standing, so says this bit of flower-lore. The dandelion has no rays around the edge, but all the florets alike have rays. So the corollas, instead of being five-pointed tubes, are all spread out flat like the rays of the daisy. There are not so many flowers of this kind, but perhaps you know the wild-lettuce, the fall dandelion, the hawkweed, and the chicory. The last is a pretty blue flower. Blue flowers are rather rare. Red, yellow, and pink are commoner.

One of the hawkweeds has handsome leaves, all clustered at the root, light purple underneath, veined with darker purple. If you find such a rosette of leaves, with a tall slim stem bearing a few tassel-shaped yellow blossoms, you will have one of my favorites. Somebody has given it a bad name—rattlesnake-weed. It is not a weed, and only in its purple coloring may there be some suggestion of a snake-skin.

You will see now how the Composites are divided into two classes. The first is tubular, in which, like the daisy, ray-flowers grow only around the margin; the second, ligulate, in which, like the dandelion, all the corollas are alike, spreading out and flat.

These flowers are surrounded by an involucre composed of small leaves in rows, each one a scale. In thistles the scales are prickly.

## A BRAVE WAR CORRESPONDENT.

It is a pleasure to cite the following case of an American correspondent whom Lord Wolseley encountered during the Ashantee campaign, and it cannot be done better than to cite it as the General told it, in a reminiscent mood, not long since: "It was at the beginning of the campaign, just after our landing, when a square-built little man came up to me, and said, speaking slowly, and with an unmistakable American accent: 'General, allow me to introduce myself. I am the correspondent of the New York ——. I—.' Too busy to attend to him, I cut him short with, 'What can I do for you, sir?' He replied, imperturbably, with the same exasperating slowness, 'Well, General, I want to be as near you as I can, if there is any fightin' to be seen.' 'Captain So-and-so has charge of all the arrangements concerning correspondents,' I rejoined, curtly; 'you had better see him.' And with this I turned on my heel and left him. I saw no more of my correspondent with the aggravating coolness and slowness of speech for many a day. I did not even know whether he was accompanying the column or not. Personally speaking, I was only in danger once during the whole expedition. It was shortly before we entered Coomassic. I had pressed forward with the advanced troops, hoping to break the last effort at resistance and have done with the affair, when the enemy, utilizing the heavy covert, came down and fairly surrounded us. For a few minutes the position was critical, and every man had to fight, for the enemy's fire was poured in at close quarters. They pressed upon us from all sides, dodging from tree to tree, and continually edging closer, hoping to get hand to hand. In the hottest of it my attention was caught by a man in civilian's clothes who was some fifteen or twenty yards in front of me, and who was completely surrounded by the advancing savages. He seemed to pay no heed to the danger he was in, but, kneeling on one knee, took aim and fired again and again, and I seemed to see that every time he fired a black man fell. I was fascinated by his danger and coolness. As our main body came up and the savages were driven back, I went forward to see that no harm came to my civilian friend, who rose just as I reached him. To my astonishment it was the correspondent of the New York ——, and he began again, in the same slow, calm way, 'Well, General——.' Again I interrupted him. 'You were lucky to escape. Didn't you see that you were surrounded?' 'Well, General,' he began again, 'I guess I was too much occupied by the niggers in front to pay much attention to those behind.'"

## NURSERY BALLADS.

### THE WANDERING COW.

"The cow has escaped from the Ark!" cried Noah—"the cow has escaped from the Ark!
And wandered away and hid from the day somewhere in the nursery dark;
So, Billie, be careful, and, Jimmie, go slow; 'twould be horridly awful I vow,
If you in your gropings should happen to step on a poor little dun-brown cow
"Now where shall we look for a little dun cow—just where is she likely to be?
Far off in the camp of the soldiers tin or swimming hard by in the sea—
A-swimming with joy in the saw-dust waves and tossing the boats on her horns,
Or solemnly chewing the lacquered manes of the Japanese unicorns?
"Or else do you think she has clambered up the sides of the mantel-piece,
And there, to the tick of the nickel clock, is taking a moment of ease?
Or, horrible thought, oh, terrible thought! must we fearsomely search for her
In the zinc flue-pipe that leads far down through the nursery register?
"Do you think that perhaps she has wandered off and has tumbled adown the stairs,
Or can she be up on the bureau there a-combing her painted hairs?
Is she down in the kitchen or up on the roof, or hid in the attic cold,
Or has she run off to the music-box to list to the "Warrior Bold"?
"Oh, where, oh, where would a dun cow go? Pray tell me if you can," cried Noah,
"The rain's coming on, and I want to close up and bolt fast my Arkian door.
'Twould never do to be caught in the rain out there on the cold wet moor,
For her color's not fast, and if it comes off she'll be a done cow for sure."
Carlyle Smith.

[Pg 684]

## FROM CHUM TO CHUM.

### BY GASTON V. DRAKE.

### XV.—FROM JACK TO BOB.

White Mountains.

> DEAR BOB,—I haven't written for some time because I tried an experiment over in the bowling-alley one day week before last which wasn't pleasant. I tried to put my finger in between two of the balls and get it out again before anything happened and couldn't, so I've had to have my whole hand swathed in a bandage ever since, and that's why Sandboys is writing this letter for me. It was too bad it happened the way it did, because we've been having a bowling turnement, and our side was way ahead when I smashed my finger, and we got beaten on the last game by five pins. Sandboys says when he was young his life was saved by a bowling-ball. It was before all the panthers that used to be thick in these mountains had all died out. They used to play havick with this part of the country eating up all the sheep and cows and horses and even tourists with good money in their pockets, and very few families living hereabouts dared to have their windows open at night in the summer-time for fear a panther might jump in and devour them up, even on the top floor. He says they are wonderful jumpers those panthers. He has seen one go up Mount Washington in sixty-three springs, and come down in twenty-nine, and as for jumping from the piazza of this hotel up into the cupola he says that would be about as easy for a healthy panther as falling off a chair would be to you or me. He lived over at a place called Littleton at that time and had a room in the top floor of his father's house. It was in midsummer and an awfully hot night, but being afraid of the panthers that were prowling around, when he went to bed he shut his window and his shutters up tight. Three or four times some of the panthers tried to break through and banged up against the shutters pretty hard, but without success, and finally an hour went by without any more attempts being made, and forgetting that strategy was one of the panther's strong points Sandboys thought they'd gone away and that it would be safe to open his window and get a breath of fresh air because his room had become like an oven, being right under the roof. So he opened the window softly and threw the shutters wide, peeping carefully out first to see if there were any panthers in sight. Unfortunately he looked down into the yard and didn't see the wild animal sitting on top of the telegraph pole across the street, waiting for his pray. "Good," said Sandboys, "they're all gone. I can get a chance to cool off." And he crept back into bed leaving the window wide open, and then the trouble began. He'd hardly got into bed when there came a fearful bang on the side wall just over him. The horrid beast that had been perched on the telegraph pole opposite had jumped across the street, through the window and landed ker-flump against the wall. Fortunately the force of the bang stunned the panther for a minute and Sandboys had presence of mind enough to snatch his pillow out of its case and to pull the pillow-case over the panther's head. It was the work of an instant, as the story-books say, and then he was off. That is, Sandboys was off. He fled through the window, dropped down to the soft earth and made a bee-line for the hotel. "Why did you go to the hotel?" I asked. "Because," he replied, "nobody else ever went there and I thought that would be the last place in which an animal with ingenious instinctiveness would think of looking for me."

