CHAPTER VIII.

Miss Betsey Trinkett had risen betimes this Friday morning. She had planned to do some work in her garden, and, besides, Miss Betsey was an early riser.

Ebenezer, the "hired man," when he came back from driving the cows to pasture, found her hard at work, in her huge sun-bonnet and garden gloves, pruning the box that formed the border of the old-fashioned garden.

Here bloomed together in delicious profusion roses--white, red, and pink--sweet-william, dahlias, peonies, mignonette, and heart's-ease, while the labyrinth which wound in and out among them was the pride of Miss Betsey's heart.

After a time she straightened herself and stood gazing at the view, her quaint little figure, in its old-time gay-colored gown, looking not unlike the flowers among which it stood.

"Well, I want to know!" she said, aloud, her hand raised to shield her eyes. "Any one who says his view is better than mine must be just about daft. Land sakes! I'd just about die if I didn't get that sweep of the Merrimac and those mountings beyond!" And then, satisfied, she returned to her weeding.

Miss Betsey's house--in which she had been born, and her father also--stood on the side of a hill. Behind was a steep pasture, full of rocks and stubby bushes. In front, on the other side of the road, the ground sloped abruptly to the village. Even the old white meeting-house, built on a hill though it was, stood lower than the Trinkett farm. Beyond the village flowed the beautiful Merrimac. A broad stretch of meadow-land and cultivated fields rested the eye with their peaceful greens, and far away was the dim outline of the hills.

"Silas don't get a touch of the river," continued Miss Betsey; "and as for the medders, they're nowhere to be seen. He thinks because he can see the Common and the Soldiers' Monument his view's better than mine! He expects me to give up the Merrimac for the Soldiers' Monument! Sakes alive!"

She worked steadily for some time, until the click of the gate attracted her attention.

"I want to know!" she exclaimed, laying down her tools and drawing off her old gloves; "if here ain't Nephew John and Jackie and that naughty Cynthy. Well, well! And this must be the bride." And she hurried down the path to meet them.

Cynthia came shyly forward after the introduction of her step-mother and the greetings were over. All the way in the train she had been meditating what she should say. With Jack's help she had composed a little speech. His help had consisted in acting as audience, for Cynthia was seldom at a loss for words. But when the time came the speech deserted her, and all she could think of doing was to put her arms around Aunt Betsey's neck, and, looking into the depths of the big sun-bonnet, say, softly:

"Aunt Betsey, I'm so sorry! Will you forgive me?"

"Forgive you, child!" exclaimed the old lady, her resentment melting at sight of her favorite niece. "I want to know! Did you suppose I'd remembered to be angry all this time? La, Cynthy, when you're as old as I am you'll have learned to take a little joke. And don't you suppose I'm real pleased to have you look so much like me? If Mrs. Parker couldn't tell us apart there must be some resemblance."

"Nor Jack, either," put in Cynthia, eagerly, with a lightened heart.

"I think you are too good to her, Aunt Betsey," said Mr. Franklin, as they walked towards the house. "I brought her up here to-day for the sole purpose of apologizing."

"Do tell! And I nearly disremembered it entirely! But I'm _real_ glad to see you and my new niece. Come right into the best parlor."

She opened the door, and with reverent step ushered them into the carefully kept "best parlor." An immaculate carpet, ever shielded from the light of day, covered the floor, and a horse-hair sofa and a few chairs of the same inhospitable material stood at regular intervals from one another.

A pair of tall vases and some sea-shells decked the mantel-piece. During their childhood it had been a rare treat to Jack and Cynthia to hold these shells to their ears and listen to the "roar of the ocean" within. On a table between the windows were some wax flowers under a glass, and on the marble-topped centre table were a few books placed together in neat little piles.

Mrs. Franklin was given the place of honor, the large arm-chair. The chair being a high one, and she being a rather small woman, her feet barely touched the floor, and she sat in constant terror lest she should slide ignominiously to the ground.

