CHAPTER XV.

A GENTLEMAN VALET.

I breakfasted next morning with my three titled friends, and during the discussion we held it was agreed that the best way to keep suspicion from me--for they were apparently quite as apprehensive of my being taken by the authorities as an escaped prisoner as I was myself--was for me to assume the position of private servant for the nonce to my patron and kind friend Monsieur de Brissac.

We started about nine o'clock in the morning along the post-road to the eastward, with a ride of some hundred and ten miles and over before us, I was informed.

The two gentlemen drove ahead in a high-wheeled chaise, while I and the servant of Monsieur le Marquis de Senez followed by the coach within a few minutes of their starting. It was our intention to pass the night at Oxford, and we expected to reach London on the afternoon of the following day.

They had spoken very openly before me, and although they had not indulged in any explanations, I garnered from the earnestness of their talk, and from the substance of it, that they had not given up all ideas of dwelling once more in France, and returning to the grandeur they had been accustomed to. Their bitterness against Napoleon was extreme, but with him out of it, I do not see how they ever expected to live in a country whose inhabitants they hated as a nation; for if the common and middle class of people do not compose a nation's blood and body, I miss my reckoning.

The view from the coach-top as we descended the hill from the inn was extremely fine. The river below took a bend almost in the shape of the crook of a man's elbow, and enclosed an island covered with houses, connected with the shore by a large bridge. But soon we had shut the view of the water behind us, and as we progressed inland the smell of the sea disappeared entirely.

The man Baptiste, alongside of whom I was sitting on the second seat, had the impassive, expressionless face of the trained servant. As he was not disposed to be communicative, and had evidently been told to treat me with respect, I grew reserved, and out of caution I kept silent; but nevertheless my enjoyment was not prevented from being of the very keenest.

I could crowd these pages by detailing my sensations. I could have sung or shouted, so high were my spirits. And I had to keep all this to myself; and being but a lad, as I say, it was far from easy. Two or three times I got down to stretch my legs, and thus I found myself walking behind the coach as we entered the little hamlet of Witney. In fact I did not know that we were so close to a village until I saw the guard get out his horn to toot it, as was his custom when approaching one.

Running after the coach, I swung myself on board just as we rolled across a bridge over a small clear stream. We had taken on fresh horses at a place called Burford, if I remember rightly, some short time back, and we would not have stopped at the little place we were entering at all (the driver was pleased with himself and proud of the rate at which we had been travelling), but as we went by the gate of a private park we were hailed, and looking over the side, I saw two officers in regimentals waiting to be taken up on the coach. One of them had the uniform of the Somersetshire regiment that had been stationed at the Stapleton prison. In fact I recognized the man before he had seated himself as one of my former guardians. But he glanced carelessly at us, and stared rather insolently into the face of a young country lass who was evidently leaving home, as she had had her handkerchief to her eyes for the past hour or more.

I need not have feared recognition if I had thought for a minute, for I was something of a dandy in my way. My legs were encased in gray breeches buttoned tightly from the knee to the ankle. My coat, with its long tails, was of blue cloth, with brass buttons, and the large velvet collar reached up behind, almost swamping my ears. My waist-coat had wide lapels (pulled outside the coat), and was made of cream-colored satin. My stock was of clean white linen, and my hat, that was a trifle too small, would persist in getting rakishly over my left eye, as if it understood that I was careless, happy, and defiant of bad fortune.

I believe I could write pages of descriptions of all I saw and felt on this journey, but I am really most anxious myself to reach the more interesting part of it, and so resist temptation. We arrived at Oxford in the late afternoon. I was delighted at the glimpses of the old college buildings and the students playing at cricket in the fields, while through the trees I could see that we were near a river, as now and then the water would flash into sight.

When we reached the inn at which we intended to stop, Monsieur de Brissac, who had arrived already, sent for me to come to his room. I was fully prepared to carry up his box or to tend him in any way, as befitted my supposed position; but as soon as I entered the apartment he greeted me with a smile.

"Monsieur le Marquis," he said, "be seated."

A queer tingling thrilled me as he called me by that title.

"I will explain to you," Monsieur de Brissac went on, "that in London there are a large number of us who have been forced to take up residence outside of France. Your own story is so remarkable that although, believe me, I myself do not doubt it, it would not be best to tell it to every one who might listen. Therefore, believe me, forget, as you have said, that you were an American, put outside from you the idea, above all things, that you have escaped from a prison of the English, and indeed, if possible, show little knowledge of the tongue. It is a frightful speech at the best, and racks the throat and ears. To people whom you meet you are Jean Amédée de Brienne, son of le Marquis Henri Amédée Lovalle de Brienne; your story is that you have come to England from America" (he lowered his voice and looked over his shoulder) "to join us. Ah, we need young blood and swords."

"But, Monsieur le Marquis," I interrupted, intending to blurt out the truth and abide by the consequences, "there is just one thing I--"

Monsieur de Brissac playfully touched me on the shoulder. "Never mind about that now," he said; "you will understand everything in a short time. Perhaps some day your grandfather's great estates shall belong to you, as they must in the sight of God and the saints, and as the blessed Church allows it to be true. Then," he exclaimed--"then we will whip this _canaille_, lash these dogs into shape, or drown them as they drowned us, eh? Ah, yes, that we will do. The bubble will soon burst, and they will be glad to take our crumbs. But no more for to-day. To-morrow you shall be informed. I know that you are to be trusted, monsieur. Say nothing. It is my pleasure to serve you. Be cautious with others."

Of course this touched me, and I do not doubt I showed it as I bowed myself out of Monsieur de Brissac's apartments, that were the best the place afforded. Our conversation had been held in French, of course, and in setting this down I have condensed it somewhat, but the gist of what he said is here.

I had begun to grow very much attached to my kind patron, for such I call him in this recounting; and I also was much taken with the elder man, the Marquis de Senez; but he was not so frank or, if I may say it, so simple as the other.

* * * * *

Well! I have taken a leap over two weeks of time as the very best way to avoid falling into the error of becoming verbose.

It is a great shift of scene. Here I was, seated in a low-backed soft-cushioned chair, with my feet on another, a linen napkin tucked in about my throat, and over me was bending a strange little old man who addressed me as "monsieur le marquis," as he curled my hair with a pair of hot irons. Now truly this was a change from being a prisoner at Stapleten, a scarecrow-clad figure doddering along the highway, or even from the position of a gentleman's gentleman riding outside of a coach on the post-road. Yet all these three had I been almost within the fortnight, and what was I now? Why, "le Marquis de Brienne," who dined with noblemen, and had learned in these few short days to make pretty speeches to ladies of quality in silks and satins. What is more, I was fairly launched as a conspirator.

I hope that none who reads this will suppose that I was not sailing a proper course, or that I was living a life of deceit for the purpose of gain, for the reason that it is evident that I am gifted with an adaptable temperament. Oh no! I hope I can say that what money I had I came by honestly, for it had been given to me with the intention that I should pay it back at some future time (I have paid it long since, to the last penny), and I was imposing on no one, unless it was my friend Monsieur de Brissac, whose pleasure it was to do anything for me, and lastly there is nothing in all this that is intended as an apology of my position.

It cannot be said that I was luxuriously surrounded, despite that I was lolling in an easy-chair and having my hair curled by my own private servant. I was living in lodgings on the top floor of a house not far from Orchard Street, off Piccadilly, a house that had more the dignity of age in its appearance than an air of prosperity. I was the possessor of a suite of four rooms under the roof.