> My, but Sandboys is wise, but it didn't work. The panther soon recovered from his stun and after pawing at it for a minute managed to get the pillow-case off his head, and began to look around for Sandboys. He looked under the bed, and in the wardrobe and maybe in the bureau drawers. Nobody knows where he didn't look, and finally seeing that the door was still locked he of course knew that Sandboys had escaped by the window which shows you what sagacious animals panthers can be when they try. Well, when the panther saw that, he was mad. When panthers start out to pray they want to pray, and if they don't pray they want to know why, being, as I said, sagacious. So he says to himself it's Sandboys or nothing for supper and out he starts in pursuit and as luck would have it, being hungry, he thought he'd stop at the hotel a minute and take a bite out of the landlord. He stopped and the first thing he knew was that he was face to face with Sandboys. Sandboys was nonplussed—which is Latin for rattled—for a minute and so was the panther, for Sandboys was the last person he expected to find there. The panther's surprise was Sandboys' chance and he took it. He rushed from the room before the panther had recovered and was soon on the top floor whence, by a back staircase he rushed down, and out into the night. But the panther started in pursuit as usual. As he ran along Sandboys reasoned thus: "Nobody who has ever been to that hotel once, ever was known to go back again. I'll go back and delude the beast," which he did, but the door was locked and he had to take refuge in the bowling-alley. But the panther knew a thing or two and as Sandboys went in one door of the alley and locked the door after him and threw the keys away, he climbed in the window at the other end and there they were again, face to face: Sandboys at one end of the alley, the panther at the other and all was dark except one could see the glittering eye of the other. The panther was delighted. Everything seemed to be going his way and Sandboys was in despair. Escape seemed impossible. "I'll play with him," thought the panther and he took one step and crouched, smiling softly to himself when all of a sudden Sandboys thought, "Here I'm the champion bowler of this town, it's my only chance." The panther took another step and crouched. Sandboys took a ball. "I'll aim between his eyes and hit his nose," said Sandboys and he let go. It was dark, but it was a strike. The ball rolled thunderously down the alley. The panther didn't know what it was, and the first thing he knew as he laid his nose flat in the middle of the alley the ball came crashing into it, broke his neck and he lay dead, and Sandboys was saved.

> How's that for an adventure?

Yours truly Jack per Sandboys.

> P.S. (in an almost unreadable hand). I don't know what Sandboys has told you in this letter from me, but whatever it is, the head waiter says it must be a exagravation because Sandboys is given to exagravations—by which I mean he draws the long bow when he tells things about himself. Love to all,

Jack.

[Pg 685]

LONDON ATHLETIC CLUB GROUNDS.

The spring meeting of the London Athletic Club was held on the club grounds at Stamford Bridge on April 11th. There were three scholastic events on the card, and as they do things somewhat differently in England from the way we do them over here, it may be interesting to the readers of this Department to hear of how this meeting was conducted. The first event for the schools was a 120-yard hurdle race on turf over ten hurdles 3 ft. 6 in. high. The English hurdles are fixed firmly in the ground, so that hitting an obstacle there means a fall—and this happened at these games to at least one man in each heat. After all, however, it seems a better arrangement than our way, for it compels the racers to jump the hurdles, and if a fall does result it is a good deal more like sport to fall on turf than to carry away several ounces of cinders in one's face and arms. As may be seen from the accompanying illustration, the course is laid towards the grand stand, instead of past it, which does not afford so good a view of a race as might otherwise be the case.

One pleasant feature of the occasion was that the in-field was kept perfectly clear. None but the half-dozen officials whose business required their presence there were allowed inside the track. Another improvement over our method was that the contestants came out for their heats without any clownlike bath-robes about them, and trotted down to their stations unassisted and unaccompanied by a horde of attendants, trainers, or rubbers. Their costumes, too, were more sightly than those seen in America, each man's shirt being provided with quarter sleeves. In many cases the hem of the sleeves and the bottoms of the running trousers were trimmed with the school colors, and the emblem, when the contestant wore any, was generally small and inconspicuous. In America, as we all know, there is frequently more emblem than athlete. The crouching start has not yet become popular in England; in fact, in all these races only one man leaned on his hands. The rest stood up, and they were by no means as steady on their marks as they would have been if they had adopted the American method of starting.

The hurdle-race was run in two heats and a final, and resulted in a win for Pilkington of Clifton School, who, I take it, is a relative of the Cambridge athlete who came over last fall with the English team that competed against Yale. His time was 17-2/5 sec., which is very fast over turf, and which he could doubtless improve upon on a cinder track. The best interscholastic record for the same event in this country was made by E. C. Perkins, of the Hartford High-School, at the Connecticut H.-S.A.A. games in '94, and was 17 sec. Jarvis of Bedford was second, and Kember of Ramsgate was third.

On the programme this race was set down as "120 yards hurdles Public Schools Championship Challenge Shield," with the additional information that the shield was "presented by Godfrey and Cecil Shaw." The former will be remembered as having given Stephen Chase a hard tussle over the hurdles at the international games last fall. In addition to this championship shield, which stands for a number of years, and on which the winner each year presumably has his name engraved, there was a first prize of a silver cup and a second prize of a silver beaker. This idea of having a challenge shield is an excellent one, as it adds an incentive to true sportsmanship, and makes the honor of winning the race greater than it would otherwise[Pg 686] be. It would be a good fashion to introduce challenge cups and shields in this country.

The quarter-mile was run in three heats and a final. This was also for a championship challenge cup, and for three individual prizes. Harrison of Haileybury, who had the honor of seeing his name set down on the programme as the "holder" of the challenge cup, because he won it last year, was not fast enough on this occasion to maintain his supremacy. He took second place in his heat, and as his time for second was the fastest second of any of the heats, he was allowed to run in the finals, the programme stating that "First in each heat, and fastest second, to start in final." In this last heat were Holland and Hardie of Giggleswick, Davison of Sutton Valence, and Harrison. Davison ran too easily at first, and was some fifteen yards behind the rest at the 220 mark; but he then came away in great style. He was too late, however, to catch Holland, who won in 53-2/5 sec., with Davison second, and Hardie third. The best American interscholastic time for this event was made by T. E. Burke, the champion, in 1894, at the New England interscholastic games, when he was at the Boston English High-School.

#### RECORDS OF THE N.Y.I.S.A.A.

Event. | Record. |  |  |  | Holder.
100-yard dash |  |  | 10-3/8 | sec. | Wendell Baker, Bettins, 1880.
100-yard dash (Jun.) |  |  | 11 | " | D. C. Leech, Cutler's, 1890.
220-yard dash |  |  | 22-4/5 | " | E. W. Allen, Berkeley, 1895.
220-yard dash (Jun.) |  |  | 23-4/5 | " | H. Moeller, Col. Gram., 1894.
440-yard run |  |  | 52-2/5 | " | C. R. Irwin-Martin, Berkeley, 1895.
880-yard run | 2 | m. | 4-1/5 | " | J. A. Meehan, Condon, 1895.
Mile run | 4 | " | 52 | " | C. Southwick, Harvard, 1893.
Mile walk | 7 | " | 30-2/5 | " | L. B. Elliman, Berkeley, 1894.
Mile bicycle | 2 | " | 34-2/5 | " | I. A. Powell, Cutler's, 1895.
120-yard hurdle |  |  | 15-3/5 | " | A. F. Beers, De La Salle, 1895.
220-yard hurdle |  |  | 26-3/5 | " | S. A. Syme, Barnard, 1895.
High jump | 5 | ft. | 11 | in. | S. A. W. Baltazzi, Harvard, 1895.
Broad jump | 21 | " | 5 | " | F. L. Pell, Cutler's, 1891.
Putting 12-lb. shot | 40 | " | ¾ | " | A. C. Ayres, Condon, 1895.
Throwing 12-lb. hammer | 117 | " | 5½ | " | C. R. Irwin-Martin, Berkeley, 1895.
Pole vault | 10 | " | 3/8 | " | E. F. Simpson, Barnard, 1895.

