CHAPTER XVI.

THE MYSTERIOUS PRISONER.

This short notice and warning was meant in the kindliest way. George knew that well, and read between the lines. But it was plain to see that the plot was frustrated by the force of circumstance. He pushed the missive into the glowing coals of the fire; it blazed up merrily, and disappeared into gray ashes.

Now for flight. It would certainly do him no good to stay longer within the camp of the enemy. He knew no method of communication with the outside, and it would be impossible for him to meet with the others who were supposed to be his fellow-conspirators. Although the furlough he had been granted had been for a month, he was all zeal to return and join his command, but determined not to do so empty-handed. If he could only find out the destination of the large army that was ready to be embarked at a word's notice, a great deal would be accomplished. Was it Albany, Boston, or Philadelphia that was Lord Howe's objective point? If he could overhear the conversation at the meeting that he knew must now be going on at Fraunce's, he would have something that would make his trip far from worthless.

When doubting, use caution, may be a good motto, but under some circumstances boldness will answer quite as well. In fact, it is often the only thing that will carry affairs to successful issues.

George determined to hear the result of that meeting if possible, and then put as many miles of land and water between himself and New York as he could accomplish with the remaining hours of darkness. It would be hard to get across the river, but he doubted not being able to find a skiff or a boat along the wharves.

Back in the town once more, he approached Fraunce's Tavern by a circuitous way, and at last reached the stable, the shed of which was closely under the windows of the private dining-rooms where many a gay party had been given, and where years and years ago the old Dutch Mynheers had met and toasted their one-legged Governor in fragrant schnapps.

It had been better for George if he had started at once for the red soil of his native State. The tribulations which Mrs. Bonsall had predicted were about to cloud his horizon.

Tall as he was, he was not able to look in at the window. He could hear the murmur and flutter of conversation coming from within the brightly lighted room. Placing his hands on the sill, and using all the strength of his muscular young arms, he managed to draw himself up until his head was level with the panes. It was a fine sight to behold. This was not a council of war, nor even a secret meeting. It was merely a gathering of officers to talk the situation over informally.

General Howe did not believe in hurrying. But often ideas and plans develop at meetings such as this that bear important results. The talk was so general that George could not at first make out a single connected sentence, and his arms were tired with holding himself in the constrained position; besides, his face was forced so closely to the window that it seemed certain that some one would see him from the inside of the room. He lowered himself to the ground, and searching the yard, found a tall barrel. Rolling it cautiously to the side of the house, he stepped upon it.

It was now plain sailing--at least, it seemed to be.

Through the window-blind, which, was partly closed, he could look without being seen. The window was lowered a little at the top to admit the air.

"Tis the strangest thing in the world," said the voice of a speaker, whom George could not see, as he was behind the angle of the wall. "He was a clever lad, well knit and straight; they say the heir to a vast property up the great river. Search high or low, no trace can be found of him. 'Tis known that he went to his room at the City Arms, and that was the last seen of him."

"So Rivington was telling me," spoke up a man facing the window. "And I saw him when he called on General Howe. Those despatches were of great importance. But it's the General's intention to leave Burgoyne to fight it out alone on the Hudson. Philadelphia must be taken; I am sure that is the plan."

George's nerves tingled. Here was something of importance to relate.

A red-faced officer arose. "Here comes the punch, gentlemen," he said. "And I propose as our first toast confusion to Mr. Washington, and may Satan fly away with him."

"On to Philadelphia!" George heard some one cry.

"Yes, and rout out their ratty Congress," said another.

Suddenly it seemed to George as if the earth's surface had opened to receive him, and that he dropped from untold heights. The fact was that the head of the barrel had given in, and he was thrown backwards onto the hard ground. He came down with a clatter. A side entrance to the tavern ran close to where he had been standing. In fact, he had been exposed to the view of any one who came up the walk. Just as he had fallen a party of five or six entered the yard from the outside, coming up the road by the stables.

"Hello! What's that out there?" said a voice. The window of the dining-room was thrown up and a white-wigged head thrust out. "I say, who's there?" was again repeated.

George arose to his feet. One of the party coming toward him stepped forward. "What is the matter here?" he said.

Now if he was called to explain his presence it might lead to his detection, and with a sense of horror George saw that one of the party was the heavy man who had been in his room at the City Arms--the uncle of Richard Blount, of Albany, whose _bona fide_ nephew was in confinement in New Jersey.

He jumped to his feet and made a leap for the wall, to get over before the others could reach the gate.

"Stop him there!" said the voice from the window. "See who it is! Stop him!"

As he reached the top, and was about to throw himself on the other side, there were a flash and a report, and a strange pain ran through George's left arm. He lost his balance and fell.

When he came to, for he had been stunned a trifle by the second fall, he saw that quite a crowd was gathered over him.

"Does anybody know him?" some one asked.

"Yes, I do," was the answer. "It is the young man who tried to steal my time-piece the other day." The voice was Abel Norton's.

"Ay, and he took mine too, if it is the same," put in another. The last speaker was Schoolmaster Anderson.

"Turn him over to the watch," said an officer. "We cannot afford to have suspicious characters about. Ah, here he comes, for once in the right place."

"What means this disturbance, good people? Oh, is any one badly hurt?" As these words were spoken a caped figure with a lantern hurried up. He had a long pike in his hand, and a huge rattle hung by a leather thong about his neck.

Two or three bystanders helped raise the young man to his feet.

"He is wounded," said some one, noticing the useless left arm, which was numbed with pain, and which was bleeding.

"The prison surgeon is good enough for the likes of him," said another.

"Come with me, young man," said the watchman, putting his hand on George's shoulder. "You had better have that arm attended to. Oh! he's charged with crime, eh? That's very different."

Followed by Abel Norton, Schoolmaster Anderson, and a few idlers, the party moved down the street.

The "jig" was up now with a vengeance.

"Courage," said a low voice at George's elbow. "Act well your part." It was like Schoolmaster Anderson to quote even under these circumstances. "Do not fear coming to trial. They are too busy to think of little things like this. We will take care of you as well as we can. Know no one," he whispered.

The party had turned into Vine Street, and were heading for the old sugar-house on the corner, which, like many other gloomy buildings of that kind, had been turned for the nonce into a prison.

While Schoolmaster Anderson had been talking he had shaken his fist threateningly under our hero's nose, and had interlarded his talk with some epithets such as: "You young villain. Steal a watch, will you? Rascal!" and the like.

As they entered the narrow doorway of the sugar-house a portly man met them. He carried a large bunch of keys on a huge ring. Roughly he pushed back the crowd of curiosity seekers, and admitted only the watchman, Abel Norton, Mr. Anderson, and the prisoner into the court-yard. A smoky lamp flared from a bracket in the wall.

"What have you here?" he asked.

"Some one we wish you to look out for especially well and carefully," said Mr. Anderson. He took a bit of paper from his pocket; on it was scribbled "Secretary to the Governor." For some time, however, the schoolmaster had not held that important position. But this the jailer did not know. The watchman, who was a stupid fellow, here spoke up.

"'Tis naught but a thief, I take it," he growled.

"Say nothing. How do you know?" said Abel Norton, in a whisper. The heavy face above the cloak took on a wondrous-wise expression.

George had winced, but as he did so felt a reassuring pull at the back of his coat.

"He's wounded," said the jailer, noticing that the lad was supporting one arm with the other.

"We'll send a surgeon to him," said Abel Norton. "I may be a soft-hearted fellow; but I hate to see any one suffer."

"There's an empty cell on the second floor," put in the jailer. "I suppose you don't wish him to be placed in the main gallery with the others."

Mr. Anderson managed to whisper, as George was led away: "Courage. Two of your friends are with you. We are Numbers Two and Three."

Since his arrest the prisoner had not spoken a word. He did not know how badly he was hurt, and had not recovered entirely from the shock of the fall. The pistol-ball had entered his arm below the elbow. As he weakly followed the jailer up the stairway he passed a sentry, and, looking through an iron-barred door, caught a glimpse of a long room filled with a crowd of hungry-looking, half-clothed wretches. They were political prisoners mostly, but many of them had been soldiers who had so bravely defended Fort Washington a few months before.

"Prepare to receive another guest," said a voice from within the reeking room. "Fresh herring here! All ye salt mackerel!"

Several figures got up from the floor, but the party passed down the corridor and halted before a little cell scarcely six feet square. In one corner were a pile of straw and an old worn blanket.

Faint from the loss of blood, George was only too glad to sink down with his back against the wall. So this was what it had come to, the expedition which had apparently promised so well. What would good Mrs. Mack think of her boarder's sudden disappearance? There was one comforting thought, however. He had friends who were placing themselves in a position of danger in order to assist him. He would rather die than betray them. But how odd: Anderson and Norton--men who were known as Tories. That they also possessed considerable influence was soon to be proved, for in the course of an hour a surgeon appeared and carefully dressed the wounded forearm.

"It's not serious," he said. "I will be in to see you again."

One of the safest places to hide in is a prison, and probably the knowledge of this fact influenced the actions of his supposed accusers, and in such a disturbed condition were the courts of the city that many prisoners arrested on suspicion were held for years without ever coming to trial, in fact, without any indictment being found against them, even the crime for which they had been committed having been forgotten.

As George tossed about uneasily that night in the straw, he now and then dreamed fitfully that he was back once more in camp drilling his company, and again that he was at Stanham Mills, setting traps with his brother along the banks of the roaring brook. Suddenly he felt something hard beneath him. It was the bag of gold! Prisoners who could pay lived in quite a different fashion from the impoverished wretches who were compelled to take what was given them.

He could not imagine why they had not searched his pockets, but the ceremony had been omitted. Running his hand beneath the straw, he found that one of the boards of the floor was loose, leaving a crack that ran almost the entire length of the wall. He took the guineas from the pouch one by one, and placed them in the crack.

When the under-jailer came to the iron grating of his cell the next morning with a stone jug of water in one hand and a loaf of mouldy bread in the other, George extended one of the gold pieces.

"Take this, my man," he said. "You can have more chance to use it than I just now." The man grasped it in his dirty hand, and transferred it quickly to his pocket. At the same time he glanced over his shoulder at the red-coated sentry on the stairway.

"Well, Mr. High and Mighty," he said, drawing back the loaf, "if this bread is not good enough for you, you can go hungry then." He turned as if to walk away, then, walking back, he thrust it through the bars.