The click of the irons ceased for a minute.

"Ah, Monsieur le Marquis, I remember well your grandfather when I was a young man, and he not much older! He wore his own hair, monsieur. I never remember seeing him in anything else. It was much handsomer than a wig. You resemble him much, monsieur."

This speech had called me back to myself, for at that moment I had been thinking of Mary Tanner and the old days on the hill-side at Belair. Yes, there was no doubt about it, she was much prettier than the Comtesse de Navarreins, with whom I had danced a quadrille the previous evening. What a strange career I had had! Oh, if Mary could see me now! How fine it was to be the nobleman! How Mary's eyes would open!

But the old servant was waiting for me to speak.

"Ah, Gustave," I replied, making a wry face at myself in the glass, for the old man had given my hair a tremendous twist with the tongs, "I doubt that we shall see the old days again. From what I hear, France seems to be getting ahead fairly well without such men as my grandfather. The people seem to be able to look out for themselves and struggle on."

I glanced at the reflection of the old man's face. On it was a compound of expressions.

"Monsieur le Marquis," he said, quietly, "had they not killed the kindest master in the world I should be one of them to-day. It is that alone that made me leave my country. Could I but forget the guillotine and the days of horror, and that I really loved my King, I could rejoice in France's every victory."

It rather surprised me to hear the old man speak thus, for his language was better than one might expect to hear from the lips of one who had been born and bred a lackey. But they set me to thinking, and his next question chimed in well with my thoughts.

"You have seen France, Monsieur le Marquis?" he asked.

"No, Gustave, I have never been there," I replied. "I have lived my life in far-off America."

Now with this word a surge of pride came over me. What was this France that I had never seen to me? What were the plottings of the little band of nobles who had been despoiled of what they called their rights? Why, _I_ was an American! There was my heart! Could I ever truly enter in with all my will and spirit for the cause or the factions of another exiled government? What reward was there for me? Ay, what reward? I remembered those brave men whom I had left in prison. (Ah, one can learn patriotism in a prison!) Sutton, the boatswain's mate, with the stars and stripes as big as your two hands tatooed across his broad chest, came in my mind's eye. His country's flag was mine! The watchword of Lawrence, that had been brought to us by the prisoners from the _Chesapeake_, rang in my ears as it had rung through the crowded prison, "Don't give up the ship!" Of a truth I was no Frenchman, though I could pass as such, and had done so.

Wondering what my messmates had been saying about my strange disappearance, I fell into a reverie of retrospection. Where were Captain Temple and the _Young Eagle_? Where was Cy Plummer, who had loaned me his belongings, and who, in my mind's eye, I could see with his bundle over his shoulder, chanting his song as he went over the hill? Where was the brave sailor who had thrown his severed hand at the feet of the English officer, and what was I but a person who was allowing himself to become deeper embroiled in a cause in which he had no heart, and becoming committed deeper and deeper every day to plots and conspiracies for whose methods he had no stomach (yes, I may set it down--assassination, dagger, and pistol, were spoken of). Truly I had no place here, and a great wish came over me that I could exchange this borrowed finery, and this assumption of being what I was not, for a sailor's toggery, the wide sweep of the sea, and take up again my life on a vessel to whose peak I might look up and see the flag for whose sake _my_ countrymen were dying, for whose sake I should and would be fighting as soon as God would let me.

The door of the little room opened. Gustave had long since had my hair arranged to his satisfaction, and I had been sitting in silence I know not how long. But with the draught of air from the hallway I turned my head and saw a small dwarf of a man, who was a sort of a servant and boots in the house, standing there with the morning paper. I took it--the London _Times_--and read the head-lines in the first column, "England's Disgrace," in big black letters. And below it, "Has Another Vessel Been Lost in Single Action to the United States?" Hastily I read the reported rumor (pity 'twas nothing else) of the capture of another forty-four-gun frigate by the _Constitution_. I laughed aloud at the _Times_'s expressions of astonishment that such things should be, and then I threw the paper down and burst into a loud huzza.

Gustave had been watching me as if he thought I had suddenly turned madman.

"Is Napoleon defeated?" he inquired.

"No, no; not that," I answered, smiling to myself, and I think truly that the old man gave a sigh of relief. At this moment there was a tap on the door, and the old servant laid down the fine plum-colored coat that he had been preparing for my wearing, and Monsieur de Brissac was ushered in by him with a low bow. The nobleman closed the door behind him. "Mon ami," he said, hurriedly, "I would speak to you alone." Gustave (he had been "loaned" to me by De Senez) was too old a servant to be told. He picked up a pair of boots and went out into the hallway.

"It is arranged!" cried Monsieur de Brissac, speaking quickly and excitedly. "Three of us must leave for Paris. A cipher letter has been received. The time is most opportune, my dear Blondin."

He gave me an embrace, to which I confess I replied, because he was my friend, and then he continued. "You are the one to go with us," he said. "De Senez and you and myself. We can face the danger bravely, mon ami. Consider the reward!"

Ay, there it was again, "the reward." What did I really care for it?

"I have an invitation for you to be one of a little partie carrée this evening," Monsieur de Brissac went on. "I judge it is best that you attend. Eh, what's the matter?"

I was standing with my back to him looking out of the window, when he approached and placed his hand upon my shoulder. I turned, and his eyes met mine. I was constrained to speak at once of what was uppermost in my thoughts. It required some courage.

"Monsieur de Brissac," I asked, "what do you really think of me?"

"I think you are one who can be trusted," he replied. "In fact, on that I would stake my life; but--" He hesitated.

"But what?" I inquired.

"I pray you not to take offence," my kind friend went on; "but why should I not tell you? The manner of your joining us was certainly most strange, and in some minds has excited a suspicion. That there have been spies among us, I know well; but you--"

I interrupted him. "Believe me, my dear friend, I would rather die than betray a single word of what I have heard or know by being told. But listen"--I spoke earnestly and slowly--"one can be honest with a friend. I truly doubt the ultimate success of any scheming to restore the old French régime. I have thought everything over carefully, and have come to a decision, my first statement put aside."

Monsieur de Brissac said nothing, but stood there listening, with one elbow on the mantel-piece, whilst I continued speaking. It was some minutes before I had finished, but I told him frankly of my position, and what I considered right for me to do. He was most attentive, and although once or twice I saw that he felt like making some interruption, he restrained himself.

"I shall not ask," he said at last, "why you did not tell me this thing before; but, believe me, even at this late hour, monsieur, I appreciate the confidence that you have placed in me. As to your misgivings in regard to our attempts to restore the better things, I shall say nothing. If you have weighed carefully the matter, I shall not attempt to dissuade you. But one thing, spoken as a friend, I must tell you: Do not, for your life, breathe a word of this to De Senez or to any of the others."

"Tell me, what am I to do?" I asked. "I am in your power--your hands."

"It would be wrong," the Marquis replied, musingly, but with a sad tone in his words, "not to help you, aside from the requirements of friendship. So do not fear."

"I do not fear; I do not fear," I reiterated. "But what shall I do?"

"You must come with us to France," Monsieur de Brissac answered, speaking in the same low tone of voice. "Despite the embargo laid on trade and importations by the usurper, money works corruption, corruption means many things. It is a known fact that licenses to enter French ports have been sold to both American and English vessels. You are not safe in this country. Come with us to where danger will be no less, but chances to follow your own ideas the better. I can explain that you have left for some French port when you leave us, and if you do not return, I shall join in the mourning, that is all. We will increase our party by one in order to keep up the original number. I shall let you know to-night how we intend to leave England. Good-by, until this evening. Au revoir, monsieur."

