CHAPTER XIII.

A FRENCH LEAVE-TAKING.

I could well write a book describing the two months of my life that I spent as an English prisoner of war; but as this is to be a record of my adventures alone, I fear me I would take up too much time if I should allow this fact to leave my mind.

We were awakened early in the morning, and orders were given us to get our baggage ready, as we were going to be transferred from the frigate to one of the prison-ships. The order to get our "baggage" must have been a bit of sarcasm, as there was none of us who possessed a spare shirt to his back.

Our breakfast was doled out to us on the upper deck, and we hastened down the gangway. Such a multitude of bumboats and small craft I had never seen as surrounded the vessel. There was a great hubbub on all sides, and our departure, being such a small number, created little comment. A launch was waiting for us, and one by one we jumped into her stern-sheets.

I almost forgot I was a prisoner in looking about me, for it all was new. I saw more ships gathered together than I had ever seen in the whole course of my life. Some were twice as large as the 74 _Plantagenet_ that I had seen from the deck of the _Minetta_.

We rowed under the stern of a great vessel pierced on one side for sixty guns.

"This is the sort of a craft," said Sutton, pointing, "that Nelson and their Admirals won battles with. She could swing the _Young Eagle_ at her side; eh, youngster?"

And well she could, I think, for it struck me that she was more of a floating fort than a sailing craft. Sheer-hulks and vessels outfitting crowded the inner harbor, and the constant hammering, tapping, and picking of an army of calkers filled the air.

When we reached the gangway on the port side we climbed up to the tall gallery. I had to smile. We might have been royal personages making a visit, for such ceremony I have never seen equalled. We passed between two files of marines and were inspected by three different groups of officers. They asked questions, and for some time seemed to be quite confident that Sutton was an Englishman. In this belief they were somewhat shaken when they saw his tattoo decorations, however.

At last our names were taken, and we passed below into the foul-smelling air of the 'tween-decks. Five or six hundred men were confined on board this ship, and as the guards had a generous portion set apart for themselves, the prisoners were much crowded. But we were not going to be kept here long; and although the time seemed to go slowly and was certainly most tedious, only a week elapsed before we were informed that we were going to be taken to a large prison near the town of Bristol.

On the twelfth day we were landed on the dock in Plymouth, and the dry ground felt odd to our feet, I can tell you. As luck had it, Sutton, Craig, and myself were in the first draft. It took us several days to travel from Plymouth to Bristol, being closely guarded by a squadron of cavalry and a battalion of infantry on the route.

It was a bright afternoon when we arrived on the outskirts of the city, where we halted but a few minutes, and I learned that we were yet several miles from Stapleton, where the prisons were situated. Despite our fatigue, we were hastened along a broad, dusty road that led to the north.

At six o'clock we skirted the edge of a vast domain that I found, by asking, was the private estate of the Duke of Devonshire, and before we knew it we were halted in front of a long row of stone buildings, behind the barred gratings of which appeared hundreds of pallid faces. As we passed over the drawbridge spanning the deep moat, we entered the court-yard, and found ourselves with the brown sombre prison-houses on either hand.

The chatter of French sounded all about us, for the majority of the prisoners were Frenchmen taken in the wars against Napoleon. The Americans were domiciled in a building apart from the Frenchmen, and did not appear to enjoy the garrulous, half-contented spirit of the others.

Thus began two months of prison life that I shall dismiss with a few words, although, as I hinted, I could write a volume about it.

A huge prison, in which are confined some five or six thousand men (our numbers were swelled every day by new drafts of American prisoners and Frenchmen) is much like a city. We had theatrical companies, markets, and exchanges, and men quarrelled and gambled, and plied their trades or callings to some advantage. Time passed quickly, although one day was much like another. We were well guarded and fairly well fed, although clothing and foot-gear were at a premium.

My size and strength had apparently increased since I had left Belair. I stood six feet in height before I was nineteen years of age, and I afterwards added two inches more to this. In the sports, especially in foot-races and wrestling, I found myself a leader. Of course no one could live in such a community as this, even for a short time, without picking up a great deal of useful knowledge, besides imbibing much also that would serve no one in good stead except perhaps as a warning.