"Let me hear no complaints," he went on in a loud tone of voice. "It is good enough fare for such as you."

George could scarcely swallow the rough food. But what was his surprise, in the course of an hour or two, to see the beetle-browed jailer once more before his cell.

"Ho, ho!" he said. "So you have come to your senses. Hand me that stone jug and hold your jaw." As the man extended his hand, George saw that he held a large piece of cold meat and a soft warm biscuit. He took it, and with a parting growl the jailer shuffled away with the empty pitcher.

It seemed to George that the day would never pass. Strange sounds echoed through the building--curses and ribald songs, and now and then the clanking of heavy iron-latched doors. He heard at times the voices of the guards as they exchanged their posts. The only light that entered his little cell came through the window, in the corridor. There was no outlook, and his wounded arm throbbed with pain. Late in the evening the surgeon came again, and the head jailer accompanied him, carrying in his hand a tin lantern. The dim light from the perforations danced in a hundred little spots along the gloomy walls.

After the surgeon had dressed the wound, which he did in silence, and the door had clanged again behind him, George heard him speak to the jailer further down the corridor.

"Take care of that young man," he said. "He is a prisoner of great importance. Answer no questions concerning him, but treat him well. It is necessary that his health should be preserved."

"I suspected quite as much," replied the head jailer. "I have brains. He is no common thief. They wish him for something else, hey?"

"Ay," said the doctor, "that is it. You will find it out in good time, but now I see that you are in the secret keep it close."

To his surprise, shortly after dark our prisoner heard a shuffling at the door of the cell. He had been shivering in the straw in a thin worn blanket.

"Who's there?" he said, his teeth rattling, and his eyes straining to catch a glimpse of what was going on. There was no answer, but as he put out his hand he touched a bundle. He drew it toward him. It was a heavy patch-work quilt. He drew it around him, grateful for the warmth, and thankful in his heart to his unknown benefactor. Immediately he fell asleep as softly as a child might in its cradle.

The days passed quickly. At first it seemed as if George would go wild for the lack of some one to talk to. If it were not for the voices that he could hear at times, and for a few rays of sunlight that shot down the corridor, he would have gone mad. But the jailers treated him kindly; his food was plain, and it was evident that extra attention was being paid to him.

When the man who had first taken the gold piece appeared at the end of the first week, George held another toward him.

"Get me a book, something to read, for pity's sake," he said.

The man had taken the gold piece. "Ay, growl," he said. "'Twill do you lots of good. Where do you suspect you are--at an inn, my friend?"

He had returned, however, later in the day, and thrust a volume quickly through the bars.

Latin and the classics had always appealed strongly to George Frothingham. In the short term at Mr. Anderson's he had made most wonderful progress. What, then, was his delight to see that the well-thumbed, dogeared book was a Virgil! Now how he treasured those few hours of daylight when he could read!

But imagine his astonishment when he found thrust well forward through the iron bars one morning a heavy King James Bible. As he opened it his fingers came across something hard in the back of the binding. He pulled it out--two thin files wrapped about with a bit of paper! On the latter were the familiar characters of the cipher. He had scarcely made this discovery when down the corridor he heard approaching many steps. He thrust the good book and its contents underneath the straw, and looking up, his heart almost failed him, for he caught a glimpse of red coats and gold lace.

"Who is this distinguished personage?" said a strange voice, ironically. It was one of the officers speaking.

"An important prisoner," returned the jailer.

George could see that the whole group had paused before the door. To his astonishment, he saw among them the face of Schoolmaster Anderson. He noticed that the latter plucked the jailer by the sleeve.

"He is here for some good cause. I know not what," the latter continued, hurriedly. "'Twill be divulged later, I suppose."

Two or three of the officers had glanced searchingly into the little den. One noticed the Virgil on the floor.

"Ah, he has some learning, I perceive," said one.

When they had gone, to his chagrin our hero found that the light was too dim to read the cipher message. He must wait until noon of the next day, when the sun would beat through the window around the corner of his cell.

* * * * *

On the day this visit of inspection had been made to the sugar-house prison his Majesty's frigate _Minerva_ was bowling along merrily off the southern shore of Long Island. Again a group of officers were on her quarter-deck. A short man in a cocked hat swept the horizon to the northward with his glass.

"Ah, there it lies!" he said--"there's the new country which, we hope, will soon be flying our flag throughout its length and breadth."

It was a brilliant cloudless morning. Some near-shore gulls hovered overhead or dashed down in the frigate's wake.

Lieutenant William Frothingham felt the invigorating land breeze on his cheeks. He could make out now with the naked eye the low-lying hills. Home again. It was his country and the King's that lay off there, and somewhere, his brother, whom he loved more than any one else on earth, was wearing the uniform of the forces that he soon would be opposed to, maybe in battle. Little did he know that George's horizon was confined by four black walls.

The _Minerva_, with a bone in her teeth and the wind just right to bring her in, swept past Sandy Hook at last, and blossoming out into some of her lighter canvas, she reached the quieter waters of the bay. Soon were brought to view the forests of masts and the great dark hulls of the fleet that had preceded her. Signals sprang out, and the flags rattled stiffly in the wind. As she passed the _Roebuck_ a sheet of flame and white smoke burst from her side, and every frigate followed suit and welcomed her with a roaring salvo. She swept up the river, the bulwarks lined with the curious faces of the soldiery gazing at the crowded wharfs. At last anchor was dropped in the currents of the broad North River.

Early the next morning boats were manned, and the troops were disembarked. A huge band was there to meet them, and the new arrivals swept into Broadway between the lines of cheering soldiers and citizens. If disloyalty to the King was here it did not show.

The blood surged through William's veins as he walked at the head of his stalwart company and acknowledged the salute of a group of officers standing at the street corner. To his wonder as he went by a row of low brick houses he heard a voice call his name: "Mr. Frothingham! Is it you? Is it you? Is that the uniform?" he heard distinctly. He turned, but could see no one whom he recognized; it had seemed to him that it was a woman's voice, however. There was an odd figure standing there, a washer-woman, evidently; she had dropped a basket which she had been holding, and the ground at her feet was covered with frilled shirts. The crowd about her laughed. Her lips were moving, but the cheer that broke out drowned what she was saying. As the company halted, a figure came out into the street.

"Ah, Lieutenant Frothingham!" said a voice that made William start. "We have you here in the King's livery, I see."

William turned. It was a small man, very gorgeous in a red waistcoat and a heavy fur-lined coat.

"Pardon me for introducing myself. Your brother George was a pupil of mine. I knew who you were at a glance," he added. "You are alike as two pinfish."

"Have you seen aught of my brother?" was William's first exclamation.

"I think I have heard a rumor somewhere," replied the schoolmaster, with a frown, though his eyes twinkled in contradiction. "He was with Washington at Trenton and Princeton. My name is Anderson."

Of course the news of these two affairs had greeted the _Minerva_ when she first arrived in port. It had caused a thrill of astonishment.

"What did I tell you?" had remarked Colonel Forsythe, upon this occasion. "The only people that can beat Englishmen are Englishmen themselves--and what else are these Yankees?"

The regiment took up the march, and William, heading his company, once more turned into a side street, at the end of which were the new quarters. The town swarmed with the red-coated soldiery.

As they had gone down the street, they had passed beneath the shadow of the sugar-house prison. George, from within, heard the loud rolling of the royal drums, and raised himself on his elbow to listen.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

KIZNER'S PET SHEEP.

BY LEWIS B. MILLER.

The wagon was about to start, and Mrs. Adams leaned out to say: "Now, Billy, stay close around here to-day, you and Dick, and take care of things, and don't let anybody get into the house. Water the hogs about twelve."

"And you'd better cut an armful of corn-tops and give the calves, too," added Billy's father.

"Yes, sir, I will," answered Billy, dutifully.

"Dick, I want you to be a good boy to-day, and not get into any trouble, whatever you do," cautioned Mrs. Dunlap, Dick's mother. She knew his proneness to mischief and accidents, and thinking it might be well to hold out some extra inducements, added, "If you behave yourself right nicely, maybe I'll buy you something the next time I go to town."

"Yes'm," was Dick's non-committal response. He had heard that promise a great many times before.

The wagon started. Mr. Adams and Mr. Dunlap occupied the spring seat in front, while their wives sat just behind them in straight-backed chairs. In the rear end five or six small children were sitting on straw on the bottom of the wagon-bed.

"Billy," called back Mrs. Adams, "you'll find some fried chicken for your dinner in the stove oven, and a pie in the safe, and some--" The rest was lost in the jolting of the wagon. That was of little consequence, however, for the two boys had no fears of not being able to find everything there was on the place to eat when the time came.

It was a morning in August. The people in the wagon had started to a camp-meeting a few miles away, and did not expect to return till late at night. Twelve-year-old Billy had been left at home to look after things, and Dick had insisted upon staying to keep him company. The two were of the same age, but Billy was considerably the larger. Billy had on his every-day clothes, and was bare-footed, while Dick looked rather uncomfortable in his Sunday suit and shoes and stockings.

"Guess I'll take these off," he said, seating himself on the doorstep and beginning to untie his shoes. "There, that feels better," he added, as he put the superfluous articles in at the door and looked down at his bare feet. "What are we going to do?"

"I don't care. Anything you say."

"Then let's go swimming," suggested Dick. "Too hot to do anything else."

"Ma told me to stay pretty close about home. Somebody went into Mr. Lawson's house last week, when there wasn't anybody there, and took a whole lot of things. Guess she's afraid the same fellow will get into ours, whoever it was."

"Can't you lock the house?"

"Not from the outside. The front door will fasten on the inside, and so will the windows. But the kitchen door won't fasten at all. The lock is off."

After going through the house to see what could be done, Billy said: "I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll fasten everything but the kitchen door, and then bring old Ring down and tie him close to that. He won't let anybody get in."

Dick endorsed this plan, and they proceeded to carry it out. A stake was driven into the ground, and the dog's chain was fastened to it. Ring was part bull-dog, and rather too fond of using his teeth on strangers to be permitted to run at large.

"You'll keep 'em away, won't you, Ring?" said Billy, patting the dog's head. Then he brought a pan of water and placed it in Ring's reach, and they were ready to start.