When he had gone I began to think and ponder over what had passed. Had I been foolish in being so frank and clear spoken? A word from the Marquis, and I might be returned to the hulks or the prison-yard. Yet in getting out of England lay my only chance. From what had gone before, I understood that it was intended to make a voyage across the Channel in one of the small smuggling vessels that plied an adventurous and remunerative trade along the coast of England, despite the careful watching of the coast-guard vessels and the war-ships. But Monsieur de Brissac's manner had chilled towards me--I felt that. My words had killed the enthusiasm with which he had always addressed me. I half feared that I had been rash.

Notwithstanding this, we made rather a merry party at the gathering that evening. To all intents, nothing had occurred, and not until it came to the breaking up of the little poverty-stricken court, which was held at the mansion of the Comtesse de Navarreins, was there anything said of the approaching departure; but as we left, De Brissac ran his arm through mine, at the same time saying, "I shall walk home with you, if you will permit me, Monsieur de Brienne." We strolled in silence, I waiting for my friend to speak. At last he did so, at my door. "At twelve o'clock to-night you and I will start northwards in a chaise, and to-morrow evening," he whispered, softly, "we will find ourselves in the neighborhood of N----, where we will meet the others, and debark, if the weather permits, in one of the little luggers that cut deeply into the King's revenue. If we land safely on the other side, you had best leave us at once. Leave it all to me. In an hour I call for you."

* * * * *

Before daylight of the next morning Monsieur de Brissac and myself were some thirty miles north of London, driving through the county of Essex. At about ten o'clock we breakfasted at a way-side tavern, where we exchanged our tired horse for two saddle beasts, I having quite a tussle with mine as I mounted, and then we pressed ahead all the afternoon, expecting to be near the little village of N---- some time in the evening. It was damp and chilly for this time of the year; the prospect was not fine in the way of scenery, and my companion was in no talkative frame of mind. It was strange; I was, so to speak, a blind man in the power of his guide, for if I should lose Monsieur de Brissac, I should be in a bad way. At last I knew we were near the sea, for I could smell it in the air long before it burst in view.

I wondered greatly at my patron's knowledge of the road and the by-ways by which we reached this particular bit of the coast. For hours we had ridden across a wind-swept plateau, seamed by many deep-worn paths running in all directions. In the earlier part of the afternoon gibbetlike sign-posts had helped to point us to the right direction, but as it grew toward dusk we saw none of them, and yet never once had Monsieur de Brissac faltered; turning and twisting and yet keeping the same general direction, until he had brought us to the edge of the narrow height along which we were riding. Finally we sighted a little cluster of huts, whose roofs we looked down upon from the top of a great, high sand cliff, and then Monsieur de Brissac pointed.

"Your eyes are good," he said. "Can you see whether there is anything hanging from the window of the house nearest yonder small dock?"

I gazed intently. In the growing darkness I could make out a white rag or something fluttering from the window-sill, and so I reported.

"The signal," was the response to my information. "They are ahead of us, and all is well."

It was no easy job to urge our tired nags down the steep runway, and had my mount backed and filled the way he had when I first put my leg over him, we might both of us have pitched headlong upon the roofs of some of the outlying huts, for they were scarcely more.

I suppose that this little village was considered of too small importance to be watched closely by the government, but it must have been apparent that it was not fishing or net-mending that kept so many stalwart sailor-men there.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

CAPTAIN LEARY'S SAMOAN EXPERIENCE.

SOME STIRRING INCIDENTS IN RECENT AMERICAN NAVAL HISTORY.

BY FRANKLIN MATTHEWS.

No man can deny that there are times when war, with all its horrors, is necessary and honorable. One of these times is when war is waged for the rights of common humanity. Some of the most stirring episodes in our history have been associated with this kind of noble effort. Many a time have the decks of our men-of-war been cleared for action in such a cause. Many a time has some one of our naval officers, thousands of miles away from home, with no means of asking for instructions, taken action which meant warfare, with its loss of life and great expenditure of money, simply because he knew he was doing what was right, and really was acting for the civilized nations of the world. We thundered at the gates of Japan. We have fired on and punished pirates. Only recently we cleared our ships for action in the harbor of Rio de Janeiro. More than fifty years ago one of the bravest men that ever wore the naval uniform of the United States defied the power of Austria in her own waters because she would not give up an American citizen confined on one of her war-ships, and the roar of "Old Ingraham," as he ordered his ship cleared for action when he knew that in a fight he would probably be beaten, was heard around the world.

Most of these "minor episodes" of our navy have been associated with the misdeeds of half-civilized nations. Occasionally one has had to do with a nation of first rank. One of these was the stand of Ingraham in Austria. I want to tell of another deed which, in my judgment, was as important as that of Ingraham, and which came within a hair's-breadth of involving us, in 1889, in war with Germany, then, as now, a nation of great military prowess. It is a story the full details of which have never been made known, and one that should make American blood tingle with pride. The story reveals the heroism of one of our naval officers who has always refused to exalt his part of the work, saying he merely did his duty; he did not hesitate, even if war with Germany should result, to uphold the honor of our flag, and to protect women and children and the sick and infirm in the name of humanity.

That man was Commander Richard P. Leary of our navy, and the incidents that led up to his action happened at and near the harbor of Apia in the beautiful Samoan Islands. Time and again have I and other writers asked Leary to tell about it, and time and again has he resolutely refused, saying that the sense of having done his duty was all the reward he wanted. Consequently I have been forced to go to the public records and to some of the men who were in Samoa at the time to get the details of a long series of acts which resulted one day in an American man-of-war and a German man-of-war lying side by side a short distance outside of Apia Harbor, each cleared for action, and war between our country and Germany depending upon whether the Captain of the German ship should fire upon some native forts on the mainland. Such shots would have gone over the deck of the _Adams_, which Leary commanded, and he practically, although not literally, sent word to the German commander that the first shot on the native forts would be answered by a broadside from American guns. After almost an entire day of intense excitement on board both ships and on the mainland, the German commander yielded--went back into port--and a grave crisis in our history was safely passed--because of the patriotism and pluck of one of our naval officers who to this day refuses to talk about it.

To understand the story fully we must go into the causes of the trouble. The Samoan, or Navigator Islands, have always been an object of envy by nations which are known as "land-grabbers." The desire of the Germans to secure control of those islands had caused most of the troubles of the Samoans in recent years. It was the old desire for money and property over again. The United States had long recognized the Samoans as a civilized people, and had made a treaty with them. In time Germany and England united with us in a joint treaty with the Samoans for their protection and development. German residents there wanted control of trade, and stirred up a rebellion against the High Chief, or King, Malietoa. They took the side of Tamasese, a pretender to the throne. On a pretext that property belonging to Germans--some pigs and some cocoanuts--had been stolen by Malietoa's men, they declared war against him, and finally made him give himself up to them to save his people from slaughter. He was deported to Africa, and later to Germany. The Samoans would not have Tamasese for King, and practically the entire nation rallied around Mataafa, who succeeded Malietoa.