For the mile run ten starters turned out. They stayed bunched for the first quarter, but by the time three-quarters of the distance had been covered there were practically only four in the race. Down the straight Elliot of Giggleswick and Dyke of Sherborne were never more than a yard apart, and a fine finish resulted in a dead heat. The time was excellent—4 min. 42-3/5 sec. Both men fell exhausted at the finish, and Tippets of St. Paul's came in third, not far behind. The best American interscholastic time for the mile is 4 min. 34-2/5 sec., made by W. T. Laing of Andover in 1894, at the New England Interscholastics. The American figures given here are all records, and so the comparison with the English times is not exactly fair, since the English school records in every case may of course be better than the performances on this particular occasion.

The prizes were distributed in a much better way than is done in this country. After each event Mrs. Walter Rye, whose name appeared on the programme, presented the winners with their cups. This is a custom which has not yet been adopted in this country, although at St. Paul's School, Concord, a young lady usually presents the prizes to the winners at the spring meeting. It would be a pleasant and graceful feature if, at the National Games, some lady interested in the sports of our young men in the schools were invited to hand to them their prizes.

The fourth annual tournament of the Yale Interscholastic Tennis Association was held a week ago Saturday, on the grounds of the New Haven Lawn Club. There were thirteen entries from Hartford High, Hillhouse High, Black Hall, Hopkins Grammar, Taft's, and Hotchkiss schools. The day was cold and raw, but, nevertheless, the play on the whole was good.

In the first round the Lyman-Finke match was very interesting. Lyman made a plucky fight in the last set, but Finke won, 6-2, 6-4. The Whitmore-Watrous match showed some pretty tennis. In the first set the score changed many times, each man doing his best to win. Watrous got it, 9-7. Whitmore won the second set, 6-2, but Watrous took the last rather easily, 6-2.

The final round was between two Hotchkiss School players, Finke and Coy. At times the play was excellent, each man showing good judgment and coolness. Finke won 6-2, 6-1, 6-1. Coy might have done much better, but he seemed to be afraid to let himself out. Finke made the remarkable record of winning the tournament without losing a set. He outclassed all the other players. With practice he ought to develop into a player of the first class. He plays with coolness and excellent judgment. The prizes were a cup for first and second, and a banner to the school winning the greatest number of points, each match won counting one point. The banner went to Hotchkiss this year, as it did last year.

The Harvard Interscholastic tournament was held the same day on Jarvis Field, Cambridge, with twelve schools, represented by sixty-seven entries. With so large a number of contestants, the play dragged on into the early part of last week, making the finals come too late for proper notice in the present issue of this Department. Comment will be held over until next week.

The standard of performance of New York school athletes has improved so rapidly within the past few years that it is very difficult now to make any very definite prophecy as to what men will win events at the big Interscholastic meetings. This year the struggle for the cup will probably be between Berkeley and Cutler's, with the chances largely in favor of the former, Barnard's team not being so strong as it was either last year or the year before. For individual winners next Saturday, I think it is reasonably certain to count on Moore of Barnard to take first in the 100, with Harris of Cutler's second. Both men have done 10-2/5 in smaller games this spring, and with this in view we may hope to see Wendell Baker's 10-2/5 record, which has stood so many years, go by the board. The junior event for the same distance will be a close thing between Wilson of Barnard and Leech of Cutler's, the former having won the event in '94, and the latter having won it last year. Armstead of Berkeley will get a place, but I doubt if he does better than third.

Moore is beyond any doubt the best sprinter in the New York association, and will score a double win by taking the 220, unless something unforeseen occurs. Irwin-Martin of Berkeley should be second, with Washburn a close third. There is little room for doubt that Martin will be an easy winner in the quarter, for that is his special event, and Draper of Cutler's will come in second if Hipple of Barnard does not crowd him out. It is possible, however, that White of Berkeley, who has developed great[Pg 687] speed of late, may overthrow these place calculations, and take three more points in the event for Berkeley. Hipple is a man that Barnard must depend on for a good many points, and as he will be especially depended upon to take the half-mile, it is possible that he may not run in the quarter, or, if he does, he may save himself and only try for a place. He is sure to break the record in the half, and if these two races do not tire him too much he ought to make a place in the mile, for he broke the scholastic record for that distance in the Trinity games only a few weeks ago.

Clark of Condon's is a good man to look to for second in the half-mile. Bedford of Barnard has not been doing very good work this year, but unless Turner of Cutler's develops unexpected speed and Hipple unforeseen endurance, he stands an excellent chance of scoring five points in the mile run. The high hurdles will go to Beers of De la Salle, with Bien of Berkeley second. The low hurdles are a fairly sure thing for Harris of Cutler's, with the other two places in dispute among O'Rourke of Trinity, Beers, and Bien. Walker of Berkeley should come in first in the walk, if he can maintain the form he has been displaying all winter, with Blum of Sachs' second.

In the field events, Irwin-Martin of Berkeley will probably score another win for his school by taking the hammer, while the shot will probably also go to Berkeley with Young. Taves of Trinity may be counted upon for places in both events. No one will approach the record established by Baltazzi last year in the high jump, but Pell of Berkeley will probably clear the greatest height, with Wenman of Drisler's and Brown of Columbia Grammar behind him. In the broad jump Pell also stands an excellent chance to get first place, unless Harris develops unexpected ability, and Beers may be able to take the other place. I think we may count upon seeing the pole-vaulting record broken by Hulburt, who has been surpassing himself and everybody else in the open games this spring. The bicycle race will probably go to Cutler's.

#### INTERSCHOLASTIC RECORDS

Corrected to May 1, 1896.

Event. | Record. |  |  |  | Maker. | School.
100-yard dash |  |  | 10-1/5 | sec. | F. H. Bigelow. | Worcester H.-S. | N.E.I.S.A.A. games, 1894.
220-yard dash |  |  | 22-2/5 | " | F. H. Bigelow. | Worcester H.-S. | N.E.I.S.A.A. games, 1894.
440-yard run |  |  | 50-3/5 | " | T. E. Burke. | Boston English H.-S. | N.E.I.S.A.A. games, 1894.
Half-mile run | 2 | m. | 4-1/5 | " | J. A. Meehan. | Condon, N. Y. | N.Y.I.S.A.A. games, May 11, 1895.
Mile run | 4 | " | 34-2/5 | " | W. T. Laing. | Phillips Academy, Andover. | N.E.I.S.A.A. games, 1894.
Mile walk | 7 | " | 17-3/5 | " | A. N. Butler. | Hillhouse H.-S., New Haven. | Conn. H.-S.A.A. games, June 8, 1895.
120-yard hurdle (3 ft. 6 in.) |  |  | 17 | " | E. C. Perkins. | Hartford H.-S. | Conn. H.-S.A.A. games, 1894.
220-yard hurdle (2 ft. 6 in.) |  |  | 26½ | " | Field. | Hartford H.-S. | Conn. H.-S.A.A. games, June 8, 1895.
Mile bicycle | 2 | " | 34-1/5 | " | I. A. Powell. | Cutler, N. Y. | N.Y.I.S.A.A. games, May 11, 1895.
Two-mile bicycle | 5 | " | 18-2/5 | " | Baker. | Hotchkiss, Lakeville, Conn. | Conn. H.-S.A.A. games, June 8, 1895.
Running high jump | 5 | ft. | 11 | in. | S. A. W. Baltazzi. | Harvard, N. Y. | N.Y.I.S.A.A. games, May 11, 1895.
Running broad jump | 21 | " | 7 | " | Cheek. | Oakland, Cal., H.-S. | A.A.L. field day, Oct. 16, 1894.
Pole vault | 10 | " | 7 | " | B. Johnson. | Worcester Academy. | N.E.I.S.A.A. games, June 15, 1895.
Throwing 12-lb. hammer | 125 | " |  |  | R. F. Johnson. | Brookline H.-S. | N.E.I.S.A.A. games, 1894.
Throwing 16-lb. hammer | 111 | " | 10 | " | F. G. Beck. | Hillhouse H.-S., New Haven. | Conn. H.-S.A.A. games, June 8, 1895.
Putting 12-lb. shot | 40 | " | ¾ | " | A. C. Ayres. | Condon, N. Y. | N.Y.I.S.A.A. games, May 11, 1895.
Putting 16-lb. shot | 39 | " | 3 | " | M. O'Brien. | Boston English H.-S. | N.E.I.S.A.A. games, 1894.