Passing out through the gate, which they closed, but carelessly neglected to fasten, they crossed the prairie ridge that lay north of the house, and walked on slowly toward the swimming-place. The creek was more than a mile away. After reaching it, they amused themselves for an hour or two, then put on their clothes and started back.

Before coming in sight of the house they heard Ring barking furiously. Both started on a run to see what was the matter.

As soon as they came to where they could look over the ridge, Billy burst out laughing.

"It's Kizner's pet sheep. He's got into the yard, and Ring's barking at 'im. Just watch the old ram, will you, making out like he's going to butt Ring! He knows Ring's tied or he wouldn't be so bold. Just see Ring rear and charge! Wouldn't he like to get to 'im once?"

"Is it old Aleck?" asked Dick. "If it is, he's not afraid of any dog. Tommy Hendricks says he gets after their dog sometimes, and runs 'im back into the yard. He butts like everything, that old sheep does. Tommy's half scared to death of 'im."

"Huh!" exclaimed Billy, contemptuously. "Tommy may be, but I'm not. If he fools with me I'll give 'im rocks, and turn old Ring loose on 'im to boot. I'd just like to see 'im run _him_!"

"Better go slow," cautioned Dick. "You don't know that old ram. The Kizner boys taught 'im to butt when he was a little bit of a thing, and he's been getting worse and worse ever since. Why, my pa was going along over on the branch last spring, and found Aleck sticking in a mud-hole. So he up and helped 'im out, and was going ahead, when, zip! something took 'im behind. It was Aleck butting 'im. That's the kind of a sheep old Aleck is. And the old fellow was so poor then he could hardly walk. He's big and fat now, I guess."

Billy laughed heartily. "What did your pa do?" he asked.

"Why, he caught 'im and pitched 'im back into the mud-hole; but I guess he got out somehow."

"Well, I'm not afraid of 'im," declared Billy, and he began to fill his pockets with stones of a size suitable for throwing.

Taking courage from Billy, Dick did the same. Then they hurried in at the gate, and ran round to the back of the house, where the sheep and the dog were tantalizing each other.

Aleck was a vicious-looking old ram, large and strong, with curled horns, and a head made on purpose for butting. Perhaps he had received his name because of his fighting powers. At any rate, it suited him very well.

Both Ring and the sheep were out of temper. Ring was growling and barking and tugging at his chain, doing his best to get loose. Aleck charged toward him occasionally, and did not seem to be in the least afraid.

"Get out of here!" shouted Billy, as he rushed round the house and threw a stone at the ram, missing him.

Dick threw one also, with better aim, for it struck the ram on the side. Aleck promptly turned his attention to the new-comers. He was in just the right mood to deal with them.

What took place during the next few minutes the two boys had only a confused recollection of afterwards. Each was conscious of being knocked sprawling, and of trying to rise, and being knocked down again. Every time one of them started to get on his feet he was sent rolling over the hard ground. How the ram managed to move fast enough to keep both of them down they were too much excited to observe; but he did it easily, and would probably have kept a third boy down at the same time if there had been three.

At last, after being knocked and rolled some distance, they were near the stake-and-ridered fence which enclosed the large yard. Dick made a rush on his hands and knees, and succeeded in climbing the fence far enough to tumble through between the fence and the rider. Once on the other side, he was safe enough.

Billy was not so fortunate. He saw a large opening between the rails near the ground, and tried to crawl through it, but it proved to be too small for a boy of his size, and he stuck fast. He called loudly for help, and Dick promptly seized him by the arm and tried to pull him out of the crack.

Whether their efforts alone would have been successful is uncertain; but the sheep was rendering material assistance on the other side. By the united effect of Dick's pulling and Aleck's vigorous pushes, Billy was at last rescued from his exciting position.

With the exception of a few bruises, neither of the boys was hurt, but the appearance of both indicated the rough treatment they had received. Dick's Sunday clothes looked even worse than Billy's every-day ones. Their hats had been left on the other side of the fence.

They looked at each other ruefully for a few moments; then both began to laugh.

"My! didn't he knock us while he was about it?" said Billy. "It just made my head swim, the way he kept us tumbling and rolling."

"Mine too. And he did it so quick. He didn't give a fellow time to say scat before he was right on 'im."

The boys walked round the yard fence, throwing stones at the ram and trying to drive him out. Aleck, however, showed no inclination to go. He stalked back and forth across the yard, perhaps longing for more boys to conquer. But the two who had just escaped him had no intention of getting in his reach again.

What to do they did not know. The sheep was between them and the only unlocked entrance to the house.

"If old Ring was just loose once, he'd soon fix 'im," declared Billy, who believed that Ring could whip anything but an elephant.

"Couldn't you slip around the house and get to Ring before Aleck saw you?"

"Don't believe I want to try it," answered Billy, as he rubbed one bruised knee. He had a great deal of respect for Aleck by this time. "You can if you want to."

Dick didn't want to. "Well, what _are_ we going to do?" he asked, feeling that Billy, being at home, should find some way out of the difficulty.

"I don't know," replied Billy, scratching his head, "unless we just sit down and wait till the old sheep gets ready to leave."

Dick's face fell. He was thinking of the pie and fried chicken which Billy's mother had spoken of as the wagon drove off. "Must be nearly two o'clock," he remarked, glancing up at the sun.

"Yes, I guess it is. I'm feeling mighty hungry. How are you?"

"I'm half starved," answered Dick, emphatically, very glad of an opportunity to mention the matter, which, being company, he had not felt at liberty to speak of before. "I do wish we could get in somehow or other. If we only just hadn't left the gate open!"

They walked round to get in the shade of the smoke-house, for the sun shone hot on their bare heads. Aleck kept watching them, as if he expected they would come into the yard again.

For an hour or more they stood by the smoke-house, discussing various plans of getting the dog loose. All their hopes centred in Ring. It was easy to suggest ways of reaching him, but they all required courage--more courage than either of the boys possessed so soon after their disastrous encounter with Aleck.

Finally Billy suggested a plan that was wholly original. The smoke-house, which was of logs, stood at the back end of the yard, the rear of it forming a part of the yard fence. The ground sloped considerably from the smoke-house to the kitchen door.

"We can climb in at the gable end of the smoke-house," Billy explained, "and take one of the empty barrels there and put it out at the door; and one of us can get in it and roll right down to the kitchen. Then there won't be anything to do but just turn Ring loose and watch the wool fly."

Dick was enthusiastic over this plan as soon as he heard it. He was sure that it would succeed.

Climbing through an opening in the gable, they were soon in the smoke-house. There were three or four empty flour-barrels against the wall, each having an end out. One of these they moved to the door, and were on the point of opening the door to put it outside.

"How are you going to get in, Billy--head first or feet first?"

"I expect, maybe, you'd better roll, Dick. You're smaller than I am, and you can get in the barrel further."

Dick's enthusiasm died out very suddenly at this suggestion, and he looked discouraged. He had taken it for granted that Billy would be the one to get into the barrel.

"Oh, you can crawl in easy, Billy! There's just lots of room in there for you."

"But I can start the barrel to rolling better than you can," insisted Billy.

Perhaps Dick would have consented to go, but just then the sheep, hearing voices in the smoke-house, came nearer to investigate, and Dick's courage failed.

There was another long discussion between the two boys, each urging the other to get into the barrel. Finally Billy took out his "Barlow" pocket-knife. It had but one blade, and had cost ten cents.

"I'll give you that if you'll roll," he proposed.

Dick had no knife, and looked longingly at the offered reward. Then he looked out through a crack at Aleck, and shook his head.

Billy put his hand in his other pocket and took out some marbles. "Then I'll give you them," he said, spreading them out temptingly on his hand.

"Will you give me them and the knife too?"

"Not much, I won't," Billy answered, emphatically. "I wouldn't give you both if you rolled all the way to Granbury." Granbury was the nearest town.

Again they discussed the matter for several minutes. Aleck was nibbling at some tufts of grass. The boys were growing hungrier, and now and then glanced up longingly at some middlings of bacon hanging over their heads.

"I don't care," said Billy at length, being rendered desperate by hunger. "You can have the marbles and knife too. Let's open the door enough to put the barrel out."

Dick did not seem to be at all elated over having his offer accepted. "I don't know about it," he said, hesitatingly. "Don't believe I want to."

"But you said you would," urged Billy. "If you don't, that'll be backing out."

"Aleck might butt the barrel with me in it," objected Dick.

"Who ever heard of a sheep butting a barrel? And what if he does? He can't hurt you and you inside of it."

"I'll tell you what I'll do. If you'll give me the knife and marbles, and that long lead-pencil of yours to boot, then I'll get in the barrel and roll."

"No, sirree!" declared Billy, indignant at Dick's cupidity. "You don't get any lead-pencil from me. I'll stay here a year first. Why, I wouldn't give you that pencil and all the other things besides if you rolled all the way to Missouri." Billy's parents had removed from Missouri to Texas when he was small, and Missouri was farther than any other place he knew of.

They remained silent a short while, hunger all the time gnawing at their vitals. It seemed several days since they had eaten anything. At last Billy could stand it no longer. "I don't care. Go ahead, and I'll throw the pencil in. Now don't back out this time, or I won't have anything to do with you any more."

Dick was so pressed by hunger that he had been on the point of accepting the knife and marbles, so he was glad to take advantage of the more liberal offer.

The door of the smoke-house was opened cautiously and the barrel put out, the open end near the door. Then Dick hastily crawled into it, head first. Billy leaned out of the door and turned the barrel so that it would roll toward Ring. Aleck had learned that something was going on, and was coming to find out if he could take any part in it.

"Here you go!" shouted Billy, giving the barrel a vigorous push, and then shutting the door to keep Aleck out.

The sheep, however, was giving his attention to the barrel. He evidently suspected a trick, and he also saw Dick's feet, which persisted in sticking out at the open end, for the barrel was a small one. He rushed toward it, striking it with his head so as to cause it to move faster, but in a different direction. When at last it came to a standstill, it was against the fence at one side of the yard, at about the point where the boys had escaped from the sheep.

Dick was pretty badly scared, knowing that something had happened. But when he felt the barrel stop, he started to crawl out backward.

"Stay in! stay in!" shouted Billy, frantically. "Aleck's right there! You're not close to Ring at all!"