It was so dark when they entered the room that Mr. Franklin stumbled over a worsted-work footstool which stood in a prominent place, but Miss Trinkett opened the blinds a crack, and two bars of blazing July sunshine fell across the carpet. Then she sat down to entertain her guests, but her mind wandered. The Franklins all talked, but Miss Betsey was unusually silent. "I want to know!" and "Do tell!" came at random. Finally she said, with a hasty glance at the sunlight:

"I wonder now if you'd mind coming into my sitting-room? I'd be real pleased to have you, and maybe we'd find it cooler."

They all jumped to their feet with alacrity. Miss Betsey closed her blinds again with a sigh of relief, and in the freer atmosphere of the sitting-room, secure in the knowledge that her best-parlor carpet was no longer fading, she found her tongue.

"I was coming to see you, niece, just as soon as I could see my way to it. Marthy, my hired girl, has been off for a spell, and that's kept me busy. I'd have written, but I'm a poor hand at writing. Silas he says he wonders the letters I write ever get there, but then he's one of the doubting kind, Silas is. I've great faith in government. I think as long as they undertake to carry letters about at all, they've got sense enough to carry 'em safe, even if I do disremember part of the direction sometimes. And it's wonderful, as I've said many a time before, what you can send through the mails nowadays. But now tell me about those poor little orphans in the poultry-yard."

The success of the last hatch was described to her; in fact, all the news of Brenton was asked for and received, and in turn bits of Wayborough gossip were told to the attentive Mrs. Franklin, while Silas's latest sayings were repeated and commented upon.

When Jack and Cynthia had gone out-doors, Miss Betsey drew her chair a little closer to that of Mrs. Franklin.

"My dear--Hester, I think your name is, and Hester it will be my pleasure to call you--my dear Hester, I want to tell you first and foremost that I'm real pleased you should come and be a mother to those children of Nephew John's. They needed you; they needed you badly. And now I'm going to treat you as one of the family, and talk over a little matter with you and John. You've probably heard of Silas Green. He's been courting me these forty years, and now he's got it into his head that he can't be climbing this hill any more of a Sunday night. He wants me to fix the day! I declare, it kind of takes the stiffening right out of me to think of fixing the day after all these years, and I still hold out, as I can't give up my view of the river."

"What are you going to do about it, Aunt Betsey?"

"That's just it, John. Well, I'm going to hold out a little longer, and I think--in fact, I'm pretty sure--that Silas is weakening. You see, it's kind of lonesome for him down there, now his sister's dead that kept house for him, and it _is_ depressing to have nothing much to look at but the Common and the Soldiers' Monument. Yes, I think he's weakening, and I shouldn't wonder if you were to find him here next time you come. But I'll let you know in time to come to the wedding, you may be sure of that. But there's something else I want to speak about."

Here Miss Betsey paused. She folded her hands anew in her lap, and, rocking briskly, waited for some one to speak. The clock on the chimney-shelf ticked comfortably, and Miss Trinkett's canary chirped and hopped about in its cage at the window. Mrs. Franklin looked at her husband.

"And what is that, Aunt Betsey?" said he. "Somehow you have so taken my breath away by hinting that you are going to make Mr. Silas Green happy, after all these years, that I can't take in anything else."

"Ah, now, my dear boy, don't jump too quickly at a conclusion. Things may not be any nearer a settling now than they were forty years ago. It's all a question of view, and men are terribly set in their ways. However, to continue: I want to make each of the children a present. I feel that I'm getting on in life--though I'm not so very old either, but still no one knows what may happen--and I'd rather do things up before I die than have it all a-going on after I'm laid away. I never did think much of wills, anyhow. So I'm going to send 'em each a present from time to time as I feel inclined."

"Nonsense, Aunt Betsey!" said Mr. Franklin. "You are not going to die for many a year yet, and you give the children enough. Keep your money."

"Now you needn't say a word, John. My mind's made up, and it takes a deal to make me change it--it's in the Trinkett blood. And then I like to get the letters the children write to thank me. I must say I'm powerful fond of their letters, 'specially Cynthy's. She does write a beautiful letter. I'll send 'em each in turn, beginning with Edith and ending up with Willy. Of course they can do what they like with the money, but it would be my advice to put it in the savings-bank. It's wonderful how money does roll up in an institution of that kind."