There was now a civil war between the two factions. The Americans did not take sides, except to refuse to acknowledge Tamasese as King. The Germans did take sides, notwithstanding the treaty of neutrality. They bombarded villages on this and that excuse; they fired on unarmed natives in boats; they gave aid openly to Tamasese; they assumed an air of possession of the islands. Now it must not be supposed that all this was done with the full approval of the German government, because the Germans in time brought back Malietoa, and since then they have recalled the one man who stirred up most of the trouble. In speaking, therefore, of the matter, let it be understood that we have strict reference to those Germans alone who were in Samoa.

There was constant friction between the Americans and Germans in Apia, and many letters passed between Captain Leary and the Captain of the German war-ship _Adler_, stationed there at the time. This being a story of Captain Leary's patriotic acts, we need go no further into the details of Samoan history. One of the first of Leary's notable acts was to send a letter, on September 6, 1888, to the Captain of the _Adler_. The _Adler_, on the day before, had gone to the island of Manono to burn the houses and villages of the natives who would not support Tamasese. The war-ship took some of Tamasese's boats in tow, and soon the guns of the war-ship were heard bombarding houses known to have been occupied by defenceless women and children. The _Adler_ came back the next day, and at once Captain Leary sent the German Captain a letter of protest. He recited what he knew of the bombardment and what he had been told, and then he added, with a firmness that does one good to read:

"Such action, especially after the Tamasese party having been represented as a strong government, not needing the armed support of a foreign power, appears to be a violation of the principles of international law as well as a violation of the generally recognized laws of humanity. Being the only other representative of a naval power now represented in this harbor, _for the sake of humanity I hereby respectfully and solemnly protest in the name of the United States of America and of the civilized world in general_ against the use of a war-vessel for such service as was yesterday rendered by the German corvette _Adler_."

This was the first open breach between the commanders of the two war-ships. Leary based his action simply on the ground of humanity. One of his next conspicuous acts was to uphold the honor of the American flag. A body of Tamasese's men were encamped on Mulinuu Point, which the Germans claimed was under the jurisdiction of their government because Germans owned property there. Some of these natives saw an American flag floating at the top of a tree not far away. It was placed there by a half-breed who was an American citizen. It floated above his own property. The Tamasese men tore it down and into strips. Then they partly wrecked his house and threatened to kill him. Captain Leary soon heard of it, and he sent a letter to the _Adler_'s Captain asking if the natives were under the protection of the German war-ship. He wanted to fix the responsibility for the insult to the American flag, because, as he said, he was "obliged to furnish necessary protection to Americans in jeopardy."

The German Captain made a non-committal reply, and the next day Leary repeated his request, saying that the question at issue was not one of diplomacy, but of military policy. He then showed his American spirit in these utterances:

"Under the shadow of the German fort at Mulinuu atrocities have been committed on American property, and the lives of the American owners have been threatened and jeopardized by armed natives, who appear to be sheltered by the naval force belonging to the vessel under your command. My official obligations do not permit me to negotiate with diplomatic or political representatives of foreign powers, but with military or naval commanders interested in official acts; and as the naval commander charged with the protection of American citizens, I again have the honor respectfully to request to be informed 'whether the armed natives at Mulinuu Point are under the protection of the Imperial Naval Guard belonging to the vessel under your command or are they not under that protection.'"

Leary received an evasive reply to this, and the relations between the two commanders became more strained. Leary did not stop with this. He sent a letter to Tamasese demanding restitution. The Germans, who had control of the local post-office, would not forward the letter, and later Leary sent another, in which he said:

"I have the honor to inform your Highness that the articles forcibly taken from the house of Mr. Scanlan by your people have not yet been returned, and that they must be restored to Mr. Scanlan without unnecessary delay, for which purpose I shall wait until sunset, Wednesday the 14th, and if it be not reported to me by that time that my demand has been complied with, I shall be at liberty to take such action as will in future _enforce a wholesome respect for the American flag_ and the laws and property under its protection.

"A red flag hoisted at the foremast of an American war-vessel simultaneously with the discharge of a blank charge will be the signal for you to remove from your fort and vicinity to a place of safety all women, children, sick, and wounded, for which purpose a liberal time will be allowed before resorting to more serious measures."

No second notice was required from Leary. Tamasese restored the property to Mr. Scanlan, including the American flag, which floated secure from insult on his property afterward.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

THE WRONG TRAIN.

BY SOPHIE SWETT.

The night telegraph operator at Orinoco Junction had the mumps. His name was Samuel Dusenberry, and he was seventeen, which is young to have so responsible a position; in fact it was Sam's first position, and he was on trial. He was also the head of his family, and in that position Sam had been heard to grumblingly remark that he was also on trial, for Phineas and Mary Jane, and even little Ajax, thought they could manage things as well as he could.

Although seventeen is young for such responsibilities as Sam's, it is disgracefully old to have the mumps--or so Sam thought, and he persisted in declaring that he hadn't, while his cheeks swelled and swelled, until his watery smarting eyes were almost concealed; and he was extremely cross when little Ajax assured him that if he felt just as if he were not Sam at all, that was the mumps, because that was the way he felt when he had 'em. Mary Jane, who attended to the family grammar, was somewhat troubled because they all spoke of the disease as plural; but Phineas stoutly maintained that this was proper when you had 'em on both sides at once, like Sam.

He hadn't the mumps, and if he had, he was going to his work at the station that night; that was what Sam insisted, although Mary Jane begged him not to with tears in her eyes, and threatened to tell their mother, from whom they carefully kept every worrying thing, because she was a helpless invalid. It was only at the last moment, when he found that things began to whirl around him and his knees to shake, when he tried to get to the door, that Sam gave up, and said he supposed Phineas would have to go in his place.

"It is so fortunate," said Mary Jane, "that Phineas knows how."

"But he's such a sleepy-head. I ought to have asked the company to appoint a substitute. It's irregular, anyway, and if anything should happen--!" groaned Sam.

He was one who felt his responsibilities, and mumps are not conducive to cheerful views. As for Phineas, he felt that at last the boy and the opportunity had met. Phineas had been repressed--kept in the background all too long, in his own opinion, first by the supposed superior "smartness" of Sam, and second by the continual tutelage of his twin sister Mary Jane. Her whole attention seemed to be given to the subject of what a boy ought not to do; after a time this becomes wearing upon the boy. Perhaps Mary Jane had come to assume this unpleasant superiority because a heavy twin-sisterly duty constantly devolved upon her--keeping Phineas awake; in the history class, in the long prayer, when Uncle Samuel came, periodically, to give them good advice, Mary Jane found it always necessary to keep her eye on Phineas and the sharpest elbow in Orinoco in readiness.

At first Mary Jane had said that he ought not to learn telegraphy, because he could not keep awake; but when he persisted, she came to share his optimistic belief that it would _keep_ him awake. But perhaps Sam's groan was not without its excuse; certainly no one disputed that Phineas was "a sleepy-head."

"I tell you it's hard for even an old stager to keep awake all night long"--Sam had been an operator for two months--"even when he's had some sleep in the daytime, as you haven't. It won't do for you to sit down at all, you know; or if you get all tired out walking round, sit on the tall three-legged stool out in the middle of the floor; if you get to nodding, that will tip over. I've fallen asleep once or twice, but it has waked me when my office has been called on the wire. It wouldn't wake you!"

"It won't have a chance, because I sha'n't be asleep," said Phineas, stoutly.

"Your eyesight is good, isn't it, Phin?"

"Well, I rather guess!" said Phineas, indignantly.

"You have to swing a red or a white lantern. I shall be glad when we have the semaphore signals on our road." (Sam's easy use of learned technical expressions always caused Mary Jane's mouth to open wide with admiration.) "I say, Phin, what color are Mary Jane's mittens?" Sam asked this question with sudden breathless eagerness. "A new operator, who was color-blind, wrecked the Northern Express on the L---- road!"