My knowledge of the French tongue enabled me to converse with the Frenchmen, and I whiled away many an hour by talking with them and reading a romance so smirched by constant handling as to be almost undecipherable. A small volume of Shakespeare, belonging to an ex-schoolmaster, who kindly loaned it to me, I pored over by the hour.

One day there came a little excitement in our life, and a great hallooing and huzzahing resounded through the prison. It was a reception tendered to a division of the crew of the luckless _Chesapeake_ that was transferred from the hulks to join us. We got up an entertainment in their honor that evening.

Now to come to the evening of the 16th of September, 1813, that I can set down in this chronicle in large important letters; for on this date, by a combination of fortunate circumstances, I ceased to be a prisoner. It happened thus:

The officers attached to the military force stationed at the prison lived together in a small building at the southwest corner of the rectangle formed by the high walls. Through the building which they occupied a passage ran to a small postern-gate. On several occasions I had been over there bearing messages from the prison-keeper (I was one of the monitor officers in charge of the order of my section of the west wing). But of course I had never progressed further than the small antechamber that opened into the guard-room, where I would wait to secure an audience with the commandant or one of his subordinates.

Now on this day I was bound to see a strange condition of affairs--the orderly who generally stood at the door was missing from his post. It was past dusk, and as I pushed in I noticed that the entrance to the guard-room, usually filled with soldiers, was shut. I thought of giving a hail, but then perceiving also that the entrance into the main building was gaping wide, impelled by a sudden impulse I stepped across the threshold into the hallway. I could hear voices coming from somewhere; but a room to the right appeared to be empty; a candle was burning on top of a tall dressing-case, and there across the foot of a narrow cot lay spread the uniform of a Lieutenant; and a great bear-skin shako, with a tall plume, topped one of the bedposts.

Now I think to do what I did then took more courage than anything I have ever attempted. I gave a leap sideways into the room, and closed the door behind me. Actually panting from excitement, I tore off the rags which served me for clothing, and shaking from head to foot I donned the uniform. Luckily the clothes were made for a large man, and they fitted me to perfection. I glanced at myself in the glass as I put the towering head-gear on as a finishing-touch. I was a strange-looking object. My hair, which was long, was done sailor fashion down my back in a queue, but the locks straggled down my cheeks; and, young as I was, my appearance would have been improved by the use of a razor. But I gathered my hair on the top of my head, where it was kept by the weight of the shako, and then I stepped to the door. The voices had ceased, but I plainly perceived that some one was coming down the corridor, which was flagged with stone; the jingling of spurs echoed along the walls. Hastily I closed the door, and extinguished the light with a pinch of my fingers. It was good for me that I had done this, for whoever it was gave the door a push and thrust in his head. How he ever missed seeing me (for I could have struck him with my knee) I cannot see to this day. It was one of the general officers, and attired for duty evidently, as he carried a long sabre hitched under his arm.

"Humph! Not here," he said. "A pretty piece of business."

Then away he clanked, and I heard the slamming of a door to another apartment. I knew that probably he came from the outside, and that the way to freedom, or at least to the open air, must be in the direction from which he was walking. I stepped out into the passageway and tiptoed down it. Then thinking that cautious steps might attract notice, I changed my gait to a military stride, and swaggered along with chest out and shoulders back. My doing this was fortunate, for I went by the open entrance of a small apartment, and a young man in undress uniform sat reading a book with the aid of a small lamp. He glanced out at me, but made no comment. I had affected to yawn, and half covered my face with my hand.

Now I came to the end of the corridor, and here were three doors; the one on the left shut, the centre one partly ajar, and the one on the right closed with large bolts. Looking through the door that was open, I could perceive a man's leg stretched out on a chair as if he were resting, so I turned to the one on the left. I was about to draw the latch when from within I heard the sound of voices in conversation.

"Good for you! Now another throw," some one said. Then came the rattle of a dice-box.