Miss Betsey could not be turned from her purpose, so her nephew was forced to content himself with begging her, if she sent money through the mails, to address it carefully.

"One would think, nephew, from the way you talk that I didn't know how to write," said the old lady, with some asperity.

Jack and Cynthia in the mean time were exploring the farm. It was a never-failing source of pleasure to them, accustomed to farm life though they were.

"This is a really true farm," said Cynthia; "not a make-believe, like ours, with a hired farmer to do it all. And Aunt Betsey's garden is a thousand times nicer than ours, and her hens are all so big and strong-looking."

"That's only because you've been looking so much at the 'little orphans.' By-the-way, I wonder how they're getting on. I do wish I hadn't had to leave home to-day. I wonder if Neal will attend to things? Queer kind of a duffer, isn't he, Cynth?"

"Yes: but I like him. He's awfully lazy and all that, but I think I'd trust him."

"Oh, I'd trust him far enough, except where hard work's concerned. In that line I think I'd rather trust myself. But I wish it was time to go home."

"So do I," said Cynthia, thoughtfully. "I have a feeling that something is going on there and we are missing it. Aunt Betsey's isn't as much fun as usual, though she was awfully good to forgive me so easily. And you have been frightening me about it all the way, Jack."

At last the day wore on, and amid cordial good-byes from Miss Betsey, her relatives took leave.

"I'll send you something for those little orphans at Christmas-time, Jackie," she called after them, "though this being only July, I hope to see you before then."

When the party reached home they found Bob shaven and shorn, Neal in his most careless and teasing frame of mind, Edith depressed and silent, and the children in disgrace.

"I knew something was happening while we were away," whispered Cynthia to Jack.

"If only we hadn't missed it!" returned he. "Smashing the buggy and shaving Bob, all in one day! It's a regular shame that we weren't on hand."

"It seems to me that you were neglecting things somewhat to-day, Edith," said her father, when he heard the story.

There! it had come. Of course she was to be censured, as she had expected.

"I didn't know I was to be tied hand and foot and look after the children every minute of the day," she answered, crossly; "and it was not _my_ fault that we went to the woods and broke the buggy."

"I don't care in the least about the buggy, but about Neal's dog."

This was too much. Edith felt badly herself about the dog, but surely she was not responsible. She had not been the means of bringing him to Oakleigh, she said to herself. She was about to reply, when Mrs. Franklin interposed and diverted her husband's mind from the subject. This still further annoyed Edith.

Why should Mrs. Franklin feel called upon to interfere between her and her father? And she encouraged herself to dislike more than ever the "intruders" at Oakleigh.

The summer went by. More chickens were hatched, until they numbered four hundred, and then "Franklin & Gordon" concluded that they would not fill the machine again this season. The stock must be carefully tended during the winter, and Jack would have his hands full, though one of the men would help him if necessary.

Jack was to go to Boston to school this winter. Neal was going back to boarding-school; it was his last year, and next autumn he hoped to begin college life.

One fine day towards the end of the summer Cynthia and Neal walked out over the pasture to the "far meadow," and sat down in the shade of a huge hay-stack. The air was full of the hum of fall insects, and grasshoppers alighted here, there, and everywhere about them. Neal tried in vain to catch one with his hat. Then he tossed it to one side, and clasping his hands behind his head, leaned back against the hay with a heavy sigh.

"'What is the matter?" asked Cynthia. "I should think you had the weight of the world on your shoulders."

"And so I have. I've a good mind to trot out the whole story to you, Cynth. I wonder if it would do any good?"

"Of course it would," replied Cynthia, promptly. "There is nothing like talking a thing over, and, besides, I've wanted dreadfully to know what has been the matter with you."

"How did you know anything was?"

"I have seen you growing glummer and glummer. You haven't been nearly as jolly lately. And when you got that letter this morning you looked as if you would like to punch somebody."

"You do take in a lot! I never supposed anybody would notice. I wonder if Hessie did?"

"I saw her looking at you."

"I wish she'd look to some purpose, and hand out what I want. She's so taken up with you Franklins nowadays."

"What do you want?"

"Money, of course."

"Why, Neal, mamma gave you a lot the other day!"