"Red," said Phineas, with scornful promptness, and was then forced to pass an examination in all the colors of Mary Jane's hooked rug.

"And if there's anything you don't understand, you can ask Lon Brophy in the ticket-office." Sam fell back on the lounge, with a long sigh, as he gave Phineas this parting assurance.

But Mary Jane ran out to the gate after him. "Don't sit down even on the three-legged stool. It might go over and you wouldn't wake. Think of the boy that stood on the burning deck, or the one that let the fox gnaw him, whenever you feel sleepy." Along with this stern advice Mary Jane forced upon Phineas a dainty lunch that she had prepared, and a can of coffee, which he could heat upon the station stove.

After all, Mary Jane was a good sister, and perhaps she did not deserve that Phineas should mutter, as he walked along, that it was a mistake for a girl to think herself so smart.

As Phin walked toward the station in the bracing air of the November night, he was hotly resentful of the distrust that had been shown of his ability to take Sam's place for just one night.

The station at Orinoco Junction was a lively place when Phineas relieved Tom Woolley, the day operator, at six o'clock. At that time many trains stopped, and they were crowded, because there was a great political gathering at L----, twenty miles farther on. The little restaurant was filled with a jostling crowd. The sharp cries of the popcorn boys mingled with political announcements and a running fire of boasts and jokes.

Tom Woolley took down his overcoat from its nail with a sigh of relief.

"They've kept me at it all day," he said.

But at the door he turned, as if struck by a sudden misgiving, and looked Phin over critically.

"It's going to quiet down by-and-by. Can you keep awake all night--a youngster like you?"

It seemed as if Mary Jane must have been telling; she always did talk and talk--a worse fault than being a little sleepy, if she had only known it, thought Phin. Tom Woolley was nineteen, and had an incipient mustache; he twirled its imaginary ends as he looked Phin over; and Phin's blood boiled.

"Oh, well, sonny, don't fire up," said Tom, easily; "but you'd better look sharp, you know," he added, with a grave nod. "There are a couple of extra trains expected, and the president of the road is likely to be on board of one of them; lives up at Ganges, you know--going home to vote."

Phin muttered that he guessed he could take care of extra trains, whether there were presidents on board or not, and when Tom Woolley had taken himself off, his courage rose, and he felt himself master of the situation.

By seven o'clock there came a lull; when the nine-o'clock bell rang from the Baptist church steeple you would have thought all Orinoco had gone to sleep. There were no trains between half past eight and ten. Nine o'clock was Phin's bedtime; it's queer, but almost anywhere, unless it's the night before the Fourth of July, a boy feels his bedtime; besides, the room was close, and the clock ticked monotonously. Phin heated his coffee and ate his luncheon; he wasn't hungry, but it was necessary to do something to shake off drowsiness. There was chicken, and Nep crunched the bones and barked for a cooky; after that he scratched the door and whined so that Phin was forced to let him out; he thought the dog only wanted to stretch his legs and breathe a little fresh air, but Nep walked deliberately homeward, and refused to be whistled back. Nep disliked irregular proceedings, and knew the comfort of one's own bed at night.

"Of course I don't really need him to keep me awake," Phin said to himself; but nevertheless his heart sank; he began to have a suspicion that nights were long.

He pulled himself together and began to walk the floor; when he grew so tired that he ached he drew the three-legged stool out into the middle of the floor and perched himself upon it.

Suddenly--it seemed only a moment after he had brought out that stool--he found himself in the office with his hand on the key; there had been a call on his office; he had been asleep, and had been wakened by it, as Sam boasted that he had been! A fellow might allow himself to drowse a little when he could wake like that.

No, the Punjaub express had not passed; that was what they wanted to know at Cowaree and all along the line. Presently uncomplimentary epithets began to be hurled at him over the wire. Sam had complained that the fellow at Cowaree had "the big head," but--the Punjaub express had passed, so they said!

He must have slept very soundly; the three-legged stool _was_ tipped over; he remembered vaguely that he had picked himself off the floor to answer that call.

Drops of perspiration stood upon Phin's forehead when he returned to the waiting-room after that Cowaree fellow and the others had exhausted their eloquence.

He began a weary march around the room; it would not do to sit down again, even upon the three-legged stool. Did any one ever know, who had not tried it, what a terrible job it was to keep awake all night?

Another call! An order from the despatches to hold No. 39 express for orders, and run downward trains against it. That was a responsibility, for failure might involve serious accidents. There was no danger that he would fall asleep now!

And yet, after a long hour had dragged by, there was a heaviness upon his limbs, an oppression upon his brain. He forced himself to walk, but he remembered that he had read that sentries sometimes walked while fast asleep. Something must be done, and Phineas forced his wits to work; they were the wits that had floored the schoolmaster and helped to invent the skunk-trap.

He twined some cotton twine across the track at such a height that the train would break it. He fastened it to the platform railing, then drew it through the key-hole of the door; he tied a piece of zinc upon the end, and his coffee-can and the poker, and all these articles he placed upon the top of the stove. There were two trains to pass before the No. 39 express; there would certainly be a clatter that would awaken him to report the first one.

He lay down upon the lounge; he was conscious of a blissful, irresistible fall into a gulf of sleep, and then-- There was no clatter, but a wild scream of pain and fright from the track. Phin sprang to his feet, his heart beating wildly; he had slept, and the accident he had dreaded had come! He rushed to the track. A man was scrambling to his feet, begging for mercy, and piteously demanding a temperance pledge; it was old Hosea Giddings, of Crow Hill, who never missed a night at the Junction saloon. He had tripped upon the string and broken it. It was evident that no train had passed, and Phin felt a thrill of relief. He stood back and let the old man scramble up unaided; it was well that he should find snares for his feet in the neighborhood of the saloon.

It grew still again, deadly still, after Hosea Giddings and his vows were out of hearing, and Phin felt that sleep was again settling down upon him. He found a ball of very stout linen twine--that was not a bad scheme if the string were strong enough; but this time he tied the end to his own wrist. A pull upon that would be more certain to awaken him than any noise. Two trains before the No. 39 express; after they had passed, a string would not serve, for that must be stopped with the red lantern.

He lay down again upon the lounge; the last thing that he remembered was feeling for the string about his wrist, to be sure that it was tight.

He was hurled violently across the floor; he felt an almost unendurable pain; there was a crash, as if heaven and earth came together, and then--was it a long time or only a moment afterwards that he saw Mary Jane's face bending over him? She had put water upon his face, and something redder than water was trickling from his wrist.

That twine had been strong enough to drag him, and it had cut his wrist almost to the bone; his head had hit the stove, and all those things that he had forgotten to take off it had come down and hit him.

"I had such a bad dream I just got up and came! I couldn't help it," he heard Mary Jane say.

It all seemed to him like a bad dream; but he heard himself say eagerly, although it sounded to him like a far-away voice, "No. 39 express, stop it! stop it!"

There was in the distance the thunder of a train. Mary Jane seized the red lantern from its nail and rushed out.

Though he was still half stupefied, Phin staggered to his feet and made his way to the door; in the moonlight he could see the flutter of Mary Jane's plaid shawl as she stood on the track.

The train slowed up, and came to a stop only a few feet from the plaid shawl.