"Get 'im away, Billy!" entreated Dick, from the depths of the barrel. "Get him away somehow!"

"I can't!" answered Billy, helplessly.

"Get out and let him run after you!"

Billy opened the smoke-house door and ventured a few feet from it. Aleck did not see him, and he advanced a few feet farther. Then an idea occurred to him, and he did what he might have done sooner if he had not been afraid--made a dash toward Ring. The dog's collar was quickly unbuckled.

"Sick 'im, Ring!" shouted Billy; but Ring needed no encouragement. His only wish for the last two or three hours had been to get to the sheep.

A few moments later, Aleck, after a fierce but brief struggle, was lying on the ground bleating for mercy, while the dog held him by the throat. But for the boys, Ring would soon have finished him. They forced the dog to release his hold, not because they felt any kindness for Aleck, but because they were afraid their fathers would have to pay for him if he should be killed. As soon as the ram was released he sprang up, rushed round the house, out at the gate, and down the road as fast as his legs could carry him, and was never seen there again.

"Don't you think you ought to give back the knife and marbles and pencil?" asked Billy, after they had watched Aleck till he disappeared, "You didn't turn Ring loose like you were to."

"No, I won't," declared Dick. "I did my part. I rolled. I couldn't help where the barrel went to."

"Oh, all right," said Billy, in indifferent tones; but he looked disappointed.

"I'll tell you what I'll do, Billy," said Dick, relenting a little as he followed Billy into the kitchen. "I'll keep the knife, and give you back the marbles and pencil. Isn't that fair!"

"Why, yes, that's fair enough, Dick," answered Billy, looking pleased. "And let's give Ring some fried chicken and a little piece of pie for his dinner. He helped us. If it hadn't been for him, no telling how long that old sheep would have kept us out."

"All right!" was the enthusiastic response; and they began to make hasty preparations for the long-delayed meal.

"STRAW-FIDDLERS."

On a certain cold morning in the October of 1824 a young man, scarcely eighteen years old, but with a thin face full of premature intelligence and a poetic sort of beauty, was hurrying through the street of Sklow, in Poland, his cloak wrapped closely about his slender figure, his head thrown back, the felt hat not concealing his eager anxious dark eyes, which, roving here and there, were in reality absent in their expression as young Gusikow reflected on a verdict just passed on him by a prominent physician.

For some weeks he had been suffering from pains in his chest, increased whenever he played his beloved flute, and that day J----, the doctor, had declared that the musician must at once give up his work.

Gusikow, boy that he was, had a young wife awaiting his return in a little house, which he entered with a sad enough expression, for what would they have to depend upon if he was forced to abandon his performances in the theatre, his lessons, his concert tours?

I fancy Michael and Marie Gusikow, poor children, were miserable enough that morning. But genius, especially when it is musical, will not be subdued, and in his wretchedness the lad searched the garret for an old "strohfiedel" he had cast aside long ago as an instrument too insignificant to be of any value. I cannot tell you precisely the origin of the strohfiedel, which was made of strips of fir on a straw frame-work, but it belongs to a most interesting "family" of instruments, the present generation being the wooden and glass xylophones, which we hear nowadays in every orchestra, while one of its prominent traditions is the unexpected producing of musical sounds on glasses partially filled with water, and which has suggested to innumerable boys and girls, I am sure, experiments, from the trial on a finger-bowl to a whole row of glasses on a smooth piece of board. In the quaint old town of Nuremberg some instruments are preserved, known now as harmonicas, which were played with the moistened finger; but I think the instrument best known is that which the composer Gluck is said to have invented, and which, by the name of the "musical glasses," was all the rage in England in 1746. Gluck arranged twenty-six glasses irregularly filled with clear spring water, and upon these he played a variety of music with his fingers slightly moistened. In the _Vicar of Wakefield_ the fashionable London ladies are described as able to "talk of nothing but high life ... pictures, taste, Shakespeare, and the _musical glasses_," while Horace Walpole, writing the same year, 1746, to his friend Mann, refers to Gluck's performance, but says he thinks he has heard of something of the same kind before. But it was to our own Benjamin Franklin that the improved or perfected harmonica is due. He was in London eleven years after Gluck's visit, and found a Mr. Puckeridge performing on these musical glasses, very well, it is true, but Franklin at once said that something better could be done.

Accordingly he put his scientific wits to work, and the result was an instrument he called the armonica, to which an "h" was added, as being more appropriate, and on this many celebrated musicians performed. It consisted of basins of glass strung on an iron spindle, the lower edge dipped into a trough of water. As an improvement on Gluck's method, Franklin regulated the pitch of the tone by the size of the glasses, not the amount of water in or under them. Mozart and many other well-known composers did not disdain to write for the harmonica, and in 1788 a "Method" for students was compiled. The very simplicity, however, of the instrument made it easy of imitation and improvement. Wood and glass with straw were combined under various names. In the beginning of this century Ernst Chladni, who is called the father of modern acoustics, devised an instrument of glass cylinders, wood, etc., which he called the euphon, from which he evolved another, remarkable chiefly for its power of increased and diminished sound, which he named a clavi-cylinder. Dr. Chladni travelled about Europe with this instrument, giving lectures on acoustics, which started much of the research we benefit by to-day; but unfortunately for certain important work he had on hand, Dr. Chladni died suddenly in 1827.

To return to Gusikow and his little wife, we can fancy the young people on that chill October day accepting the dismal fact that the young artist must lay aside his flute, yet realizing that only by means of music could he earn a living. He took the strohfiedel to pieces, worked over it, practised on it, and at last devised certain valuable improvements; indeed, so far expanding and increasing its power and musical importance that he was talked of by some almost as though he had invented it, and presently he was known as a straw-fiddler of wonderful ability, while his playing revived interest in all the old dulcimers and psalteries, which the straw-fiddle closely resembles.

Gusikow continued to work over his strohfiedel, to improve it, and from his suggestions we have a variety of the wooden, glass, and straw instruments heard on all sides to-day. To what perfection he might have brought his crude materials I can scarcely say, for he was busy with new designs when, in 1837, he fell ill with his old foe, pulmonary trouble, and died at Aix-la-Chapelle, in October of that year, in the thirty-first year of his age.

If boys--and I know more than one of them--have contrived to make a violin out of an old cigar-box and some rough materials, surely they might do something with the ideas suggested by strohfiedels, and their family connections in wood, glass, and chamois-leather hammers.

BY GASTON V. DRAKE.

I.

FROM BOB TO JACK.

NEW YORK, _June_ 4, 1895.

DEAR JACK,--I don't think they's going to be much chance for us to see each other this summer, for where do you suppose we're going to go to? You'd never guess. _Hoboken_! It's a queer place for a summer resort, and Pop says there ain't much to do there, only, he says, getting there's going to be fun. He says about the only thing people do in Hoboken is to leave it in the morning and go back to it that night, which I can't say strikes me as quite so much fun as being off there in the White Mountains, with you getting scared at 'maginary bears, playing wild Indian, fishing, rowing, playing tricks on bell-boys, and all that. It may be just as Pop says, that living in Hoboken and going to business in New York is a great thing for a man, because it makes going to business a pleasure, but for a boy I don't see what good it is. Even if it's true that Hoboken people don't need yachts, because they've always got the ferry-boats handy for sailing, I can't get excited over the idea of going there. There ain't any fishing, and as for hunting, Pop says there's nothing wild there except Trolly Cars, and I never could see what fun there was in hunting trolly cars. They arrest you for even throwing stones at 'em in Brooklyn--I know that because I read it in a newspaper. There was a boy who lived in a crowded part of Brooklyn where there never was any birds and precious few dogs, and as he was the kind of boy that had to throw stones at something, he flung a few at the trolly cars, and a policeman caught him and took him to court, and the judge made his father pay ten dollars to get him set free again, and, of course, when he got him free again and took him home, you and I know what the boy got, which I don't think isn't fun. I haven't got any use for throwing stones at birds or dogs or trolly cars, but, as far as I can find out, Hoboken's very much like Brooklyn in not having anything else to hunt, even in fun. It hasn't got any woods for Indians to hide in, and not a cave anywhere around.

You can't go off and have a real picnic anywhere. Pop says there 'ain't ever been more'n eight blades of grass in the whole place, and five of those was ate up six years ago by a donkey that was so hungry he didn't know any better, and he isn't sure but what one of the other three was killed by the intense cold of last winter. That, of course, spoils all chances for picnics. Even if all the grass was left, you couldn't have much of a picnic on eight blades, anyhow, and besides, they didn't all grow in the same place. It must be a queer old spot, that Hoboken, and I can't say I see how Pop ever made up his mind to go there. He says he can't help going there, but seems to me that must be a mistake, because a man as old as he is can generally manage to do about what he pleases.

If it wasn't that we were going the long way, I kind of think I'd ask Pop to leave me home, and ask your Pop if he wouldn't take care of me this summer. You know what I mean about the long way, I suppose? You Boston boys generally do know all about everything; but in case you don't, I'll tell you that there's two ways of getting there. One way takes about ten minutes, and the other way takes three months. We're going the three-months way. You get on a ferry-boat to go the short way, but it takes an ocean steamer about two blocks long and a fog-horn on it to take you the long way. We're to get aboard of the steamer _New York_, go across to a place called Southhampton, where we take the cars for London. You've heard about London, I guess. Pop says it's the Boston of Europe, and the people there speak the same language; and I guess he is right, because he knows a man that's been there, and saw the Queen. After that we're going over to Paris, where Napolean Bonaparte lived, and Pop says he'll show me lots of fine things there, and maybe, if he's got time, will teach me how to speak French; and when I come back I'll teach you how to speak it; and then if we ever have any secrets, we can talk 'em right out loud before the girls, and they'll never know what we're talking about.

The next station we stop at will be Geneva. That's in Switzerland, and it's where they make watches. And while we're in Switzerland Pop's going to show me every Alp he can find, and he says if I behave myself he'll get me some snow and let me make a snowball in midsummer. Just think of that! Snowballs in winter is fun, but in July! My! Eh? I'm going to try to get him to let me have a sled, and go coasting down one of the glaziers, and if he does I'll tell you all about it; and maybe we'll get some skates and skate up Mount Blank on 'em. Talk about your views! Mount Blank is more'n twice as high as Mount Washington, and snow and ice most all the way. Just think of the bully slide it'll be coming down!