"Oh, that was a mere drop in the bucket. Yes, I really think I'll have to tell you what a fix I'm in. Perhaps you'll see some way out of it."

"Do," said Cynthia, sympathetically; "I am sure I will."

"Well, it's just this: I owe a lot of money to a fellow that goes to St. Asaph's, and I had a letter from him this morning asking me to fork out at once, or he would write to my guardians or speak to the trustees at the school. It's a nasty thing to do, anyhow. I don't think the fellow is a gentleman."

"Then why did you ever have anything to do with him?"

"That's just like a girl! I'm sorry I told you."

"Oh, don't say that! Indeed, it only just struck me that people who are not gentlemen are so horrid. Please go on, Neal, and tell me the rest."

"There's nothing to tell except that I owe him a hundred dollars."

"One hundred dollars! Neal!" To Cynthia this seemed a fortune. "Why, how did you ever spend it all?"

"Spend it! Easily enough. Suppers once in a while, ginger-pop, candy, cigarettes."

"I didn't know you smoked."

"Neither I do. I just do it occasionally to show I'm up to it. But it's no go if you're training, and I'm training most of the time. But you have to keep cigarettes on hand for the fellows."

"But, Neal, you told me once how large your allowance is, and I don't see how you ever in the world managed to spend so much more."

"Easily enough, as I said before. You see, I have the name of being a rich fellow, and I have to live up to it, which makes it hard. I have to live up to it, when, after all, I'm practically dependent on Hessie. I haven't a cent of my own until I'm twenty-five. This fellow Bronson offered to lend me a fiver one day, and I got into the habit of asking him. I didn't mean to let it run on so long. He's a queer lot--awfully smooth on the outside, and inside hard as nails. We were good friends at first; then he did something I didn't like, and I cut him; but he didn't seem to mind it, and afterwards when he offered me the fiver I thought I might as well take it. What a mean will that was anyhow of grandmother's!"

Neal moodily tugged at a wisp of straw which he held in his teeth, and looked across the meadow. A herd of cows came down on the opposite side of the river for a drink, and Bob barked at them loudly, running as near to them as he dared.

For a time Cynthia did not speak. Then she said,

"Aren't you going to ask mamma?"

"I suppose I'll have to. I wouldn't mind a bit if she were not married, but I suppose your father will have to know about it."

"I suppose," said Cynthia, sagely, "mamma would have just given it to you without saying anything, while papa will ask questions."

"That's just about the size of it. And he will not only ask the questions, but he won't like the answers. I think I won't tackle them for a hundred all at once. I'll put it at fifty, and try to get Bronson to wait for the rest. I suppose I'll get some tips at Christmas-time."

"I think it would be ever so much better, Neal, to tell the whole truth. It will save ever so much trouble in the end."

"But it won't save trouble now, and I hate a fuss. The fifty business will be bad enough. I like to take things quietly."

"That's just it, Neal. Do take my advice, and tell mamma the whole thing."

"That's the worst of telling a girl anything. They always want to give advice. I wonder why it is that a woman from her earliest years loves to advise?"

"Much you know about it," said Cynthia; "and you needn't have told me about your scrape if you didn't want me to say anything."

"Well, I've told you now, and you must give me your word of honor that you will never give me away. Now promise, Cynthia."

"Of course I'll promise, Neal. I wouldn't tell it for the world if you don't want me to. But, oh, I wish you would tell the whole thing yourself!"

But Neal was obdurate: and when he found how his brother-in-law received his demand for fifty dollars he thought he had acted wisely.

"Of course it is not really my affair," said Mr. Franklin, "except that I am your sister's husband, and have a right to advise her. The money is hers, to do with it what she likes, and she can spend it all on you if she wishes. But I think fifty dollars is a good deal for a school-boy, with the allowance that you have, to owe. If you were my boy I should look into the matter pretty carefully, you may be sure. However, I am neither your father nor your guardian. But it is a bad precedent. If you spend money in this way at school, what will you do in college?"

Hester expostulated with her brother, but wrote a check and gave it to him. Neal was almost sorry then that he had not placed the sum at one hundred.