The conductor demanded an explanation in an excited voice; the engineer and the brakeman were complaining in strong language that the train was behind time, and shouldn't have been stopped unless for a matter of life and death.

Phin had made his way to the track, although he was faint and dizzy; but his voice failed him when he tried to speak, for he realized in a flash that it was the Ganges branch train that Mary Jane had stopped!

"She--we meant to stop No. 39 express. I got hurt a little and mixed up," he faltered at length.

The conductor and the engineer and the brakeman and several train-boys and passengers expressed in chorus a strong though condensed opinion of the Orinoco station, and of telegraph operators who fell asleep and left girls to manage affairs. Perhaps it was as well for Phin's feelings that he could not stop to hear it all; there was a call on his office, and he hurried as well as he could to the instrument.

"Stop Ganges branch; tunnel bridge broken!" That was the message.

Phin seized the red lantern, which Mary Jane still held, as she sat, mortified and miserable, upon the door-step, and rushed up the track. The Ganges train had only just started on again, but there was evidently a distrust of Phin's red lantern; by the hootings with which it was greeted, Phin judged that they thought it a bad joke or another mistake. They seemed to mean to run him down. Well, then, they might!

Phin set his teeth, held the lantern aloft, and stood as if he were rooted to the track. He made ready to spring for the cow-catcher; it actually grazed him as he stood before the train stopped.

"Tunnel bridge broken!" he screamed, hoarsely, as he had been screaming incessantly above the rushing of the train and the din of angry voices; but it was mechanically now, and they had to carry him back to Mary Jane. His wrist had been bleeding all the time; the right wrist, too, that swung the lantern; and his head was badly hurt; and--well, it is no disgrace for a boy to faint sometimes.

The passengers poured into the station; there was a great chorus of thanksgiving, and they made what Phin called a great fuss over him and Mary Jane. There was an old gentleman with a fur collar turned up to his ears, who made friends with Mary Jane. He seemed to feel deeply what a narrow escape the train had had, and he sharply rebuked the conductor when he said that the night was so light that they might have seen that the bridge was broken; he "did keep an eye on that bridge as soon as the frost came, because it was old." (It proved to have been a gang of discharged workmen who had wrecked the bridge.) The old man declared it a providential mistake that had stopped the wrong train and let the message arrive in time.

When they were relieved, in the early morning, after all the Ganges passengers had gone on by such conveyances as they could find, Phin and Mary Jane walked homeward together.

"You needn't say a word to Sam," warned Phin. "It would only worry him. I mean about stopping the wrong train, and all that. I've just heard that the old gentleman who talked to you was the president of the road. I hope you didn't tell him anything!"

The president of the road! Phin turned and looked with severe suspicion at Mary Jane, and Mary Jane turned so pale that the freckles stood out like little mud spatters on her face.

"I only told him how anxious Sam was," she faltered, "and what you did to keep awake--all about the zinc and poker and things, and how your wrist was cut."

"You've told the president of the road that I'm a sleepy-head! Now I hope you're satisfied!"

That was, I fear, an unhappy day for Mary Jane; but the next night, when Phin went down to help Sam, who would go, although he was not much better, Tom Woolley reported that he had received a message from that Cowaree fellow, the same one who was so uncomplimentary, that orders had been received from headquarters that a place was to be found, the very first desirable vacancy, for "a plucky, wide-awake fellow" who had substituted the night before in the Orinoco office. And a free pass had been ordered for Miss Mary Jane Dusenberry, with the compliments of her friend the president of the road.

As there has been occasion more or less of late to deprecate the holding of so-called "junior" events in track-athletic meetings, it is perhaps an appropriate time to devote some space to the subject of athletics for younger sportsmen, and to try to impress them, if possible, with the fact that any kind of training for boys under sixteen years of age is not only inadvisable but absolutely injurious. If boys of that age wish to take regular exercise--and they all should--there are better things for them to do than to train for contests of speed and endurance. They will do better for themselves if they will restrict their endeavors to a milder form of athletics, to simple body motions or calisthenics. This, of course, is not so interesting, and I know these words will fall upon many deaf ears, but their truth will be recognized none the less by those who have the slightest experience in such matters.

It is perhaps natural that young boys who see their older companions constantly at some kind of preparation, or training, for some branch of sport, should wish to imitate their elders, and go in to some similar kind of regular work. The older athletes, and those who look after their development, ought to use all their power to prevent the youngsters from trying to train, instead of encouraging them, as they do, by offering medals as prizes in "junior" events.

The last thing that growing boys should try to accomplish is to get hardened muscles. This sort of thing retards growth and development, thereby defeating the very end that the boys think they are attaining. The best kind of training for the younger lads is to keep regular hours, both for meals and sleep. They will find this more beneficial than to keep a regular hour each day for running or jumping or putting up heavy dumbbells. The boy who gets his breakfast, luncheon, and dinner at a regular hour each day, and who sleeps eight or nine hours each night, and who bathes every morning, will make a much stronger man than the boy who trains for "junior" events.

But, as exercise should form a part of each day's occupation, the sixteen-year-old boy should take his exercise in a way that will do him the most good. He will probably not find it so interesting at first, but he will soon discover that he is becoming a better specimen physically than his fellows who can run a hundred yards or a mile under a certain figure, that really does not mean very much.

There are a number of body motions that can be performed at home alone, or in the gymnasium with others, that develop the chest and the arms, the back and the legs, so that when the time comes when it can do no harm for a young man to enter into regular athletic training, his muscles are supple, his skin is clear, his chest is deep, his back is straight, and his legs are firm enough to allow of the natural strain which comes from any kind of training.

One of the simplest methods of developing the strength of the legs is to stand erect with the hands on the hips (Fig. 1), and to perform what is called the frog motion. That is to bend the knees and to squat down, rising at the same time on the toes, and keeping the body erect, from the waist up (Fig. 2). This motion should be continued up and down until you feel tired. Stop at once when the slightest sensation of fatigue is felt. At first a boy will not be able to perform this motion more than ten or a dozen times, but if he keeps it up every morning he will soon find that he does not become tired until he has dropped and risen again some seventy-five or a hundred times. The important point, however, that must be kept in mind all the time is not to overdo.

Having gone through the exercise just described, for a few minutes, it is well to try something else that will exercise a different set of muscles. For instance, stand erect and lift the arms high overhead, the palms turned outward, and then bring them rapidly down to the level of the shoulders and up again (Fig. 3). Do this a few times, and then try another arm motion. Stretch the arms forward, the finger-tips touching, and then swing them horizontally back as far as possible, rising on the toes at the same time (Fig. 4). As in the case of any other kind of work, this practice will tire the novice, but at the end of a few weeks it will be surprising to note how long the exercise can be kept up without fatigue.

These three exercises will be found sufficient for the first few weeks, but thereafter a greater variety may be adopted. An excellent exercise is to stand erect, with the hands lifted above the head, thumb to thumb, and then to bow over forward, keeping the knees stiff (Fig. 5). At first the hands will not come within eight or ten inches of the floor, but within a week or so it will be an easy matter to touch the carpet with the ends of the fingers.

Another movement that will develop the muscles of the waist and back is shown in Fig. 6. Stand erect, with the heels together and the arms akimbo, the hands firmly settled upon the hips. Then move the body about so that the head will describe a circle, the waist forming a pivot about which the upper portion of the body will move. At the start the circle described by the head will be very small, but as the muscles become limbered and the waist becomes supple the body will swing easily about through a much broader area.