The accompanying table of Interscholastic records should perhaps not properly be called such, because the records were not made at any single meeting, but are the best performances made at a number of interscholastic meetings in various parts of the country. After the National games, we shall have established regular "Interscholastic" records, but until then these figures must serve that purpose.

The Graduate.

## Questions and Answers.

Frank Southard asks if it is possible to come to New York and obtain a position. Yes, of course it is. But Frank ought to bear in mind that there are many young men already here, and that it is always easiest to get a foothold where one is best known. "J. G." should address the publishers when in want of a book. If he does not know their names, apply to a bookseller. All publishers send catalogues upon request, but some demand a few cents for the same, not so much in payment as to debar idle requests. That old question about getting into the academies at West Point and Annapolis has been many times answered. Apply to your member of Congress. He alone has power to appoint you, and he only in case of a vacancy. There may be one cadet only at a time at each academy from each Congressional district. The President has a few appointments, but they are intended for sons of military or naval officers, and are rarely or never given to others. This spring we believe the President has one vacancy to fill, and there are more than one hundred applicants for it.

### Answers to Kinks.

### No. 4.

No. 1.—Dora. | } |  | D | O | R | A
No. 2.—Obey. | } |  | O | B | E | Y
No. 3.—Rear. | } | stars. | R | E | A | R
No. 4.—Ayry. | } |  | A | Y | R | Y

No. 5.—Tremor. No. 6.—Invert. No. 7.—Cable. No. 8.—Aspen. No. 9.—Domineer. (stripes.)

### No. 5.

Apartment.

Apart-me(a)nt.

Men tap tar.

Men pat rat.

Neat tramp.

Men at trap.

## ADVERTISEMENTS.

## Flying

## Along

You'll never know all the delightful spring and action of the perfect bicycle tire unless your wheel is fitted with

#### THE STANDARD SINGLE-TUBES

Easy to have Hartford Tires on any bicycle. All you need do is insist, and the bicycle dealer will furnish them.

#### The Original Single-Tubes. Cost Most. Worth Most.

#### The Hartford Rubber Works Co.

#### HARTFORD, CONN.

#### NEW YORK. CHICAGO.

You are bound to succeed in making HIRES Rootbeer if you follow the simple directions. Easy to make, delightful to take.

Made only by The Charles E. Hires Co., Philadelphia.

A 25c. package makes 5 gallons. Sold everywhere.

A cream-of-tartar baking powder. Highest of all in leavening strength.—Latest United States Government Food Report.

#### Royal Baking Powder Co., New York.

## Arnold

## Constable & Co

## Dress Fabrics.

French Canvas,

Wool Grenadine,

Silk and Mohair Barege.

### CHECK SUITINGS.

Silk-and-Wool Mixtures,

Cheviots, Armures, Serges,

Plain Colored Fabrics.

### MOHAIRS,

### PRINTED CHALLIES.

#### Broadway & 19th st.

#### NEW YORK.

### BICYCLES

### GET MIXED!

### PROTECT YOURS!!

For 35 cents we mail your own name and address engraved on a handsome metal plate. Easy and no expense to attach. Agents wanted. Walter Mfg. Co., 144 Monroe St., Chicago.

### Harper's

### Round Table

Not only is it excellent in its written text, but artists make its pages artistically beautiful.—Chicago Inter Ocean, Feb. 22, 1896.

#### 5 CENTS A COPY — $2.00 A YEAR

[Pg 688]

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

Continuing the suggestion begun last week regarding bicycling in Europe during the summer, a word should be said about France. By all means the cheapest route, considering the comfort, to Paris from New York is by the smaller boats of the Hamburg line, which take nine or ten days to reach Havre. It is possible, however, to get a round-trip ticket from New York to Paris and return, including the ride from Havre to and from Paris by train, first-class, for a little under $100.

The roads of France—that is, the parts which are usually ridden—are in the main superior to any roads in the world for bicycling purposes. The many government military roads are kept in remarkably good condition, and while they are perhaps not as interesting as the English roads, which wind about through the country, they are nevertheless better made in the main, though they go along straight lines. On the whole, for a first trip it would be better to take the train from Havre to Paris, and to start from Paris itself. Bicycling in the city itself is very common, and most of the roads are either macadamized or asphalted. In the vicinity of the city there are some beautiful roads, such as the run out to St. Germain, a somewhat shorter one to St. Denis, and, at the other end of the city, to Versailles. These roads, of course, would be taken first by any tourist.

It then becomes a question whether the wheelman will take the trip through Normandy, or will ride or take the train into the middle of France and wheel through Touraine. Perhaps the pleasantest trip for the summer would be to ride through Normandy. In that case leave Paris, passing through St. Germain, following the Seine through a remarkably beautiful country. The run would carry you through Nantes, Vernon, Louviers, and Elbeuf, whence you may either turn northward to Rouen, to see the city and cathedral, or, keeping on, pass through Pont-l'Evêque, and thence to Trouville. This Normandy coast is covered with summer resorts that are peculiarly French, and very attractive, therefore, to the foreigner seeking new sights. Houlgate, Dieppe, and Honfleur are such places, and will well repay a visit. The trip can then be extended through Caen, across the peninsula to Coutances, to Granville, or it may extend out on the peninsula to Cherbourg, and the return to Paris may be either along the southern edge of Normandy through Alençon, taking in Chartres and Etampes, or the return journey may be made by train if there is not sufficient time to ride it both ways on a bicycle.

It is, of course, impossible in this very limited space to give any idea of the possibilities of France for bicycling, but this trip through Normandy, including the short one-day runs in the vicinity of Paris, will make a three or four or five weeks' bicycling tour that will repay any one for whatever expense he may incur. The southern trip through Touraine will be best made, unless considerable time is at your disposal, by taking the train from Paris for Tours. Starting from there, you should run over different parts of Touraine, visiting the famous castles of that country, such as Blois and Amboise. All this country, like Normandy and the vicinity of Paris, is full of good roads, and a month can be easily spent in riding over Touraine alone. These two districts of France are perhaps the best suited for bicycling, and should be recommended to the wheelman as suitable for his first foreign tour.