There was nothing for it but to try the farther door, the one that was bolted, and to do this I had to run the risk of attracting the man's attention in the middle room. I stepped by, and giving a quick glance over my shoulder, I saw that he was asleep, with his mouth wide open and his arms folded across his chest. With trembling fingers I drew the bolt of the heavy, iron-studded door, and swung it open.

Here was another passageway much like the first, with rooms on either side and a staircase in a recess at the farther end. Good fortune still favored me. I tramped down it, and found that to go out I had evidently to ascend the steps. When I reached the foot and had placed my hand on the iron guard-rail, I almost gave a gasp of sheer fright. There standing on a little platform at the top was a grenadier, with his musket leaning against him. He had caught sight of me, however, at this same instant; the hall was dimly lighted with a flickering taper, and I was in full view.

But to my surprise the man said nothing, but drew himself erect and his musket snapped to a present. Drawing the heavy cloak that I had thrown about my shoulders up to my nose, I hurried up the steps and returned the soldier's salute in proper manner, but with shaking fingers, as I passed him.

Here I was in the open air, and from the entrance a narrow causeway or bridge led to the top of the wall. But all danger was not over, for at the farther end stood two more red-coated gentry. One had called the attention of the other to my approach, and there they were, drawn up like two statues at attention. I should have to go between them. But the light was very dim, and only boldness could serve my purpose. So I gazed directly at them, and with a great bound of my heart in my throat, I saw that I was going to be successful. They presented arms as I brushed by.

A small flight of stairs led down the wall on the outside, and here the ditch was spanned by a foot-bridge, and on the bank stood another sentry. I had wondered why I had not been asked for a password of some sort, and now I feared that this last man would prove my downfall, and that surely I would be stopped and asked some question. I hesitated as I stood there half-way down the steps, and at this instant I noticed the sentry across the bridge bring his musket to a half-charge with a ring of his accoutrements. In the dusk I could see four or five figures approaching, and then I heard the sentry call them to halt.

I could not make out the words that followed, but it was all merely perfunctory business I recognized, as the approaching figures were officers. Now fear often gives a man a judgment and cleverness that support him in sore straits. There was but one chance, and I took it. I turned about, retraced my steps, passed the two sentries, who saluted me once more, then again the third man at the head of the stairway, and I was back in the corridor.

When I had turned the angle of the passage, I entered one of the rooms, and crouched down behind a curtain, holding my big hat in my lap. My teeth chattered so that I feared the noise would be audible, and I had been just in time, as, laughing and talking, the officers were approaching.

As I sat crouched in a corner I perceived that they had some huge joke among them. They were walking slowly, and I heard distinctly what passed.

"The idea of Tillinghast forgetting the countersign strikes me as being grand," exclaimed some one, with a guffaw at the end of the sentence.

"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed another. "I told you it was the author of _Robinson Crusoe_, Tilly."

"Why, confound it all! I always thought that he himself wrote the book," roared a deep bass.

I recognized the speaker as the junior in command of the prison. It was his clothes, by-the-way, that I had on my back at the moment.

"I think the Governor chose it for a play on words," said another. "A poor pun even for him."

"Why we should require a password at all is more than I can see," said Tillinghast. "Come down to my quarters, Carntyne. We have time for a game of whist."

They passed on. I waited a few minutes, putting two and two together, and suddenly it came to me. _I had the password at the tip of my tongue!_ Hastily arising, I stepped outside of the room. It was but a few yards to the bottom of the stairs, and I heard the sentry humming a snatch of a tune, and keeping time to it with the stamping of his feet in a sort of a jig. I was afraid that if I approached him the way that I had done before, he might look closer, so I made believe that I was carrying on the fag end of a conversation with some one, and answered an imaginary question with a laugh (a trifle forced, I must admit).

"No, thanks," I said; "you gentlemen are too much for me. I must hasten. Eh?" (A pause.) "I shall be back by nine o'clock, but I must hurry." Then I charged up the steps as if the devil was after me. The grenadier had hardly time to salute me; and I rushed past the other two at the end of the causeway at the same pace. They made some remark after I had gone by, but I did not catch it. More leisurely I descended the steps on the outside of the wall, and crossed the little foot-bridge to where the last sentry stood. His musket barred my path, but it was a respectful attitude.