There is no use denying that all these things are at the start uninteresting, and I know from experience that even with the best intentions there will be a strong temptation at the end of a week to give up the whole business. But here is where the sand and determination of the American boy must prove itself, and the lad who sticks to the monotonous exercise in his own bedroom will be the one in after-years to stand the best chance for a position on his college crew or eleven.

There was a man in my class in college who as a boy lived in a small town where there were no athletic contests. Some one told him that if he wanted to get strong he ought to start in in the morning and dip between two chairs, lacking parallel bars. His adviser told him to dip once the first morning, twice the second morning, three times the third morning, and so on. It is evident that on the last day of the year he would dip 365 times, if he could only keep up this regular increase. He soon found that he was unable to do this, but he was surprised at the end of the year to notice how easily he could dip a number of times between two chairs, whereas his playfellows could barely perform the act three or four times.

When that boy came to college he was the strongest in our class about the chest and arms and back, and could perform wonderful feats of lifting himself and of dipping on the parallel bars in the gymnasium. But, unfortunately, the man who had suggested to him to dip each morning between two chairs had not thought of telling him that he ought likewise in some manner to develop the muscles of his legs, and so he was consequently overdeveloped from the waist up and under-developed from the waist down. This goes to show that when exercising it is imperative that all the muscles of the body should be given an equal chance, otherwise some parts of the anatomy must suffer at the expense of others.

A very little exercise performed regularly and for a long period will do much more for any boy or man than vigorous exercise performed for one or two hours a day for only a few weeks during the year. It is the little drop of water falling constantly that wears away the stone.

The accompanying illustration will give a better idea of the proportions of a hockey-stick, and the manner of holding it, than any description can do, better even than the photograph published in the last issue of the ROUND TABLE with a brief description of the game.

The members of the Arbitration Committee of the New York I.S.A.A. at a recent meeting voted to ask the University Athletic Club to accept the responsibility of acting as arbitrators in any future disputes between the schools. It is to be hoped that the University A.C. will undertake this, for a committee of college graduates can, beyond question, be more serviceable to the interests of amateur sport in this matter than any committee made up of individuals whose interests are closely related to scholastic athletics.

It is pleasant to note that the officials of the N.Y.I.S.A.A. refused to allow the tie between Berkeley and De La Salle for the skating honors of the League to be settled by the unsportsmanlike expedient of gambling. One of the schools wanted to toss a coin to settle the matter, but this was very properly overruled. There is only one step from this sort of thing to the settling of all contests by the arbiter of a coin without taking the trouble to go to the field. That is not sport. When it is proved (as in a jumping contest) that two contestants can do no better, after repeated attempts, one than the other, it is just and proper that some method be adopted to determine who shall have the medal--although the points _must be split_. If both contestants agree to toss for the medal, well and good; for the medal is merely an evidence of success, and does not in any way affect the merit of the contest which has already been settled and recorded, before the owners of half a medal each determined to take the chance of possessing two halves of a medal or no medal at all.

The renewal of athletic relations between Exeter and Andover seems to have put new life and energy into every branch of sport at the New Hampshire school. An enthusiastic meeting of the entire school was held a few days ago in order to collect money for the management of a track-athletic team, and a very respectable sum was realized. More men have turned out for practice than for many years at Exeter, and the Captain of the team feels greatly encouraged over the prospects for the winter and spring season. A team of Exonians will go down to the big in-door meeting of the B.A.A., and a still stronger team will probably be gathered to represent the school at the New England I.S.A.A. games in June. Dual games with Worcester and Andover will probably also be arranged. It is pleasing to note this renewed activity at Exeter, for there was a time--just about ten years ago--when the P.E.A. accepted second place to nobody in athletics. The decadence which the school has just passed through, and from which she is now making a vigorous endeavor to arise, may prove to have been a blessing in disguise. The fact that all this was the result of questionable methods in sport should stand as a glaring proof that straightforwardness, after all, is the only path to success in athletics as well as in any other work. Exeter now stands as a champion of purity in sport, and for that reason we may very well look forward to her brilliant success within the next few years.

In connection with the news of activity in northern New England comes the report from New Haven that the Hillhouse High-School will not put a track-athletic team into the field this spring. At a recent school meeting this action was definitely determined, and it was voted that the school would support a baseball team only. If it was found that the school could only support one of these two branches of sport, the choice to keep up baseball was a wise one, but at the same time it is regrettable to see so strong a member of the Connecticut Inter-scholastic League as H.H.-S. fall out of the ranks. So far as I am able to ascertain at the present writing, the reason for dropping track athletics was purely financial, but as the Connecticut Association seems to be rich just now, perhaps this obstacle may be removed.

The comment upon the dispute over the football "championship" going on between the Southbridge High-School and the North Brookfield High-School, printed in a recent issue of this Department, has called forth a number of letters from partisans of both sides. The actual standing of the affair seems, however, to be very clearly settled by Mr. T. E. Halpin, Vice-President of the Worcester County South A.A., who assures me that there existed no league for football in the Worcester County South A.A. this fall, and that therefore there was no possibility of there being any "championship" of football in that association, since the W.C.S.A.A. claims no jurisdiction over football affairs. It would seem that Southbridge and North Brookfield have been wasting a great deal of valuable breath and writing-paper over nothing, and if the two schools are uncertain as to which is the better in athletics, they might preferably wait until next spring and settle the question on the baseball-field.

At the Skating-races held recently in Stamford, W. S. McClave, of Trinity, proved himself one of the cleverest of the skaters present, and won several important races. The illustration on another page represents McClave winning the novice race.

It has been decided that the race between the crews of the Milwaukee East Side High-School and the St. John's Military Academy shall take place on the last Saturday in June.

It seems necessary to repeat every few months that the editor of this Department can pay no attention to anonymous communications. Correspondents who desire to have their questions answered, whether by mail or through these columns, must give their names.

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QUESTIONS FOR YOUNG MEN.

ON EXAMPLE.

There is a famous statement of the average preparatory-school boy, which has been so often made that it is historic, to the effect that he can do whatever he pleases because nobody will be fool enough to follow his example. He feels that men older than himself--men in college, or graduates of college, or grown-up men--may be setting example to others, but that he has not sufficient influence with any one to induce him to follow his example in anything. Sometime after the preparatory-school boy has grown up he will find that from year to year the same feeling sticks by him, and that he never considers himself a person worthy to set example to any one else.

If he only realized it, he would discover that even as a preparatory-school boy he is looked up to by the younger boys in the lower classes and by those who have not yet arrived at the point where they can enter a school at all. In other words, you, as a schoolboy, are setting an example to somebody else just as certainly as is your father or your grandfather is setting an example to others; and the feeling you have, that you are responsible to no one as an example for what you do, is wrong. It is very simple to understand this if you think it over a moment. For instance, a member of a college 'varsity team is a great man to the members of school teams. If they see a member of the 'varsity team drinking and smoking, they believe that it is proper for them to do so, and yet if you were to ask this man if he realized what an example he was setting, he would maintain that nobody was fool enough to think of looking to him for guidance. And this influence not only spreads over younger men in the school, but has a strong power in the college itself; for the fact that an athletic man is looked up to at the university and that the athletic man lives a normal life induces a great many other members of the university to take him as an example; and as a matter of record the strict training and the loyalty and thoroughness required by captains from members of their teams have done much to raise the standard in our big colleges to-day.