He sent the check to Bronson, assuring him that he would pay him the balance before long. This done, Neal became as gay and debonair as ever. Cynthia, knowing the facts, wondered that he could so completely forget the burden of debt that was still resting upon him. She thought that he must have discovered some other way of settling the matter.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

THE UNITED STATES NAVY AT THE BALTIC CANAL.

BY A JUNIOR OFFICER.

"General Signal 6421 from flag-ship!" cried the signal boy to signal officer of the U.S.S. _San Francisco_, as our fleet approached the entrance to Kiel Fiord.

"Report to the Captain that we are ordered by the flag-ship to take position at head of column," replied the signal officer, referring to signal-book.

Simultaneously the U.S. flag-ship _New York_ stopped her engines, allowing the U.S.S. _San Francisco_ and U.S.S. _Columbia_ to steam ahead, leading the column into the harbor of Kiel, Germany, in order that they might be in proper sequence for picking up the buoys assigned them during the festivities attending the opening of the large and important canal connecting the Baltic with the North Sea. Ahead, beyond the light guarding the entrance to Kiel Fiord, which is nothing more than a long land-locked harbor five miles long by one and a half broad, we could see ships and boats by the score.

We are entering the harbor. Ding! and the engines are stopped, lines are thrown to the small launch coming alongside, and a German officer is helped aboard, who volunteers to show us to our assigned buoyage. The first of the unbroken series of hospitalities shown us by the Germans during our entire stay has been performed. Changing course to port, ahead we could see the spires and buildings of Kiel several miles distant; abeam, the little town of Friedrichsort close aboard; on our bow, distant about four miles, lay the little town of Holtenau, really little else than a suburb of Kiel, and here was pointed out by the pilot the canal, the opening of which we had come to celebrate. On our port hand the shore extended evenly from Kiel to our port beam, clothed in verdure, sprinkled by occasional villas, and marked particularly by a small hill just opposite the entrance to the canal, which had been surmounted by an immense stand for the reception of spectators to the yacht races following the opening week. In this harbor lay the German fleet, consisting of twenty-eight vessels, aside from torpedo-boats, and the Austrian fleet of four, many yachts, tugs, and steamers chartered for the functions. While gazing at the array before us we are aroused by the 21-gun salute of the flag-ship, fired in honor of the port. We now approach the German training-ships. The men are in the rigging. Three cheers ring out from the mass in the rigging. "Stand by to cheer ship!" yells the First Lieutenant. "Lay aloft!" and our rigging is a mass of human beings. "Stand by to cheer--hip, hip!" and the three long, hearty cheers of the Germans are returned. Again and again is this repeated as we slowly steam up by the line of ships riding to their moorings, the cheers ringing out even above the guns of the _New York_, which, it must be remembered, are all of this time engaged in a constant fusillade in extending and returning salutes to the Admirals of the various fleets.

Arriving at our buoy, we find that the boat which we had manned, ready for lowering, is unnecessary, as a German boat was waiting to carry out our hawser to the buoy. We are moored. Our position is not the best, but, being near the town, it counterbalances the disadvantage of being some distance from the canal entrance.

The two days now elapsing before the opening of the festivities, the grand ball at Hamburg, are days of preparation. The last touches are put on our white lustrous sides; the smallest particles of dirt or stain are carefully removed; morning and evening the various ships' boats are seen practising for the coming races. Entertainments have already begun. The officers of each German ship diligently apply themselves to the entertainment of the officers of the ship or ships assigned them, while the crews of our vessels accept similar hospitalities from the crews of theirs. These days also witness the arrival of the other numerous fleets--Denmark with two cruisers and four torpedo-boats; England with six battle-ships, two large cruisers, and two torpedo-boats, and two yachts; France with the _Hoche_, _Dupuy de Lome_, and _Surcouf_; the Italians with nine vessels of all classes; Holland with two cruisers; Norway with two; Portugal with one; Roumania with two; Russia with three; Sweden three; Spain three; and others, making a total in harbor on the morning of June 19th of eighty-six war-vessels, aside from torpedo-boats. Besides this, the numerous yachts, liners, and tugs made the harbor fairly covered with floating habitations.