Then we're going to go over the Alps in a train that runs through tunnels that jirates like a corkscrew. You go in at the foot of the hill, and sort of meander around inside the mountain until you come out on top, and when you get over finally you're in Italy. There we're going over a few lakes and end up at Milan, after which we're going to Venice. That'll be fine. Venice is built right out in the ocean, and if you're in a hurry to get across the street you've got to row over or swim. My bathing-suit'll come in handy there.

After Venice we're going to Genoa, where Christopher Columbus was born, and from there we go by another steamer through the Mediterranean sea, which Uncle Joe says is made of blewing, to Gibraltar; on from there to those Azores Islands, where the stamps you swapped for my paper pencil came from, and that's the last stop till we get to Hoboken.

I thought I'd write and let you know about this so you'd know why I didn't turn up at the White Mountains. I'll miss you like everything, but I'll miss you less if you'll write to me once a week and tell me all that's going on. I'll write to you, and maybe, after all, we'll get some fun out of it. If Sandboys is at the hotel this summer with any of his stories about bears and things, please let me know all he tells you, and whenever I see anything exciting I'll tell you.

Good-by for the present.

Affectionately yours, BOB.

To become a successful broad-jumper the athlete must, to a certain extent, combine the skill of the sprinter, the high-jumper, and the hurdler, for the event now under discussion is a sort of combination of the other three. Like every other athletic feat, this one requires systematic work both of the body and the head, and persistent, continuous effort before any kind of form can be developed.

THE RUNNING BROAD JUMP.

From instantaneous photographs taken of Robert F. Lyons.

The first difficulty for the novice to overcome is the laying out of his run and the arrangement of his take-off. These details are both of the highest importance, for although he may be a good sprinter and a good jumper, these two qualities are nullified if the take-off is uncertain. The run differs with almost every individual, each athlete must determine this for himself by experiment. It is necessary to lay out two marks on the cinder track; the first one must be a given number of strides this side of the take-off, and the second at a distance further back, to suit the taste of the jumper. Bloss, for instance, counts back nine strides from the take-off to his first mark, and then goes back a dozen strides further. Lyons, whose jump is illustrated by the pictures above, goes back only eight strides from the take-off for his first mark, and about a hundred and five feet to the start of his run. Let us call, for convenience, the mark nearest the take-off the first mark, and the other the second mark. These have been laid out so that the jumper may feel certain that if his jumping foot, whether it be the right or the left, strikes fairly upon the first it will also come squarely upon the take-off, and the jump will be a good one.

It sometimes happens in contests that the conditions of the wind or of the track will be such that these marks will have to be slightly altered; and every athlete should be careful to examine the runway before his event is called, so as to be able to fix the points that he must depend upon for his success.

The position for the start of the broad jump is the same as that which used to be taken by sprinters a few years ago, before the present leaning-over method was adopted, and is illustrated by the first picture. The jumping foot, in this case the right foot, is on the starting mark, with the other slightly in advance. The sprinter starts down the track, measuring his strides carefully so as to come properly upon the first mark, and then he sprints at his greatest speed down the track to the take-off. If he has measured his distances correctly, he will land, as is shown in No. 3, with his jumping foot squarely upon the take-off. If he feels that he has gotten out of his stride, it is better not to make the jump at all, but to stop, for over-stepping the mark by a few inches will ruin the jump, and under-reaching the mark will detract just that much from the measure of his effort.

The act of the jump itself is where the greatest effort of muscle and nerve is required. Just before coming to the take-off, say at the last step, the athlete should gather himself together and crouch as low as his great speed will permit, and bring his jumping foot down as hard as possible upon the take-off, at the same time throwing his hands forward and upward. Bringing down the foot with such power serves to throw the body into the air, and this movement is aided by the lifting of the arms. The hardest strain comes on the back muscles, just as in high-jumping. The eyes should be fixed on some distant high point rather than on the ground where the jump will probably end. This seems to give a better "aim," and in many cases adds an inch or so to the distance. The fourth picture shows the jumper just after he has left the take-off. The next sees him well on his way, with his legs curled up close under the chin, and his arms reaching out far forward, so as to throw the balance as much as possible in that direction.

As he comes down the jumper should hold his feet as far forward as he can, in order to gain every inch that is to be had, and he should also keep his head and arms forward, so as not to lose his equilibrium and fall backward, thus making his jump void. The last picture shows the correct attitude for the end of the flight through the air, the feet being well ahead of the trunk, but the arms and the head held so far forward that they will bring the body along, too, as soon as the feet dig into the soft earth below. The feet should be kept well together on landing in the jumping-box, and a good broad-jumper will never allow himself to fall forward on his hands, but will always resume his erect position, and walk out of the soft earth, instead of rolling out.

Training for broad-jumping consists mostly of hard practice in sprinting short distances--say, from seventy-five to a hundred yards. This is to acquire the highest speed for the runway. High-jumping should also be practised, but the athlete should not attempt to become proficient in the number of inches he can clear, but rather in the form with which he covers a reasonable height. A spin now and then over the hurdles will also do a great deal toward improving a broad-jumper's form. After the athlete has become more or less a master of his event, he will find that half a dozen jumps, two or three times a week, will be enough to keep him in practice, and I should advise him by all means to rest for three or four days before going into a contest. When the time for jumping at a field-meeting arrives, never try to do the best work on the first jump. Be satisfied to make your marks well and to catch the take-off squarely. Do your very best on the second jump. Before making the first try, however, take a spin around the track, and make one or two small short jumps on the grass, so as to be thoroughly limbered up; otherwise, if you have not softened your muscles, you might injure yourself on your first attempt, and be laid up, as a result, for weeks.

The scheme for holding a large in-door interscholastic track-athletic meeting, which has been under discussion for some weeks past by the directors of the New Manhattan Athletic Club, has finally taken definite shape, and the games are to be given in the Madison Square Garden on the evening of March 28th. The New Manhattan Athletic Club, as is well known, has recently come under a new management, and I have been led to believe that, in the future, the much-tarnished cherry diamond will be polished up and made to stand for purity in amateur sport, as prominently as it was once degraded into representing exactly the other extreme. There is every reason to believe that such will be the case, if we may judge by the characters of the men at present in control.

These moving spirits have very wisely decided that the best way to achieve prominence in the field of amateur sport is not to gather in the reigning lights of the present, but to educate and bring forward their own men. It may take a number of years to do this, but once it is accomplished success will have been worthy of the effort. The plan is to recruit membership from the young athletes of to-day, who are to become the ruling athletes of the future. With this object in view the new club will take the greatest interest in all school sports, and will strive to assist school athletes in every possible way. The first step will be this large in-door meeting, open to all the schools of the country.

The meeting will be held for the benefit of the schools, not for the glorification of the club, and although the latter is to take entire charge of the business end of the enterprise, the schools are to control the rest. The plans, as yet, are not wholly completed, but doubtless they will be in a few days.

What is determined thus far, however, is that the meeting will be held at the Madison Square Garden on March 28th, beginning at eight o'clock in the evening. The events will be 75-yard dash, 220-yard dash, 440-yard run, 880-yard run, 1-mile run, 1-mile walk, 75 yards over the low hurdles, running high jump, putting the 12-pound shot, pole vault, and a relay race. There will probably also be a relay race for college teams.

The entrance fee for each event will be fifty cents, and the entries will close on March 21st. The events will be open to the school-boy athletes of the United States, the eligibility of contestants to be governed by the rules of the N.Y.I.S.A.A. (Here is the first occasion where the importance of a National Association is made evident. If the constitution of the N.I.S.A.A.A. were only completed now so as to cover in-door as well as out-door contests, the rules of the general body would have been adopted for the N.M.A.C. games!) The New York association has been amending its laws within the past few weeks, and it is too late at the present writing for me to make sure that the eligibility rules have not been changed with the others. For the benefit, however, of members of other associations who will enter these games in March, this Department will publish next week the regulations that are to govern the entries.

It is the plan at present to invite teams and individuals from every school near enough to this city to send delegates. It is expected that the Boston and Philadelphia schools will send large delegations, for this is practically the first in-door meeting, open to all schools, that has ever been held on such a scale. The relay races will no doubt prove exciting, and it will be interesting to compare the work done by the school and college teams.

The feature of this scheme which should particularly appeal to those of us who are clamoring for a diminution of the evils of athletics is that the entire business management of the affair is taken completely out of the hands of the students. If this might only always be so!

Of minor in-door games there will be plenty in the next six weeks. The Barnard games are to be held next Saturday, the 8th, in the Eighth Regiment Armory, and promise to be well attended. Moore and Washburn ought to be heard from in the runs, and the latter has also been doing some good work over the hurdles. Wilson, who surprised the know-alls in the junior events last spring, is another Barnard man that will be well up in the front, although Leech of Cutler's will make him do his best. Freshman relay teams have been invited to compete from the neighboring colleges, and a number of acceptances have already been received.

Relay races are about the most interesting contests to put on an in-door programme, and I am glad to see that the event is coming into such wide popularity. There is a greater element of interest in such a race because it involves team-work, and team-work is always more attractive than individual work. And then again, where a solid body of supporters are encouraging one team, while similar crowds are urging on another, the enthusiasm and rivalry reach a far more inspiriting level than in any other case.

These races also afford an opportunity for smaller schools, that have not any particularly able athletes, to send representatives in the form of a relay team, and such a team from a small school, if well trained, stands as good a chance of success as the runners from any larger institution, because success depends upon team-work. If relay races become fixed events on the in-door card, it is probable that the country schools--such as Lawrenceville, the Hill, and others--will eventually regularly enter a team at one or more of the winter meetings here. I think it very probable, from information already at hand, they will send teams to the new Manhattan Athletic Club meeting in March.

A number of school papers, in referring editorially to the National Interscholastic A. A. A., speak of it as the "International" Association. Now there is nothing international about the new organization, and many persons are liable to be led into a misconception of the Association's objects if this term is continually mis-applied to it. The N. I. S. A. A. A. is a purely American affair, and has been organized for the purpose of encouraging and promoting amateur sport in the schools of this country alone. That, as we all know, is a big enough undertaking in itself. The other nations will have to take care of themselves!