> H. Bert Blackwell.—To train for a half-mile bicycle race, ride on a track, if possible, or on a good road, ten miles at a reasonably good rate every day in the week except Sunday. Practise starts Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday for about twenty minutes, and Tuesday and Friday ride a half-mile against time, with a pace-maker, if possible. Two weeks before the race takes place practise starts for twenty minutes each day, and ride a half-mile against time four times a week. For diet avoid liquids as much as possible, except water; eat beef and chops which are moderately rare, boiled potatoes, and plain vegetables; avoid sweets in the main, and eat nothing fried. Aside from this, the food question is not so important as the time of eating, which should be absolutely regular: breakfast between seven and eight, the same time every day; a hearty lunch, which should be practically a dinner, at from half past twelve to one; and a dinner or supper at between six and half past. Go to bed at ten, and get up at seven. This may well be considered a severe course of training, and is only for a seasoned rider.

> B. M. Warren.—Bicycle maps running along the coast of Connecticut have already been published in the Round Table. We hope, some time this summer or in the early fall, to give some of the best routes through central Connecticut.

> E. W. Davies.—The best route from Woodstown, New Jersey, to Trenton, through Philadelphia, is as follows: Leave Woodstown and proceed to Swedesborough (seven miles), thence to Clarksborough (six miles), Woodbury (five miles), and Gloucester to the ferry (four miles), crossing thence to Philadelphia. Leaving Philadelphia, proceed to Frankfort (seven miles), thence to Bristol (fifteen miles), and thence to Trenton (nine miles). The road is moderately good all the way.

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

### FORMULAS FOR COLORING TRANSPARENCIES.

As we have received many inquiries in regard to the colors used in making the tinted transparencies described in No. 857 of the Round Table, we give the following formulas for preparing the coloring solutions, which are by M. Gachinot, Paris, France, all of which can be successfully used. Having printed the plate according to the directions given, immerse in any of the following solutions till the desired color or tint is obtained:

#### RED BATH.

Carmine (in grains) | 5 | parts.
Liquid Ammonia | 15 | "
Distilled Water | 120 | "

#### BLUE BATH.

Prussian Blue | 50 | parts.
Oxalic Acid | 50 | "
Distilled Water | 120 | "

#### YELLOW BATH.

Gamboge | 50 | parts.
Saffron | 50 | "
Distilled Water | 150 | "

The yellow bath must be boiled for five minutes, and filtered.

#### VIOLET BATH.

Permanganate of Potash | 10 | parts
Distilled Water | 100 | "

#### GREEN BATH.

Prussian Blue | 50 | parts.
Oxalic Acid | 50 | "
Picric Acid | 15 | "
Distilled Water | 150 | "

Dissolve by heat.

Aniline colors may also be used, and are both cheap and easily prepared. Dissolve one ounce of any aniline color in ten ounces of distilled water, and immerse the transparency in the solution till the desired tint is obtained. Wash in several changes of water till the whites are clear. Dry in a place free from dust.

> Sir Knight R. H. Wyld says that in developing some pictures taken with a pocket Kodak the pictures came out positive instead of negative. The picture was overdeveloped. Probably the developer worked rather slow, and the picture may also have been under-exposed. The rest of the material will probably be all right with proper time exposure. Cold sometimes retards the action of the developer. The temperature of the developer should never be below 65° Fahr. The process for making plain salted paper was described in Nos. 796 and 803, and was also given in the circular issued last fall announcing the photographic competition.

> J. W. B. encloses two prints, and asks what is the matter with them. The prints were made too dark, and in order to tone them out they were overtoned. The negatives are evidently thin, which also accounts for the gray tone of the print. The blue print formula may be found in Nos. 797, 823, and 828.

> Sir Knight Russel Senior asks if different colored inks can be used to color transparencies, if aristotype prints put in a glycerine solution to keep them flat injures the gloss when they are ready to be burnished, and for a simple way to enlarge negatives. The colored inks are made from aniline colors, and it is better to prepare the color according to directions given in this paper for using aniline colors. Glycerine does not affect the polish of the print. Directions for enlarging may be found in No. 801, March 5, 1895. If you have not a file of the Round Table, enclose five cents to Harper and Brothers, and the number will be sent to you. As the directions occupy all the space devoted to the Camera Club, they cannot be repeated in "Answers to Queries"; but another paper on enlarging will be printed in a few weeks for the benefit of our new members.

> Sir Knight Leonard S. Whittier asks if the editor has heard of the "Quad Camera," and if it is a good camera for five dollars, and also asks the addresses of firms that manufacture cameras at this price or less. The "Quad" camera is said to do very good work for so small a camera. The Eastman Kodak Co., Rochester, N.Y., Kombi Camera Co., Chicago, Ill., Manhattan Optical Co., Cresskill, N.J., are among the firms that manufacture low-priced cameras. A card sent to Scovill, Adams Co., or E. & H. T. Anthony and Co., New York, will bring a catalogue of cameras and photographic outfits.

> Sir Knight Herschel F. Davis wishes a good formula for a one-solution metol developer, and asks if the exposure should be shortened when using metol for a developer. A single solution of metol is made as follows:

Metol | 30 | grs.
Sodium Sulphite (crystals) | 180 | "
Potassium Carbonate | 90 | "
Water | 4 | oz.

[Pg 689]

> In mixing this developer the potassium carbonate can be left out till the detail is out, then add the potassium, and leave the plate in the developer till the required density is gained. One can make the exposure much shorter with the metol, and this developer is specially good for under-exposed plates.

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

So you, my little Irene, are appointed a delegate to a great convention, and mamma has consented to let you go with the other young people to a city half-way across the continent—you who at seventeen have never made a journey except under your mother's care. It is your first flight from the nest, and I do not wonder that you and she both anticipate it with a good deal of thought and some perplexity. To you, of course, the outlook is all roseate; you are sure you will have an enchanting time, and you have no forebodings; but mamma, being older and having experience, feels less at her ease. And yet it is a simple matter to travel under auspices so agreeable as those which belong to Christian Endeavorers when they go to an annual assemblage of their great society.

Resolve beforehand to go equipped lightly as to luggage. A pretty travelling-dress, with an extra waist for any emergency or occasion of ceremony, is all you will require in the way of a gown, and a change of under-clothing will go with the waist in your hand-bag. An oil-silk bag for your sponge, your needful toilet articles, and such trifles as pins, needle and thread, shoe buttons, and light overshoes can easily be compressed into a very small space. An extra pair of gloves should be taken, and a small bottle of camphor or other remedy for sudden indisposition will not be amiss.

On the journey, whether by boat or by train, keep strictly with your own party. There will probably be a number of your friends, very likely your pastor and his wife, in the company, and you must be careful to stay where they stay, and go where they go. You are not an independent traveller. You belong to a party, and must conform to its regulations. Especially when your objective point is a strange city, where you will be thrown among hundreds of people unknown to you, be sure that you do not separate in any way from your own particular group.

Arrived at your destination, you will probably find that quarters have been assigned to you in hospitable homes. Here, as you are received with friendly greetings, do your utmost to prove that you appreciate the kindness shown. Give as little trouble as possible to your entertainers. Every home has its fixed hours for meals, and visitors should be ready at the moment, so that the hostess shall not be embarrassed in her proceedings by any lack of punctuality in theirs. If prayers in the family are before breakfast, be sure that you rise early enough to attend them, and in every point make your visit a pleasure to those who kindly invite you to be a guest beneath their roof.

In visiting a strange place avail yourself of each opportunity for seeing interesting points, for going to see objects of natural interest, museums, libraries, etc., always, however, visiting these with your own party, or with friends who are responsible for your safety.

You will need very little money on such a journey as I am thinking of, your tickets being procured beforehand, and your only requirement being for small change. The funds of the party should be in the hands of one person, selected before starting, who will act as treasurer on the trip, keeping a strict account of her disbursements, so that she may render it at the journey's end.