On this date the Admiral of our fleet, accompanied by his staff, went to Hamburg, where he had previously ordered the _Marblehead_, our smallest vessel, to await him. Here, after the ball, which opened the festivities, he went aboard that vessel and steamed down to Brunsbuettel, the mouth of the canal, where a column of sixteen vessels, headed by H. M. steam-yacht _Hohenzollern_, began at 4 a.m. the passage through the canal. This canal connects the Elbe (at Brunsbuettel) to the Baltic at Kiel by a rather tortuous passage of 65 miles in length. It is from 27 to 30 feet deep, 70 feet broad at the bottom, and 120 feet at the top. The total cost was 156,000,000 marks--$39,000,000.

At 8 A.M., June 20th, the holiday aspect suddenly came over the fleets.

The few flags and banners that the smaller boats had flown proudly the past few days were put to shame when at one instant, on the stroke of eight bells (A.M.), every ship hoisted her rainbow of every flag, extending from water-line forward over masts to water-line aft. Then the celebration began at Kiel. At noon the exit of the Emperor's yacht with the imperial party aboard was celebrated by the firing of thirty-three guns by each ship in the harbor, with rails manned, and officers in full dress.

At 8 P.M. the grand ball was given at Kiel. Four thousand people were present, representing all nations. The Emperor and royal party were there, and officers not having already met him were there presented.

The following day the ships were full dressed at 8 A.M. At 1 P.M. were the inaugural ceremonies at the mouth of the canal. Uniform full dress. Rails were manned, and ships passing by the Emperor gave three cheers. During the afternoon the _Hohenzollern_ steamed through the fleet, and was saluted and cheered as before.

This was the night of the grand illumination. The commanders of the visiting countries had their ships outlined by electric lights, taking in funnels, masts, rails, etc. Those of the United States had besides this their name in three-foot letters, and a large shield showing stars and stripes. In the midst of this display lights were suddenly cut off, and for an hour the flag-ship _New York_ sent forth a display of fireworks not equalled in any other fleet. The most notable features were fire-likenesses of President Cleveland and Emperor William II. and the American and German coats of arms, all in immense frames, 16 by 20 feet.

As the festivities approach an end, so do I near the point where I shall leave you to fill in the omissions in your imaginations.

On the 22d the ships did not again hoist the rainbow, but instead floated a flag from each mast-head. A German manoeuvring fleet went out in the early morning for fleet manoeuvres, sham-battle, and review by Empress. At noon they returned, and the festival-time of Kiel was over.

The officers were still entertained, courtesies extended as before. Boat-racing received an impetus as the time approached. Visitors were received aboard ship, but the difference could be felt; the throng on the water diminished; the town, hitherto so gayly decorated, became more sober. Everything pointed that the festival was over, the canal was open, the entire celebration was a grand success.

America's fleet of snow-white cruisers, her display, her representation, when so far distant, have won unanimous praise and applause, and may be reckoned by all Americans as the grandest success of all.

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

PAPERS FOR BEGINNERS, No. 11.

INTENSIFICATION OR REDEVELOPMENT.

A negative which has been overexposed and developed in a normal developer, while perfect in detail, will be thin and without contrast. This is because it is underdeveloped, the chemicals acting too quickly to allow it to gain density. A satisfactory print cannot be made from such a negative, as the film, being so transparent, allows the light to reach all parts of the paper almost at once, and the print when toned is a dull slaty gray.

An overexposed and underdeveloped plate may be redeveloped, and this process is usually called strengthening or intensifying. Solutions come ready prepared for use, but the amateur who wishes can prepare his own.

The bichloride-of-mercury formula is one of the most satisfactory for the young amateur. This is in three solutions, made up and kept in separate bottles, labelled respectively No. 1, No. 2, No. 3. No. 1 is composed of bichloride of mercury, 120 grains; chloride of ammonium, 120 grains; distilled water, 10 ounces. No. 2 is composed of chloride of ammonium, 120 grains; water, 10 ounces. No. 3 is sulphite of sodium crystals, 1 ounce; water, 9 ounces.