That the National Association is to be a power for good, there can be little doubt. Its rules will be of the most stringent kind, and the fact that the majority of interscholastic leagues now in existence are hastening to join the larger body shows pretty conclusively that they appreciate the value of a strong governing head. Another result of the new venture is the organization of additional school leagues. I spoke last week of the coalition newly made by Lawrenceville, the Hill School, and Hotchkiss Academy. A call has now been issued for a convention of the New Jersey schools, for the purpose of forming an association in that section. The convention is to be held at the High-School, West Fifth Street, Plainfield, New Jersey, February 8th, at 10 o'clock in the morning.

THE GRADUATE.

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.

An accumulation of answers to correspondents makes it impossible to illustrate the remainder of the rare Confederate Locals in this issue. I shall try to finish the list next week. Meanwhile, I advise all readers of the ROUND TABLE in the Southern States to look over any correspondence of the year 1861.

A correspondent sent me some Cape of Good Hope stamps to pass on, all of which proved to be counterfeits. By mistake these stamps were returned to another correspondent. Will the receiver kindly return the stamps to the Editor of this Department, in care of Harper & Brothers?

H. S. RIEDERER.--All coins made in Philadelphia are without any special mint mark. Of the other mints the marks on coins are as follows: O. for New Orleans; D. for Dahlonega; C. for Carolina; C.C. for Carson City; S. for San Francisco.

R. W. L.--Dealers ask from $27 to $30 for a complete set of Columbian stamps unused, and pay from $23 to $26 for the same, if in good condition, well centred, original gum, etc.

M. F. EASTON.--The green Centennial envelope is sold for 25c.

C. R. BRAGDAN.--Many firms in England have all their stamps perforated with their initials to prevent theft. This perforation destroys the value of the stamp, whether used or unused, except for postal service, and identifies the owner of the stamps. Russian coins are not collected in this country.

A. CARRIER.--A Columbian dollar stamp with holes punched in the same has little value. Collectors want whole stamps or none.

W. P.--The $5 gold coin is a common date. It is worth face only.

G. M. KELLEY.--See ROUND TABLE of December 17, 1895, for the value of U.S. cents.

R. BENNETT.--"The Union" is a token, not a coin. It has no value. The 3c. U. S. purple stamp, used, is worth 1c.

H. M. BALDWIN.--U.S. coins so badly worn that the date can not be read have no premium.

S. J. DAYTON.--If the 3c. coin is in "mint" condition--that is, practically just as it came from the mint, not in the least worn, dealers in coins may pay half the catalogue value. It is not rare in ordinary good condition.

H. W. TICKNOR.--See answers to S. J. Dayton and H. S. Riederer.

E. C. WOOD.--I do not recognize any variety from your description. Probably you mean the 1890 and 1894 U.S. stamps. The last named are printed from the 1890 plates, with the addition of a triangle on the upper left and upper right corners.

PHILATUS.

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_Philadelphia._

CARDS

FOR 1896. 50 Sample Styles AND LIST OF 400 PREMIUM ARTICLES FREE. HAVERFIELD PUB. CO., Cadiz, Ohio.

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

This week we give the last stage of the journey from Philadelphia or New York to Washington. Taking up the route from Cooksville, the run into Washington to the Capitol is between thirty-two and thirty-three miles. On leaving the cross-roads in the centre of the town, run south to Glenwood, thence direct to Roxbury Mills, straight on through the village to Unity, keeping always on the main road to Brookville. The distance is about ten miles over a road that is not of the best, and has some pretty bad places. It is, in the main, sandy loam, and the rider should keep in mind that he is to avoid coasting down most of the hills, and, in fact, will do well to only ride down the hills where he can see the bottom, as there are one or two which it would be as well to avoid, in view of the sharp turns and disagreeable lay of the land at the bottom. From Brookville to Olney, and then on to Norbeck, is a clear road and in much better condition, being a regular turnpike thoroughfare. It is difficult to miss the way, in spite of one or two forks between Olney and Norbeck. The road is in much better condition, and improves between Wheaton and Sligo, which is just on the Maryland side of the line between Maryland and the District of Columbia. About half a mile out of Sligo take the right fork and cross the railroad, which at this point runs along the Maryland line. Immediately upon crossing you are in the District of Columbia, and from here into Washington the road is in admirable condition. It is about five miles from Wheaton to the District of Columbia line, and a good five miles further into the city of Washington. The route lies through Brightwood on by a straight pike road through Pleasant Plains into the city, where the Arlington is perhaps the best hotel for a cyclist's purpose.

It should be noted that all the rides in the vicinity of Washington, especially on the Virginia side, but to a certain extent on the north as well as the south, are apt to be very bad during wet weather. The clay formation of the ground forms a soft mud during a rainy period, which, if it does not make bicycling impossible, makes it most disagreeable and unsatisfactory in every way. This is especially true if you take the run from Washington to Mount Vernon, the best route for which being on the Virginia side. Here it is almost impossible to get along after much rain. This route, however, should be taken, as Mount Vernon, being one of the important places in the vicinity of Washington, should unquestionably be visited. To take this route, cross the river by the bridge to Jackson City, and from this point it is easy to find the road, which is fourteen miles down the river on the Virginia side.

This completes the continuous journey from Philadelphia to Washington, and the reader of this Department can easily fill out the entire journey from New York to Washington by looking up the maps already published in the ROUND TABLE. By taking these and studying them out carefully, it will be seen that the journey can be laid out in stages of whatever length is most suitable for the particular rider who is considering them. As we have published them, they are in short stages of between thirty and forty miles, and ordinarily good riding. He could take two of these stages a day, which would divide the journey from New York into half, and at a pinch he could make the run from New York to Philadelphia in one day, though that is a rather long ride for even the best; but by taking two days to reach Philadelphia, and four, or even three, to make the run from Philadelphia to Washington, not much time is taken, although the route from Philadelphia to Washington which we have given will require more than that amount.

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

PLATINOTYPE PAPER.

The platinotype process was discovered a long time ago by Sir John Herschel, but it is not till within a few years that it has come into general use for photographic prints. The paper has been brought to such perfection, and the working made so simple, that the young amateur will find no trouble in using it when he wishes to make specially fine prints.

While one may sensitize the paper, it is better to buy the ready prepared, and as it is packed in tin tubes, the joint being made as near air-tight as possible, it will keep for a long time, especially in a dry climate.

The paper is of a lemon-yellow color, and it prints about three times quicker than albumen paper. Gas-light or a weak white light will not affect the paper, and it may be adjusted in the printing-frames in an ordinary lighted room away from the windows.

To print, place the negative and paper in the printing-frame in the usual manner, and expose to diffused daylight--that is, in the shadow of a building or at a window, but not in sunlight. The image is faintly printed, and then developed. After two or three minutes examine the print, and if the image is well defined, with detail showing in the middle tones, the picture is printed enough. The color of the printed image will be of a grayish-orange tint, and will not appear as distinct as on aristo or albumen, which are printing-out papers.

The developer for platinum prints comes in bulk, with directions for preparing, and better results are obtained by using the prepared developer, especially for the first few times of making platinotypes.

Dissolve the contents of the box of developer according to directions, and place in a tightly stoppered bottle. This is the stock solution. Make a clearing bath of 60 oz. of water and 1 oz. of muriatic acid (chemically pure).

The prints may be either developed by floating them in the developing solution, or the prints may be laid on a sheet of glass and developed by the "brush" process. The latter is better for small prints.

To develop by floating the print, place the print, exposed side down, in the developer by letting it slip evenly and quickly into the solution. Lift and see if any air-bubbles have formed on the surface of the print. If there are any, touch them with the tip of the finger or the corner of a card, and return the picture at once to the developer. The picture will develop quite fast, but it can be stopped at once by transferring the print to the acid bath.

The developer must be used in a porcelain or agate tray, and another tray--a glass tray such as is used for hypo will do--must be filled with the acid clearing bath so that the print may at once be placed in it as soon as it has been developed enough.

As soon as the print has developed enough remove at once, before washing, to the acid clearing bath. The prints must have three changes of the acid bath, leaving them in ten minutes each, and afterward wash them in three or four changes of water, lasting about half an hour altogether. Pin up to dry, blotting off the superfluous moisture with clean blotting-paper.

Developing with a brush is sometimes to be preferred to floating. Take a wide flat camel's-hair brush, turn some of the developer in a shallow dish, lay the print on a sheet of glass, face up, dip the brush in the developer, and beginning at the top of the print, brush it across from one side to the other, and then lengthwise of the print, using light even strokes. The picture will not be so evenly developed as by floating, but this unevenness may be remedied by floating the print for half a minute in the developer and then transferring quickly to the acid bath.

Stop the development as soon as the right depth has been brought out, and while the detail is perfect. If a print is developed too long the print will appear flat, as in the case of a negative when overdeveloped.

As platinum prints are more quickly made than aristo or albumen, this paper is very desirable for winter photographic printing.

The mounts for platinum prints have a plate sunk centre covered with India paper, and are usually of a soft gray color for the margin. The prints may be mounted on plain cards, but are much more effective if mounted on the cards prepared expressly for platinotypes.

The paper costs 50 cents per dozen for 4x5, 80 cents for 5x7. The paper can be bought in any size desired. The developing solution or salts cost 35 cents for a package containing enough to make 50 oz. of developer.

* * * * *

LAUGHING BABIES

are loved by everybody. Those raised on the Gail Borden Eagle Brand Condensed Milk are comparatively free from sickness. _Infant Health_ is a valuable pamphlet for mothers. Send your address for a copy to New York Condensed Milk Co., N. Y.--[_Adv._]

ADVERTISEMENTS.

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Postage Stamps, &c.

JAPANESE POSTAGE STAMPS.

Every one who sends me 100 good stamps of his land will receive 100 stamps, in 20 varieties, from Japan.

K. TODA,

BINGO MITSUNOSHO -- JAPAN.

FREE!

Send 10c. to pay the postage, and I will send you a 225-page catalogue with illustrations of every stamp FREE. 100 varieties foreign stamps, 5c.; 200 varieties foreign stamps, 25c.; 12 varieties Japan, Spain, and Portugal, 2c.; 400 varieties foreign stamps, $1.25; 500 varieties, $1.75; 750 varieties, $4.50; 1000 varieties, $6.50. Approval sheets for good references.

RICHARD R. BROWN -- KEYPORT, N. J.