Every boy, therefore, should always bear in mind that he has a name to keep up and a record to keep clean, not alone because it is right to do so, but because he can never tell when some one else may not be looking to him as an example and may not be tempted to do things unworthy of boys because he does them. There is perhaps just as much evil on the other side of the question--that is, where a young man (or an old one, for that matter) feels that he is continually an example to others, and lives two different lives, one for the benefit of his friends and the other for himself. The example is of no value itself. It is merely that you, living your daily life, entering into sports and into studies at school, can never tell when your school-mates or persons whom perhaps you may never know may not be unconsciously observing your actions, and be accepting them as standards for themselves.

Thus every man and boy and girl is at some time or other, and often frequently, a guide or example for others, and it behooves him or her to bear this in mind from day to day. It should not cause worry; the responsibility of it ought not to weigh any one down; but the idea that you can do whatever enters your head, provided that in your mind you are satisfied that it is right for you, is not always correct.

* * * * *

TRYING HER IN A SQUALL.

A good story is told of the late Captain R. B. Forbes, who was interested in some seventy sail of fine vessels, and who built many clippers for the India and China trade before the general application of steam. It seems that while testing the sailing qualities of a clipper-schooner, she was struck by a squall in Boston Harbor, fell on her side, filled with water, and went down. Fortunately she had a boat in tow, which saved all hands. He would not start a sheet nor luff her into the wind to prevent her being capsized; he was determined to know what she could do in a squall, even at the risk of his life and the lives of a select party of nautical friends he had with him; and although this experiment may have been of intense interest to Captain Forbes, it is doubtful whether his invited guests relished their position. Later she was raised without much trouble and had her spars reduced. For years afterwards she was famous along the coast of China for her speed.

Captain Forbes's brother, Hon. John M. Forbes, now in the eighty-fourth year of his age, has an original steel clipper of the following dimensions: Length on the water-line, 125 feet, 154 feet 6 inches over all; has 27 feet 6 inches extreme breadth of beam; is 12 feet 6 inches deep; has engines of 400-horse power; is fully rigged as a two-masted schooner, and has a steel centreboard 21 feet long by 6 and 7-3/4 feet wide; is a complete sailing-clipper as well as a steamer, and is the only vessel of the kind in the world. She is also unsinkable; if full of water she will still float, having air-tight compartments along her sides like a life-boat.

Under sail, with a working breeze, she will stay within nine points in three minutes; by the wind, sail eight knots; and going free, twelve knots. She is named the _Wild Duck_, has been in service about two years, and has been quite successful under steam and sails.

* * * * *

THE CAT.

The cat's a happy animal When blows the winter bluff, Because she purrs and dreams all day Within her downy muff.

But I am sure when summer comes And roasts us with its glare, She'd like to be the Chinese dog, That hasn't any hair.

R. K. M.

* * * * *

SAILORS AND THE SMALL BOAT.

It is a curious fact that few seamen can handle a small boat with facility. This applies chiefly to the crews of sailing craft, as the large steamship corporations long ago realized this failing among sailors, and instituted a series of boat drills on their steamships that have been productive of excellent results. Knowledge of the workings of small boats is a requisite that every seaman should possess, and young men intending to follow the sea for a livelihood should acquire it before they tread the decks of a vessel, as they will have but little opportunity afterwards.

The wise forethought of steamship corporations on having their crews drilled saved many lives at the wreck of the steamer _Denmark_, as something like 734 persons were transferred from her to the _Missouri_ without a single accident in mid-ocean during a heavy swell. It follows, therefore, that those who seek recreation on the water would do well not to go in any boat, unless it is in charge of an experienced boatman, and is amply supplied with life-preservers. Boats ought to be ballasted with fresh water in small casks, instead of stones or iron, so that, in the event of being capsized, the ballast may help to keep them afloat. A young man who may have been only a very few times in a boat, under favorable circumstances, assumes he can manage one. He makes up a party, the wind freshens or a squall ensues, he loses his head, a capsize takes place, the boat sinks, and the chances are that he and his companions will be drowned. Those who go boat-sailing ought to leave as little to chance as possible.

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.

This is the height of the auction season. One auction a day is a fair average, and several lists with reserved prices have been sent out to prospective buyers, who are asked to compete against each other by mail. The straight auction where no stamp is held at a reserve will always commend itself to collectors. In the few instances where it was suspected that "a string was attached to the valuable stamps," such dissatisfaction was aroused that no self-respecting or far-sighted dealer will countenance any thing which savors of unfair bidding.

In the issue of January 5 I referred to a rumor that the Bureau of Engraving contemplated a new issue of U.S. stamps. Although no official notice has been given, it is believed the government intends to issue the new set during the International Postal Union Convention which meets in Washington this spring. I advise young collectors to look up the blank spaces especially in the current issue. For instance, the guide-lines now used make eight varieties of the 1c. and 2c. stamps, viz., guide-line at the top, bottom, left, or right, and the lines at top and left, top and right, bottom and left, and bottom and right. Then there are the three varieties of triangles in the 2c. stamps, and also the marked varieties in the color of the early compared with later printings.

BALTIMORE.--The Nova Scotia 1c. black is worth 30c.; the 5c. blue about 10c.

E. C. WOOD.--U.S. stamps issued before 1861 are not available for postage, but all issues from 1861 are valid to-day.

J. E. KINTER.--The "Army and Navy" is not a coin, but is one of the many war tokens issued in 1861.

J. MANN.--The early Portugal have been reprinted. The Argentine 1892 2 centavos and 5 centavos were formerly high-priced, but of late they can be bought for 75c to $1 for the two.

A. DANBY.--The Cape of Good Hope first issue were triangular. They are slowly advancing in value.

J. JOYNER and J. RASMUSSEN.--We do not sell albums or stamps or coins, nor supply catalogues. Refer to advertisements of dealers.

J. R. AVERY.--You can buy a very good 1834 half-dollar from a coin-dealer for 75c.

H. L. UNDERHILL.--Your stamp is a Swiss revenue stamp.

H. LEK. DEMAREST.--An unused U.S. stamp which has been creased cannot have the crease removed without taking off the original gum. Trondhjem stamps are Norway locals. A revenue stamp with one side unperforated is worth a little less than one with all four sides perforated.

D. D. WARDWELL.--Apply to any dealer for list of S.S.S.S. stamps. Confederate bills are worthless, as there are millions of them in existence. The San Francisco find of $20,000 U.S. Revenues will not affect the value of the stamps.

G. H. C. and E. D. BEALS.--No value.

C. W. WALKER.--The half-penny is worthless. U.S. half-cent, 1809, is worth 10c.

J. SMYTHE.--I know very few collectors of postal cards, and personally never collected them. I think it would pay you to join the Postal-Card Society if you are going to collect cards on anything like a fair scale. At auctions postal cards bring very small prices, but probably there are no rarities in the lots offered in this way.

A. A. FISCHER.--The water-marks on the Tuscany stamps, first issue, are in four horizontal rows of three crowns in each row. It requires quite a block to see an entire crown. The second issue is on a paper bearing interlacing lines, with an inscription running diagonally from the lower left to the upper right corner.

PHILATUS.

IMPORTANT BOOKS

_PUBLISHED RECENTLY_

* * * * *

George Washington

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

We doubt if the career of Washington has ever received worthier treatment at the hands of biographer, historian, or political philosopher.--_Dial_, Chicago.

A familiar and delightful study of Washington.... We do not recall a popular work on Washington of more graphic interest than Professor Wilson's performance.--_Philadelphia Bulletin._

"Harper's Round Table" for 1896