Wash the plate for a few minutes, and then place it for ten minutes in a five-per-cent. solution of alum, and wash for half an hour. Place the negative in a glass tray, and flow enough of the solution marked No. 1 to cover it. The negative will turn white, and as soon as it is white, or nearly so, turn off the solution, and flow with No. 2 for one minute. Rinse the plate again, and cover with the solution marked No. 3, and let it remain till the negative has changed to a dark brown or black. Wash for an hour and dry. No. 3 can be returned to the bottle, but the others had better be thrown away after using once.

Another method is to bleach or whiten the plate with a solution of bichloride of mercury, and then treat the plate with a hydrochinon developer. Dissolve a quarter-ounce of bichloride of mercury in 12 ounces of water. Soak the plate for a few minutes in clear water, till the film is thoroughly wet. Place it face up in a glass tray, and turn the mercuric solution over it, till the image first disappears and again becomes visible. Take the plate from the tray and wash away every trace of the mercury. Place it in a developing tray, and cover the plate with a fresh solution of hydrochinon developer. (Any formula will answer.) In a few minutes the negative will come out almost as strong as if it had been properly exposed and developed. Wash thoroughly and dry. If the plate does not need much intensifying, leave it in the mercuric solution just long enough for the surface to whiten.

Another formula for intensifying is one which can be used as soon as the plates have been developed and fixed, and gives the required strength to quite thin negatives. This is prepared in three solutions, and used in the same way as the first formula given. No. 1, bichloride of mercury, 2 parts; water, 100 parts. No. 2, iodide of potassium, 3 parts; water, 33 parts. No. 3, sodic acetate, 4 parts; water, 33 parts.

Caution: Mark all bottles containing intensifying solutions "Poison," be very careful in handling, and keep them locked up when not in use. Bichloride of mercury (corrosive sublimate) is a violent poison, and a grain or two of it taken internally may prove fatal. An antidote is the whites of eggs beaten up with water and given promptly, repeatedly, and abundantly. The albumen of the egg renders the salts of mercury insoluble, and enables the stomach to throw off the poison instead of absorbing it into the system.

MLLE. C. DE GRAMONT, Paris, France, asks "If an amateur can make a non-halation plate, and how, and what is the best method of sensitizing the salted paper described in No. 796?" Plates already sensitized can be covered, rendered almost free from halation by painting the back or glass side with a mixture of collodion and rouge. In place of the rouge any dark red or brown pigment may be used. The mixture dries quickly, and is easily wiped off the plate before developing. Another mixture may be made of 1/2 oz. gum-arabic, 1 drachm of glycerine, 1/2 oz. burnt sienna, and 5 oz. water. Heat enough of the water to dissolve the gum-arabic, and when cold mix all the ingredients together. Apply with a brush. After exposure and before developing it should be wiped off the plate with a cloth wet with benzine. In No. 803 will be found further directions for preparing plain salted paper. The easiest way to sensitize the paper is to cut it into 8 by 10 sheets, lay a piece on a pane of glass, holding it from curling by two or three letter-clips; or, if preferred, a smooth board can be used and the paper fastened to the board with small thumb tacks. Apply lightly and evenly, first one way and then the other at right angles. Be sure that all the paper is covered. Dry in a dark room, pinning the paper to the wall or some smooth surface. After two or three times trying one can apply the solution evenly. The prints are very beautiful, and if well washed do not fade.

ANSWERS TO SEVERAL CORRESPONDENTS.--We have had many queries as to how one may become a member of the Camera Club. Any member of the Round Table may become a member of the club by sending his or her name to the Round Table. We hope all of our readers who own cameras will join the club, as we expect to give some new and original plans for work during the year.

SIR KNIGHT B. P. ATKINSON, Tilton, New Hampshire, asks, 1. What is Eikonogen made from, and what is the chemical name. 2. What is the difference between chrome alum and alum crystals. 3. When we expect to have another photographic contest. 4. Is Watkin's exposure meter a reliable machine. 5. How can films be kept from curling.