STAMPS!

=800= fine mixed Victoria, Cape of G. H., India, Japan, etc., with fine Stamp Album, only =10c.= New 80-p. Price-list =free=. _Agents wanted_ at =50%= commission. STANDARD STAMP CO., 4 Nicholson Place, St. Louis, Mo. Old U. S. and Confederate Stamps bought.

STAMP COLLECTORS!

12 South America, 9c.; 15 Mexico and Central America, 10c.; 18 West Indian, 10c.; 15 Australia, 11c.; 16 Asia, 10c. Large monthly price-list free. Approval Sheet agents wanted; 50% com. and prizes given. C. W. GREVNING, Morristown, N.J.

100 all dif. Venezuela, Bolivia, etc., only 10c.; 200 all dif. Hayti, Hawaii, etc., only 50c. Ag'ts w't'd at 50% com. List FREE! =C. A. Stegmann=, 5941 Cote Brilliante Ave., St. Louis, Mo

1000 VARIETIES.

Any boy or girl may secure this fine collection of stamps by a little work. Send 6c. for =100 Var.= and outfit to

E. M. MANSUR, Box 2, Floral Park, N. Y.

FOREIGN STAMPS ON APPROVAL.

Agents wanted At 50% com. Lists free.

CHAS. B. RAUB, New London, Conn.

500

Mixed Australian, etc., 10c.; =105 varieties=, and nice album, 10c.; 15 unused, 10c.; 10 Africa, 10c.; 15 Asia, 10c. F. P. Vincent, Chatham, N.Y.

125

dif. Gold Coast, Costa Rica, etc., 25c.; 40 U. S., 25c. Liberal com. to agents. Large bargain list free. F. W. MILLER, 904 Olive St., St. Louis, Mo.

10 Stamps

free to every applicant for our app'l sheets at 50% disct. Franklin Stamp Co., 74 Fayette St., Allegheny, Pa.

=FINE APPROVAL SHEETS.= Agents wanted at 50% com. P. S. Chapman, Box 151, Bridgeport, Ct.

FINE PACKETS in large variety. Stamps at 50% com. Col's bought. Northwestern Stamp Co., Freeport, Ill.

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

* * * * *

Amateur Press News.

At present there are four amateur press clubs on the Pacific coast--one sectional and three local. The Pacific Amateur Press Association is composed of amateurs residing in the States of California, Oregon, and Washington. It meets annually in different cities on the coast. The next convention will be held in San Francisco next July. At conventions we have an exciting time at banquets, political fights, etc. Mr. Edward A. Hering, of Seattle, Wash., is President. The dues are fifty cents per year, no initiation fee being charged.

The Golden State is the largest local association in amateurdom. It meets semi-monthly. The initiation fee is fifty cents, and the dues thirty-five cents per month. The officers are: D. J. McCarthy, President; L. M. Voorsanger, Vice-President; Samuel T. Bush, Recording Secretary; Ethel Neal, Corresponding Secretary; P. C. Mortimer, Treasurer; and William A. Day, Official Editor.

The Seattle Amateur Press Club is composed of amateurs residing in Seattle. The Portland Club is composed of amateurs residing in the city of Portland. The latter has just been organized, and is in a flourishing condition. W. L. MacMullin is President. For amateur papers, applications, or any information apply to Herbert Hauser, 1423A Bush Street, San Francisco, Cal. Of course you are welcome to the ranks of these amateurs if you live on the Pacific coast and contribute to or publish an amateur paper.

Neat and bright amateur papers to reach the Table are: the _Defender_, Grove City, Minn.; the _Newsboy_, 1609-1/2 Baker Street, San Francisco, Cal.; the _Boys' Club Magazine_, the Press Club, 740 Bryant Street, San Francisco, Cal.; the _Gleaner_, Walter A. Dyer, 274 Worthington Street, Springfield, Mass.; the _Monthly News_, Paul Foster Case, Fairport, N. Y.; the _Recorder_, 579 American Avenue, Milwaukee, Wis.; the _Recruit_, 1104 East Fifteenth Street, East Oakland, Cal.; the _Talisman_, 100 East Twelfth Street, Portland, Oregon; the _Monthly Visitor_, Haverhill, Mass.; and the _Albemarle_, Eau Claire, Wis.

Publishers of all the papers will be glad to hear from members of the Order. All, or nearly all, send sample copies free upon request, and all welcome bright contributions. They are creditable to their editors and publishers as well as contributors. Some time since we remarked that few amateur papers could be made to pay expenses. Several publishers write to say that they make both ends meet, and even realize a profit. But the greatest benefit is not a financial one, but the experience gained.

The following members are interested, and want sample copies: A. C. Bell, Garfield and Central avenues, Medford, Mass.; Philip A. Barry, 22 Clifton Place, Boston, Mass., who wants members for the "Round Table" Amateur Press Association; R. M. Shumway, Batavia, Ill.; Sigurd Rhode, 1202 West Michigan Street, Duluth, Minn.; and James F. Bowen, 36 St. James Avenue, Boston, Mass.

* * * * *

Biscayne Bay and Its Marvels.

Biscayne Bay is situated far down the east coast of Florida, a little below the settlements of Miami and Cocoanut. It is a magnificent sheet of water, the largest in Florida. If you enter the bay in a boat, you will first notice the crossing of a bar. Then you will naturally look across for the other shore and see groups of white houses seemingly far apart. And then you will look into the water below you and see, far down, "submarine gardens of purple, yellow, and red weeds, bright green moss, and multicolored shells of various shapes and sizes." The water is of the clearness of amber, for it is seldom roughened by storms.

How to reach Biscayne by land. The journey to the bay by stage requires two days, with a stop at Camp Stranahan, on New River. You will obtain more fun, though, if you take the schooner at Lake Worth and sail down the Atlantic, a distance of eighty miles. Going south the boat hugs the shore to avoid the northward flow of the Gulf Stream. During the autumn the band at the Royal Poinciana Hotel, at Palm Beach, can be plainly heard. The freight and passenger boats that run between the lake and the bay generally use Bear Cut entrance to the bay.

The fish found in the bay are remarkable for their great variety. There are the tarpon, the silver king, and the kingfish, all of which afford great sport. They are from twelve to fifteen feet long, and weigh from seventy-five to two hundred pounds. Then there are the bream, Jack, mullet, trout, and salt-water shad, the angel and hogfish, the baracouta, and the Spanish mackerel. There is also a fish which goes under several names. Some call it the cavalier, the negroes, "car-walley," and Dr. Henshall, in his _Camping and Cruising in Florida_, calls it the crevalle. I forgot to mention that pompano, sheepshead, runners, and mud-fish are also found plentifully. But these are not the only species of fish found. There are the shark, jew-fish, ray, and porpoise, and in the small creeks abound alligators and crocodiles. The manatee, or sea-cow, has just lately found its way here. It came originally from the St. Lucie River. Huge pachyderms are found whose flesh resembles that of bear steak. Of shell-fish you will find clams, oysters, crabs, shrimp, conchs, and the logger-head, hawksbill, and green turtle, and plenty of terrapin. Is not this sufficient to show you what a fine fishing-place Biscayne Bay is?

The population about Biscayne Bay is cosmopolitan, possessing, on one hand, a well-known author, and on the other a pure-blood Indian, called Tiger Tom, or Old Tiger. Kirk Munroe and Old Tiger are good friends. The original inhabitants of this region were English and Bohemian settlers. The Everglades lies to the west of the bay about six or seven miles. A recent poetic writer said of them: "A huge lake, miles upon miles in extent, of cold, clear, pure water, black as night, studded with innumerable small islands thickly grown with moss-draped cypress-trees, nesting and breeding places for millions of birds, hiding-places for deer, bear, panther, alligators, and wild-cats, and the larger ones affording camp, farms, and villages for the Indians. The scenery is beautiful and weird beyond description; the silence is an anodyne that lulls the senses to sleep as irresistibly as the croon of the mother soothes her child.

"The sough of the cypress in the passing breeze, the rocking of the canoe on the all but motionless water, the call of a bird, the dip of a distant Indian paddle, the crack of a rifle, the bellow of a 'gator--these are only occasional sounds. It is a wilderness of silence, beautiful and restful, if just a little aweful sometimes, far away from the world, unmolested nine months of the year, healthful and pure, because natural." A glowing description, is it not?

The islands are fertile, and the Indians make them very productive, raising corn, pumpkins, pease, and melons.

HARRY R. WHITCOMB. UMATILLA, FLA.

* * * * *

How Granite is Sawed.

Not long ago I went to a granite-works. The first place was a shedlike building where they were chiselling the granite. The next was where they sawed the stone. The saws are straight, and are made of steel. They have no teeth on them, but instead they let sand and water in under them. The saws draw the sand back and forth over the granite. The sand acts as teeth to the saws. It takes an hour to saw an inch.

The next place is where they polish the stone. At first ground iron is used; afterwards emery. The polisher is a flat iron disk, which turns round and round over the surface. A man stands by to guide it.

CLAUDE KENDALL, R.T.K. NORFOLK, CONN.

* * * * *

A Bit about Autumn Birds.

Heretofore I have only occasionally seen a ruby-throated humming-bird around my home. This fall they are very common. The gentleman who lives next door is a florist, and this year planted a long row of different varieties of nasturtiums. In September, when school began, I spent my afternoons studying in the hammock. At first I noticed only a few birds, but as the month wore on they became more numerous. About the middle of the month I could always see several of them poised in the air before the blossoms, their throats gleaming with metallic lustre.

There was a small pear-tree with scanty foliage near the flowers. Many a time I have seen the birds light on some slender dead twig and daintily arrange their plumage with their bills, then shoot off like a flash to gather some more nectar or to indulge in a turn at watching their little ones. The flowers climbed the fence and came over into our yard before the month was over, and then I could watch them from my hammock without sitting up. Several times I have approached the fence as noiselessly as I could and looked over to find myself within a few feet of a ruby-throat.

I have witnessed several severe battles between the males. They would fly this way and that, shoot upwards and then downwards, sometimes uttering a not unmusical squeak. Before September was over my feathered jewels were gone. My neighbor florist also planted some sunflowers near the fence. They grew to be about six feet high. As he did not pick the blossoms they went to seed, and during the latter part of September and the first part of October the vicinity of the plants has been the battle-ground of the English sparrows--a regular "Delmonico's" for thistle-birds.