> Marjorie Daw.—Miss Deland's Oakleigh is, in my opinion, as entertaining a book as Little Women. The Story of a Short Life and Jackanapes were written by Mrs. Ewing, who died some years ago. Grandma's Attic Treasures is by Mary D. Brine.

> Marion D.—Send your invitations for the garden party in the shape of informal notes, written in the ordinary way. "Dear Alice,—Come to my party next Saturday afternoon at 4 o'clock. Tea in the garden," or, "My dear Mary,—Will you give me the pleasure of your presence at a lawn-party next Saturday at four o'clock, to meet Miss Elsie Morrow and Miss Nancy Page, of Baltimore." Let your little note be brief but cordial. It is quite proper to write such an invitation on one's visiting-card.

> Carrie H. D.—I do not think that a girl should too confidently depend on her friend's opinion that she can write short stories. The only way to really test the matter is to send the stories, written plainly, or type-written, and, of course, on one side of the paper only, with return postage enclosed, to the editor of a paper. A girl should read the best stories she can find, and the best essays and historical sketches too, and be in no haste to publish. I cannot advise a young girl to go upon the stage. She should certainly not think of this, unless her parents and teachers not only fully approve, but also urge her to do so. In my experience girls of all periods are much alike. I think the girls of to-day are not at all silly; in some particulars, as in opportunities for out-door sports, and in excellent health, they surpass the girls of a few years ago. Girls are fascinating creatures, and I dearly love them.

## ADVERTISEMENTS.

## 400,000 Pounds

## of Nickel Steel

That is the amount of this wonderful metal, drawn into tubing in our own mills, that has gone into Columbia Bicycles in the past year and a half. Its use is what makes Columbias so strong and light. No such material in other machines. Reserved exclusively for

Columbia Bicycles

### Standard of the World

#### $100 to all alike.

Columbias in construction and quality are in a class by themselves.

#### Pope Manufacturing Co.

#### HARTFORD, CONN.

## WALTER BAKER & CO., limited.

Established Dorchester, Mass., 1780.

## Breakfast Cocoa

Always ask for Walter Baker & Co.'s

### Breakfast Cocoa

Made at

### DORCHESTER, MASS.

It bears their Trade Mark

"La Belle Chocolatiere" on every can.

#### Beware of Imitations.

There's no doubt about the advisability of riding a wheel—the only question now is what wheel to ride.

### Monarch

#### King of Bicycles,

represents cycle manufacture in its highest development. A wheel with which no fault can be found.

4 models, $80 and $100, fully guaranteed. For children and adults who want a lower price wheel the Defiance is made in 8 models, $40 to $75. Send for Monarch book.

#### Monarch

#### Cycle Mfg. Co.,

Lake, Halsted and Fulton Sts., CHICAGO.

83 Reade St., NEW YORK.

## Postage Stamps, &c.

### $117.50 WORTH OF STAMPS FREE

to agents selling stamps from my 50% approval sheets. Send at once for circular and price-list giving full information.

#### C. W. Grevning, Morristown, N. J.

### 1000

Mixed Foreign Stamps, San Marino, etc., 25; 101 all dif., China, etc., 10c.; 10 U.S. Revenues, 10c.; 20 U.S. Revenues, 25c. Ag'ts w'td at 50% com. Monthly Bulletin free. Shaw Stamp & Coin Co., Jackson, Mich.

101 varieties, Venezuela, etc., 10c.; 118 var., many rare and unused, Asia, Africa, and Australia, also Hawaii, Newfoundland, Cuba, Venezuela, etc., only 18c. Scott's 1896 illustrated cat. only 25c. All post-free.

#### W. P. Todd, Morristown, N. J.

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

[Pg 690]

## THE DUKE OF ALVA'S HUMILIATION.

### THIRD-PRIZE STORY.

### BY GEORGE C. HIRST.

The dining-hall of Rudolstadt Castle was the object of much interest one morning in the old war-wearied days of 1547. Behind its curtained doorways maids with straining ears and eyes whispered in consultation. In the kitchen and servants' quarters the guests of the Countess were critically discussed, from their features and dress to their overbearing haughtiness. Old Hans, the butler, was volleyed with questions upon each appearance from the dining-hall, his dignity more impenetrable than the choicest armor in the Netherlands. The Rudolstadt retainers, sitting in the court outside with Dutch sullenness, hated the Spanish masters as they hated sin, under the blankness of their features. One of them paced to and fro with blazing eyes and set jaws, savagely shaking his sword and repeatedly testing its shining point, in refreshing contrast to the calmness of his comrades.

In the hall the Countess of Swarzburg acted hostess to the generals of a victorious army, one of whom had terrorised Europe. Her calm dignity was unmoved by their great condescension and haughty arrogance, and eloquent of the fact that they were her quests and not her conquerors. She was a woman with the iron nerve of a warrior and the courage of the bravest Spaniard in her prostrate land, and she had need to be, with the Duke of Alva and Henry of Brunswick opposite her. They were taking her kindness very much as their due, and regarding the castle as a remarkably good inn. Cold constraint attended the breakfast.

Some months before, the Countess of Swarzburg, knowing that a Spanish army on its way to the Netherlands would pass through her territory, had secured a written promise from the Emperor Philip II. that her subjects should be unmolested by his soldiers. She agreed in return to sell him provisions. When the army arrived she promptly sent the supplies, and invited the Spanish generals to breakfast with her.

During the breakfast she skilfully reminded them of the Emperor's promise, but they apparently did not understand her. As the conversation progressed it became more apparent that they regarded her as a conquered ruler and her services as tribute. She grew more and more angry at their demeanor, and her breeding alone kept her outwardly courteous. She turned the conversation at last to trivial matters, and the breakfast went on smoothly, until a servant came and spoke to her. Then she calmly arose.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," she said. "I must leave you a few moments. Your wants shall have attention by my servants here," and without awaiting their reply she left the room.

In the court her manner changed. She closely questioned her servants, and then sent for her retainers and deliberately placed a number of them at each of the doors leading to the hall. "On no account," she instructed them, "permit either of the gentlemen within to leave the room." Then she went below.

A pitiful story awaited her. A number of her people were clustered in a group with looks of despair and misery. The Spanish soldiers had driven off their cattle, and they had seen the results of years of labor depart in a few brief moments. Cattle then represented far more than now, when life was a desperate struggle with the cold and hunger. Hard was the life of the peasant, and the poor Thuringians, who loved their motherly Countess, gathered around her as sheep around a shepherd in a winter storm. She felt their need of her and determined to help them, but despite her great indignation did not lose her presence of mind.

Ordering them all well provided with food, she told them to return to their homes, and there await the stolen cattle which she would see were returned. Then she noiselessly gathered her armed retainers about the several doorways leading to the breakfast-hall. The soldier who had restlessly paced the court and cursed the Spaniards was in advance, and his eyes were hungry and his breath came hard. The Countess entered the room, and calmly seated herself at the table, facing the Duke.

"Gentlemen," she said, "a few moments ago I spoke of the promise of your Emperor, that my subjects should be unmolested by his soldiers. I have just learned that it has been broken. Your men have taken my people's cattle, which are necessary to them. Of course, you knew nothing of this, and my messenger here will carry your orders to return them." She was icily polite, and the command in her last words was more than a Spaniard could take.

"Your messenger is kind," the Duke observed.