1. Eikonogen is the sodium salt compounded from three different chemicals, and comes in whitish-gray crystals. It is the name of a developing agent patented by Dr. Andreson about six years ago. It is not poisonous, does not stain the fingers, and gives a clear negative with plenty of detail. 2. The difference between chrome alum and alum crystals is principally that chrome alum has twice the strength of alum crystals, being a double salt, instead of the commercial alum usually sold. Both chrome alum and alum crystals are used for the same purpose in photography, for clearing and hardening the film of the negative. 3. The date has not yet been fixed for our next photographic contest, but we intend to have another soon. 4. It is out of our province to pass judgment on any kind of photographic apparatus. 5. Films may be kept from curling by soaking them after they have been developed and before they have been dried, in a solution of glycerine, 1/2 oz., distilled water, 16 oz., for five minutes, and then drying as usual.

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.

One of my girls inquires how to ask for an autograph of a person whom she admires, and which she thinks would add to the interest of her collection. Such a letter might be written in this way:

DAISY MEAD, BROOKVILLE, NEW YORK.

_Mrs. Sarah Maria Chester:_

DEAR MADAM,--I am making a collection of autographs, and would feel much honored if you would kindly allow me to add yours to the number I have already received. I enclose a slip of paper and a stamped and addressed envelope, and thanking you in advance for granting the favor I ask, I am,

Very sincerely yours, ELEANOR ALICE AMES.

Or perhaps you may like better this simpler form:

NO. 189 ASHTABULA STREET, ROME, ILLINOIS.

DEAR MRS. LADYLOVE,--I am a little girl twelve years old, living a great many miles from you, but I have read your poems and stories, and like them very much. It will make me very happy to receive your autograph. Please use the slip of paper which I enclose in the stamped and addressed envelope, which I add to save you trouble.

Admiringly yours, EMILY ANNE JINKS.

The form of address, you observe, is not arbitrary. But you must be polite. You are soliciting a favor. And you must certainly send the envelope addressed to yourself, and stamped. Always enclose return postage in a letter which asks a friend to do you a kindness, to send you information, or in any way to oblige you. One little two-cent stamp is not very much to either your correspondent or yourself, but postage-stamps soon count up when one has a great many letters to write and answer.

Another girlie says, "Please tell me how soon I ought to answer my friend's letter--the same day, or the next, or in a week, or what?" Bless your dear heart, my child, answer as soon as you please, and if you are writing to somebody you love, who loves you, the sooner the better. A lady who has a large correspondence tells me that she always replies to her friends while their letters are fresh in her mind, before the glow and tenderness have faded. It is, as a rule much easier to answer a letter when you have recently read it than when it has been put aside for days and weeks. Still, much depends on the style of the correspondence, and on the tie which binds you to your friend.

I have lately been reading some very remarkable letters. They are published in a book called _Letters from the New Hebrides_, and are by Maggie Whitecross Paton, the wife of the great missionary Dr. John G. Paton. I think these letters are very nearly perfect, so bright, so chatty, so full of simple goodness. Mrs. Paton has the gift of seeing things, and then telling about them so that we see with her eyes.

I wish I might impress on you the importance of answering questions which may have been asked by your correspondent. Before closing a letter which is by way of reply, why not read over the one which calls it forth, and make sure that you have not omitted anything concerning which you have been asked to give information.

Postal cards should be used exclusively for purposes of business, the exception being that when on a journey it is a good plan to carry a postal card, addressed before you leave home, pencil on it the news of your safe arrival, and mail it in the station before going to your journey's end. This often gives the home people news of you some hours in advance of the letter you write at the first opportunity after reaching your friend's house.

No letter should ever be marred by excuses and apologies.

TRAVELLING STONES IN NEVADA.

The curious "travelling stones" of Australia are paralleled in Nevada. They are described as being perfectly round, about as large as a walnut, and of an ivory nature. When distributed about on the floor, table, or any smooth surface within two or three feet of each other, they immediately commence travelling toward each other, and meet at a common centre, and there lie huddled in a bunch like eggs in a nest. A single stone removed to a distance of four feet, upon being released, returns to the heap, but if taken away as much as five feet remains motionless. It is needless to say that they are largely composed of magnetic iron ore.

ON BOARD THE ARK.

BY ALBERT LEE.