While the seeds lasted there was always a flock of birds around clinging to the swaying stalks or picking the seeds up off the ground. The English sparrows are the same that they were in the spring, but the thistle-bird is quite different. That little ball of feathers had given up his gaudy yellow colors and black cap and wing coverts, for a general color of dark olive with the above-mentioned black parts of a dirty blackish-brown. The American goldfinch or thistle-bird or wild canary or yellow-bird is about four and a half inches long, and in the spring has a general color of yellow with a black topknot, wings, and tail.

ALBERT W. ATWATER, R.T.K. SPRINGFIELD, MASS.

* * * * *

A Florida Prairie.

How different is one of our prairies from those out West! Ours are low, flat, clay ground sometimes hundreds of acres in extent. Not very large, you say. These prairies are interspersed with large groups of shrubbery and palmetto, which stand alone on this wide expanse of marshy land. In the rainy season these prairies are covered from six inches to a foot deep in the water. Sportsmen in water-proof boots used to tramp through the water, and many a wild-duck did they bring down. Ducks are scarce now. But if the ducks are gone, the prairie abounds in game in spring-time and autumn. Then the sportsman is in his element--rabbits and quail galore. At night the boys blow up their dogs and go 'coon and 'possum hunting, which sport is one of the most exhilarating and fun-producing I know of.

HARRY R. WHITCOMB. UMATILLA, FLA.

THE PUDDING STICK.

If you wish to entertain a number of young people on your birthday, Susie, why not have a spelling-match? This rather old-fashioned amusement combines pleasure and profit, and it has been a favorite diversion in drawing-rooms lately. Of course every person who possesses the slightest desire to be well educated will learn how to spell correctly, and an ill-spelled letter or note would, I hope, be an impossibility for any of my readers; and yet when good spellers are called upon in public they sometimes become confused and make droll mistakes. You may try this at the breakfast table to-morrow if you choose. Ask brother Tom suddenly to spell "polypetalous," or "madrepore," or "exfoliate," or "healds," or "septuagenarian," or "separate," or any other word you like, and unless he is a marvellously cool young gentleman, and as well a phenomenally clever speller, he will get a little mixed up over his vowels and consonants. At the breakfast table you will find that papa, and mamma, and the girl from Boston who is visiting your sister Ethel, and the neighbor who has just stopped in to tell how the invalid in the next house but two has passed the night will each and all be drawn into the game, and you will have a home spelling-bee soon started.

For a social spelling-match send out your invitations some days in advance. Ask an equal number of boys and girls, and make some preparations before the evening arrives. Your mother or sisters will help you in selecting a list of words from the dictionary, which should all be words in common use, not obsolete or specially technical words. Do not have proper names in the list. Do not avoid easy words. I have seen people stumble over "receive," and over "friends," and over "scissors," and "measles."

When the evening and the guests are together present, arrange the seats in two rows, lengthwise in the room, after the manner of the old district school. Let the referee sit at a small table at the top of the room between the heads of the lines. At the other end place the person who gives out the words. When any one misses a word he or she must change places with the successful one who spells it correctly. Those who miss three words must drop out, and words must be given opposing sides alternately.

Prizes must be given to the best and the worst in the class. Two of each if you like, or, if you prefer, only one of each. Light refreshments will be in order when the "bee" is over. About the prizes: do not make them expensive. Any small book, a cup and saucer, a photograph, a little picture frame, a silver book-marker, or a pound of candy will answer the purpose very well.

Another agreeable diversion for an evening is to select ten initial letters, first having given everybody a pad and a pencil. Any ten letters will do, as c, b, f, l, m, n, d, r, t, x, or any others you like. Five minutes are allowed, in which the party engage in writing telegrams, each successive word of which must begin in the alphabetical order of the letters given out. The reading of these telegrams is often very funny, and evokes shouts of laughter at the queer combination produced.

M. E. SANGSTER.

A baby's bath should be replete, With all thats spotless, clean and sweet; So every careful nurse will choose The very purest soap to use.

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

BREAKFAST--SUPPER.

EPPS'S

GRATEFUL--COMFORTING.

COCOA

BOILING WATER OR MILK.

PRINTING OUTFIT 10c.

Sets any name in one minute; prints 500 cards an hour. YOU can make money with it. A font of pretty type, also Indelible Ink, Type, Holder, Pads and Tweezers. Best Linen Marker, worth $1.00. Sample mailed FREE for 10c. stamps for postage on outfit and large catalogue of 1000 Bargains. Same outfit with figures 15c. Larger outfit for printing two lines 25c., post-paid, Ingersoll & Bro., 65 Cortlandt St., N. Y. City

PLAYS

Dialogues, Speakers, for School, Club and Parlor. Catalogue free.

T. S. Denison, Publisher, Chicago Ill.

HOOPING

COUGH

CROUP

_Can be cured_

by using

ROCHE'S HERBAL

EMBROCATION

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HOW TO BUILD YACHTS AND BOATS.

Send 20 Cents,

=The Rudder=, 155 Broadway, N. Y.

CARDS

The FINEST SAMPLE BOOK of Gold Beveled Edge, Hidden Name, Silk Fringe, Envelope and Calling Cards ever offered for a 2 cent stamp. These are GENUINE CARDS, NOT TRASH. UNION CARD CO., COLUMBUS, OHIO.

Popular Books for Boys

BY THOMAS W. KNOX

* * * * *

THE "BOY TRAVELLERS" SERIES

Copiously Illustrated. Square 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $3.00 per volume.

ADVENTURES OF TWO YOUTHS--

IN THE LEVANT. IN SOUTHERN EUROPE. IN CENTRAL EUROPE. IN NORTHERN EUROPE. IN GREAT BRITAIN AND IRELAND. IN MEXICO. IN AUSTRALASIA. ON THE CONGO. IN THE RUSSIAN EMPIRE. IN SOUTH AMERICA. IN CENTRAL AFRICA. IN EGYPT AND PALESTINE. IN CEYLON AND INDIA. IN SIAM AND JAVA. IN JAPAN AND CHINA.

_OTHER BOOKS BY COLONEL KNOX:_

Hunting Adventures on Land and Sea.

2 vols. Copiously Illustrated. Square 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $2.50 each.

THE YOUNG NIMRODS IN NORTH AMERICA. THE YOUNG NIMRODS AROUND THE WORLD.

* * * * *

Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York

* * * * *

A JOLLY OLD TAR.

A London newspaper tells an amusing sea tale which concerns the recent experience of the Captain of a certain large sailing-vessel, who is probably the most polite officer in the whole mercantile service. He has, however, a great idea of his own importance, and loses no opportunity of impressing this upon his crew, who, while good tars and generally far from mutinous, do not always relish the Captain's airs, as they call them.

In particular, for instance, he insists upon being addressed as "Sir" by every one on board. One day a new hand joined the ship, and a short time after leaving harbor, being a well-seasoned old salt, he was intrusted with the wheel. The Captain came up and put the usual question, "How's her head?"

"Nor'-by-east," answered the old tar, very gruffly, taking the customary hitch in his trousers.

"My man," suavely answered the Captain, "on this craft, when one of the crew speaks to me, he gives me a title of respect. Don't you think you might do so, too? Now how's her head?"

"Nor'-by-east, I tell yer," shouted the tar, displaying not a little irritation.

"I'm afraid you don't quite understand me," responded the Captain, good-humoredly. "Let me relieve you at the wheel, and then do you take my place and ask me the question. I will then show you how it should be answered."

They accordingly changed places.

"'Ow's her 'ead?" roared the tar.

"Nor'-by-east, sir," replied the Captain, with gentle emphasis on the "sir."

"Then keep her so, my man, whilst I goes forrard and has a smoke," was the startling rejoinder from the old reprobate, who calmly commenced to suit the action to the word, and disappeared up by the forecastle, lighting a match as he went.

* * * * *

PAT'S RETORT.

Pat has turned up again in a collection of anecdotes. Here is a specimen of his wit lately come to hand:

A one-legged Yankee orator, who had been very successfully chaffing an Irishman, was finally asked,

"Oi say, soor, how did yez lose your leg?"

"Well," replied the Yankee, "I found, when I came to look up my ancestry, that I had a little Irish blood in my veins, and becoming convinced that it had all settled in my left leg, I had it cut off at once."

"Bejabers!" cried Pat. "Phot a pity it hodn't shettled in your head!"

* * * * *

BOBBIE'S PLAN.

Whene'er at night I'd know the time And cannot see the clocks, I feel about beneath my crib For those upon my socks.

* * * * *

"It is very naughty of you, Wilbur, to answer back to mamma in this way. Where did you ever learn to do that?"

"Watchin' papa, I des, mamma," said Wilbur, "He most generally answers back."

* * * * *

SINGULAR CLOCKS.

In an answer to a correspondent who asks, "What is the most curious material out of which a time-piece has been made," a London journal prints the following rather interesting item:

Bread, we think, is the most curious material out of which a clock has ever been constructed. There was, and may still be, in Milan a clock made of bread. The maker was a native of Milan, who devoted three years of his time to the task. He was very poor, and being without means to purchase the necessary metal for the making of a clock, he sat apart regularly a portion of his bread each day, eating the crust and saving the soft part. To solidify this he made use of a certain salt, and when the various pieces were dry they became perfectly hard and insoluble in water. The clock was of good size, and kept fair time.

Another strange clock was exhibited some years ago in Liverpool. It was constructed of pins, buttons, and all sorts of odds and ends by a pauper named Mercer. The maker of this extraordinary time-piece thus describes it himself: The back and the front of the clock were made from iron bed-laths, while the barrel was part of a large brass ferule, the ends being brass buttons hammered out. The barrel arbor had originally been the blade of a shoe-maker's awl; the main and several other wheels were nothing more nor less than suspender buttons from the maker's own trousers, while the cog teeth were portions of bygone knitting-needles. The teeth of the centre wheels had been boot-rivets. In the dial there were one hundred separate pieces.

* * * * *

A NONSENSE RHYME.

Oh, wouldn't it be splendid, Oh, wouldn't it be grand, If I could play the ear-drum In an elastic band!

End of Project Gutenberg's Harper's Round Table, February 4, 1896, by Various