"My dear Countess," said Henry of Brunswick, "do not allow the loss of a few cattle, peasants' cattle, to disturb you. How little a woman knows of war, to be sure! Why, soldiers are prone to roughness even in their own land, and a few such escapades cannot be prevented. The Duke and myself sincerely regret the occurrence, and will do our best to stop them in the future."

She looked from one to the other. "Am I to understand, then, that the Emperor's orders have no weight with you?" she asked, angrily.

"As you like," said Alva.

"And that you will not restore to my people their own?"

"It is impossible," explained Brunswick.

"Then, as God lives, princes' blood shall pay for oxen's!"

And from the doors the curtains parted, and the flashing of swords cut the light. The tramp of heavy feet resounded in the castle, and without a word a score of tall brawny warriors encircled the table and enclosed the generals. Behind the chair of Alva, unnoticed, stood the restless soldier, his face, his arms, his body, afire with hate. They say that gaunt, patient, hungry revenge is of the South, that the Northman never feels it, but when a man has lost wife, children, home, peace, liberty, and he sees the instrument of all before him—Heaven shall lightly judge his deed in such a moment!

"Say the word! say the word!" he muttered again and again, pressing hard on his sword.

THE PALE, DETERMINED FACE OF THE COUNTESS SHOWED FULL OF PURPOSE.
Drawn by Edmund F. Webber, Winner of Second Prize in Drawing Competition.

The Duke and Brunswick looked at each other in dismay. Beyond a doubt they were caught. Cut off from communication with their soldiers, they were powerless before the solid wall of men around them. Across the table the pale, determined face of the Countess showed full of purpose. For once a Spaniard's word was unsupported by an army, and Alva's nerve left him. There was a momentary, awkward pause, and then Brunswick came to the rescue.

He burst into a long laugh. "Upon my soul," he roared, "a good joke, an excellent piece of humor! You have surprised me, Countess. I was not aware you Northern people possessed our Spanish wit. What fine retainers! Duke, the messenger of the Countess is here, with an excellent guard to attend him. Do not keep him waiting for your messages."

The Duke hesitated a moment, and then joined Brunswick in what was the best way out of the matter. The Countess ordered her retainers from the room, but the intermittent clanks of armor from the court without were significant.

The Countess detained the generals until she received news that the cattle had been returned and that the Spaniards were marching from her dominions. She knew that they did not dare return and punish her, for they were urgently needed in the Netherlands. Then she politely sent her guests away, to curse her during all the long ride to their soldiers. But curses could not restore the broken self-satisfaction of Alva, nor hide the fact he had been conquered by a woman.

> 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.

In compound perforated stamps the rule is to quote the perforations in the following order: top, bottom, left side, right side.

The Straits Budget, published in Singapore, states that the new Malay Federation scheme contemplates a further change in the colors of the postage-stamps, and it is not improbable that the new tiger's head will disappear for good.

The "Boris" stamps of Bulgaria are purely speculative. The Bulgarian Parliament wished to present the young Prince Boris, on the occasion of his baptism into the orthodox Greek Church, with a sum of money equal to $100,000, and, not having the money in the Treasury, devised the scheme of making a set of stamps for sale to collectors. It is very gratifying to hear that the scheme has not proved a success.

A report comes from Japan that the government will issue two new stamps, one bearing the portrait of Marshal Arisugawa, the other that of Prince Kitashirawika. Both Generals distinguished themselves in the late war with China.

The French philatelic papers have lately given much attention to the "Balloon" letters sent out of Paris during the winter of 1870-71, when the German army was besieging the city. No special stamps were used, but a special post-mark was stamped on each envelope. Hence they are not stamps nor stamped envelopes; but they have a special interest of their own, and many philatelists admit them in their albums. Statistics show that 64 balloons were sent out, conveying 64 aeronauts, 91 passengers, 363 pigeons, 5 dogs, and about three million letters. Five of the balloons were captured, by the Germans, and two were driven to the ocean and lost.

[Pg 691]

In view of the disagreeable taste of the gum on the U.S. stamps, some wags have proposed to flavor the gum with liquorice, sassafras, etc. The only objections made so far is that the stamps, if made too agreeable, would be chewed up by the users.

The difficulty in seeing the water-marks on the current U.S. stamps has led to the suggestion that possibly the water-marks might be shown by Röntgen X rays. It is high time our government should either revert to the plain paper, or make paper showing the water-mark on each stamp.

The work of the S.S.S.S. has done something to reduce the number of such issues, but it seems to have resulted in some degree also in reducing the number of new collectors. A reaction is now taking place, and some philatelists advocate the abandonment of the committee, leaving each person free to collect or reject such stamps as he may prefer.

Old Greek gold coins are as eagerly sought for as ever, and very few new copies are found in excavations, tombs, etc. Mr. H. Montague for many years collected all the fine and rare copies he could purchase. His collection has just been sold, and the 816 coins brought $44,884. Among the highest prices were an Athenian gold stater, b.c. 88, with the head of Athene Parthenos wearing the triple-crested helmet, $830, only three of these staters being known; a tetradrachm of Nabis of Lacedæmon, $580; an old stater of the Arcadian League, with the head of Zeus Lykæos in high relief, $695; one of Tarentum, with the head of Demeter, $500: a silver stater of Croton, with a nude figure of Herakles on the reverse, $375; an oktadrachm of Alexander the Great, $450; a stater of Pheneus, with a naked running Hermes on the reverse, $575, and one of Alexander II., Zebena of Syria, $825. Very few specimens of these old Greek coins have been brought to America.

> D. W. W.—Practically all the unperforated U. S. Revenues are on "old paper," but the paper varied in thickness and in color. The "silk" paper was used in some of the perforated stamps. They are quite scarce. The second and third issues of the U.S. Revenues and the Proprietary stamps were printed on "pink" paper, "violet" paper, and "green" paper. Unless a collector has lots of money to spend, I would advise him not to bother about papers, but take every stamp according to design only. Part perforated stamps are those which have perforations on two sides only. These are to be collected in unsevered pairs only.

> L. H. B.—The 1837 dime is quoted by dealers at 35c. No dealer's address can be given in this column.

> E. Friend, Columbus.—See answer to L. H. B.

> F. Hamm, 4127 Mantua Ave., Philadelphia, Richard Starke, East Islip, New York, Edison B. Council, Council, N.C., wish to exchange stamps.

> B. W. Leavitt.—You can buy a beautiful 1894 dollar from dealers for $1.50.

> No. 1 and 2.
> No. 3.

> H. P. D.—Lithographed stamps are those printed from stones; engraved, those printed from steel-plates; wood-cuts, those printed from engraved wood blocks; typographed, those printed from relief plates. Your Mexican is a revenue stamp. The three triangles of 1894 U.S. 2c. stamps are all slightly different. In No. 1 the horizontal lines run across the ornaments. No. 2 is like No. 1 except that the lines running across the ornament are thinner than No. 1. In No. 3 the lines do not cross the frame.

> W. T. McClintock.—See answer to H. P. D.

Philatus.

Babies whose mothers use common soaps, fret
Chafed and uneasy: but this little pet,
Thanks to pure Ivory, contentedly lies,
Soothed into slumber with soft lullabies.

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

Too simple to get out of order; too strong to break; hooks and unhooks easily—when you please—not before.

### The DeLONG

### Hook and Eye

See that

### hump?

#### Richardson & DeLong Bros,

#### Philadelphia,

makers of the

CUPID Hairpin.

It cannot slip out of the hair.

### 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. Wholesale, E. FOUGERA & CO., New York

Hold their place in the front rank of the publications to which they belong.—Boston Journal, Feb. 19, 1896.

### Harper's

### Periodicals

Magazine, $4.00 a year
Weekly, $4.00 a year
Bazar, $4.00 a year
Round Table, $2.00 a year

## TWO NEW BOOKS

## FOR BOYS

### FOR KING OR COUNTRY.

> A Story of the Revolution. By James Barnes. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.50.

This is a story for young readers, and recounts the adventures of twin brothers who are brought up, just prior to the Revolution, in an American Tory family. One of the brothers becomes imbued with the spirit of American patriotism, and is one of the first to enlist in the service of his country; while the other, having been taken to England, obtains a lieutenant's commission in the English army, and sails with his regiment to fight under the standard of King George. The story is a strong piece of character drawing, and the interest centres in the struggles of the two brothers—one in his loyalty to his country and the other in his loyalty to his king.

### TOMMY TODDLES.

> By Albert Lee. Illustrated by Peter S. Newell. Square 16mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25.

A more entertaining collection of nonsense has rarely been penned.—Boston Traveller.

There is an endless amount of fun in "Tommy Toddles."—N. Y. Times.

Just the book for children, and grown people will find plenty of fun in it.—N. Y. Sun.

It is abounding in side shaking absurdities, and told so well and so seriously that older readers will enjoy it as much as the young folks.—Chicago Inter-Ocean.

#### HARPER & BROTHERS, Publishers, New York.

[Pg 692]

OLD OFFENDERS.

It was at a country election that the following took place.

Every man for miles around was in attendance, from the prosperous farmer to the lowest farm-hand, and here and there in small groups they held lively discussions about the respective candidates. Finally the chairman rapped for order, and the speech-making began. The wily orator explained loudly and long about the poor condition of the country's welfare, and wound up by asking all those who wished for a betterment of things to stand up. Every man arose except an old gray-whiskered farmer, who had fallen asleep over the long-winded oration.

"Now," said the orator, after his listeners had seated themselves, "if there is a man here who does not wish for a betterment of things, let him stand up that we may look upon him with scorn."

At this moment the old farmer awoke with a start, and catching the words "stand up," got upon his feet and stared slowly around as a number of hisses were thrown at him. This roused his ire, and he said,

"Waal, Mister Speaker, I don't know whether we be votin' fer or agin the sentiments of my brethern here; but you and me, I reckon, are in the minority."

#### ART INFLUENCE.

This pretty picture on the wall,
With billows rolling free,
Is full of white clouds in the sky
And white sails on the sea.
And so I'll sit upon the rug
With pail and spade in hand,
And dream that on the silver shore
I'm digging in the sand.
R. K. M.

During a speech at a political dinner in a small Western city, not long ago, a Jingo orator, to the great amusement of his hearers, remarked that "The British lion, whether he is roaming the deserts of India or climbing the forests of Canada, will not draw in his horns nor retire into his shell."

#### A RAINY DAY MEANS NO BALL.

Cameron. "Papa, I'm saving up for a fine day."

Papa. "Why are you doing that?"

Cameron. "So that I can go to a ball match when I have saved up enough."

#### THEIR ONLY TROUBLE.

"There's only one trouble about blowing bubbles, mamma," said little Conrad, the other day, "and that is that they always blow out."

An Irish laborer boarded a street-car, and handed to the conductor a rather dilapidated-looking coin in payment of his fare. The conductor looked at it critically, and handed it back.

"That's tin," he said.

"Shure, I thought it was foive," answered the Irishman, complacently, as he put the piece back in his pocket and produced a nickel.

The magazine containing Mrs. Reynolds's first story lay on the sitting-room table.

Her son, who was at an age to be seriously afflicted with the big head, took it up, and glanced over it rather contemptuously.

"Mamma," he said, "why don't you write for a first-class magazine? I see that this thing is entered through the mails as second-class matter."

#### A QUESTION IN NATURAL HISTORY.

"The cat is a little tiger,
I know very well," said Willie.
"But how is it that the cat-tail
Is never a tiger-lily?"

#### NOT GENUINE.

Tommy. "This new spaniel won't go near the water!"

Papa. "I wonder what's the matter with him?"

Tommy. "I guess he isn't waterproof."

"Talking about treacle," said the old salt, as he hoisted himself off the molasses barrel to make way for the grocer to supply a customer's wants, "thet reminds me of a little scrimmage we had with a pirate slaver in '42.

"We had the coast-line of Africy a blue streak off to the starboard, and we were er spankin' along with every blessed stitch of canvas drawin' when we sighted one er them pirate slavers er bearin' down on us. Capen took a squint through the glass and whistled. 'We'll give him er run fer it,' said he.

"Waal, that chap kep' after us all day, and we tried to slip his lights during the night, but 'twarn't no use. He made up his mind to foller, and he did, day after day. At last we got well down to the cape when er blow came up, and, great guns! it wuz er blow fer certain. It caught us, and drove us plumb into the antarctic circle, with that pirate right after us. That made the Captain mad, and as we had er cargo of molasses on board, he gave the order to uncover the rear hatch and hoist the barrels on deck.

"Blow me if he didn't broach those barrels thet night, and empty them over the starn. The nest day there wuz that pirate stuck fast in the centre of the molasses, where he had sailed. It had froze during the night, and he was anchored in it just the same as if he wuz nipped in an ice-floe. Then we squared around and headed for the cape. As we passed him the Captain shouts out:

"'Ahoy, there! Cold weather fer merlasses, ain't it?' and they shook their fists and yelled, but we left them, and I guess they're there yet."

### FOOTNOTES:

[1] Begun in Harper's Round Table No. 857.

    End of Project Gutenberg's Harper's Round Table, May 12, 1896, by Various

    *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HARPER'S ROUND TABLE, MAY 12, 1896 ***

    ***** This file should be named 57797-h.htm or 57797-h.zip *****
    This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
            http://www.gutenberg.org/5/7/7/9/57797/

    Produced by Annie R. McGuire
    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-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm
    concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark,
    and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive
    specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this
    eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook
    for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports,
    performances and research. They 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-tm 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-tm License available with this file or online at
    www.gutenberg.org/license.

    Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project
    Gutenberg-tm electronic works

    1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
    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-tm electronic works in your
    possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a
    Project Gutenberg-tm 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-tm 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-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this
    agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm
    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-tm 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-tm mission of promoting
    free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm
    works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the
    Project Gutenberg-tm 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-tm 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-tm work. The Foundation makes no
    representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any
    country outside 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-tm License must appear
    prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm 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'll have to check the laws of the country where you
      are located before using this ebook.

    1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm 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-tm
    trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

    1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm 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-tm 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-tm
    License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
    work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.

    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-tm 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-tm work in a format
    other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official
    version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site
    (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-tm 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-tm 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-tm electronic works
    provided that

    * You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
      the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
      you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed
      to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm 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-tm
      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-tm
      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-tm works.

    1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project
    Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than
    are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing
    from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The
    Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm
    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-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm
    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-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
    Gutenberg-tm 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-tm electronic works in
    accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the
    production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm
    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-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or
    additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any
    Defect you cause.

    Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm

    Project Gutenberg-tm 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-tm's
    goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm 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-tm 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 principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the
    mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its
    volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous
    locations. Its 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 web site and
    official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact

    For additional contact information:

        Dr. Gregory B. Newby
        Chief Executive and Director
        gbnewby@pglaf.org

    Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
    Literary Archive Foundation

    Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
    spread 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-tm electronic works.

    Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project
    Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be
    freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and
    distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of
    volunteer support.

    Project Gutenberg-tm 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 Web site which has the main PG search
    facility: www.gutenberg.org

    This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
    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.