"The word, sir?" he said, slurring the usual challenge.

"Defoe," I answered. He hesitated. "Daniel Defoe," I repeated, restraining with difficulty a mad impulse to close with him and pitch him headlong into the ditch.

The response to this was a backward step on the sentry's part, and a stiff attitude of present arms. I replied with somewhat of a flourish, and hastened down the path. It led across a sort of common, bordered by twinkling lights shining from some vine-covered houses, and in the stillness I heard the sound of a fiddle played somewhere, and from another direction the voice of an infant crying at top lung. What was I to do? I had a good fund of general information, perhaps, owing to my reading, and I had made up by this time the hiatus caused by my being out of the world those two years at Belair; but I knew little or nothing of the geography of England, and to save my soul I could not have imagined which would be the best direction to take.

My one idea was to put as much space between me and the prison-yard as I could, so I walked away from it with that end in view alone. It grew very dark, and I kept to the common until I plunged through a thorny hedge and made the road. It seemed to lead straight to the northward, which was as good for me as any other point of the compass, so I hastened along as fast as my legs could carry me.

The big military hat wobbled unsteadily on my head, and I thought how difficult it would be to make any sort of a fight with such an encumbrance to quick motions. But I reasoned I would attract a great deal of attention if I should discard it, so I slung it over my back by the plume, ready to clap it on if necessary, and went forward at a dog-trot.

The villages in this part of the country were so close together that I seemed hardly to leave one before I saw the lights of another. I was evidently on the highway, however, and, strange to say, I met but a few country people walking. They looked at me rather curiously, but did not speak. Thus I had traversed some twelve miles or more before midnight, and as there was a town of some size in the distance, judging by the lights and the sounds of two separate sets of chimes striking the hour, I determined to find some place where I could rest and think over the situation.

At first glance I might pass for one of his Majesty's officers, perhaps, but I could not stand an investigation without discovery. Yet I did not despair, for I was young, and youth builds to suit its fancy. But leg-weariness began to tell on me, and crawling in behind a hedge, I rolled myself in a cloak, and must have fallen to dreaming on the instant, for I began to go over the events of the last two days, and from them my mind strayed back into the past; and among other things, of course, thoughts of Mary Tanner came into my head and drove out all else.

It seemed to me that again I was in a little garden under the shadow of a rose-bush. I could recall Mary's arch smile and the sideway glance of her eye. The imaginary conversation we held continued at great length, and then the scene changed to the sea, and I was the Captain of a ship, sailing, with a fair wind, to some country whose name I could not place, but I knew that there Mary was waiting for me.

All at once I awoke and found myself with one hand in the breast of my brilliant red coat, grasping a little leather bag that was strung around my neck with a thong, containing all that I knew of that I could claim in the way of earthly possessions. These consisted of one of the De Brienne buttons, a single gold piece with the head of King Louis on it, and a package of dried rose leaves twisted into a small bit of paper.

It was gray dawn; cocks were crowing, and the bleating of sheep sounded from near by. With wonderful swiftness the light spread, and soon I could see my surroundings. The road was but a stone's-throw away, and I pushed through the hedge and found myself standing there not knowing which way to turn; in fact, I feared it would make little matter which choice I made--north, east, south, or west. I saw nothing but ultimate recapture before me. "No matter what happens, I shall have a yarn to spin," I said, grimly, to myself, as I stretched my stiffened legs and rubbed my cold hands together to start my chilled blood going.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

THE OLD DAYS OF CLIPPER-SHIPS.

BY DUNCAN McLEAN.

During the great wars of Napoleon the mercantile shipping of the world was much deranged, but at the peace of 1815 it began to revive. New York organized splendid lines of packets, ranging from 500 to 1000 tons, and these had the most of the passenger trade with Europe, principally with Liverpool, London, and Havre. Maine, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and Connecticut built many smaller vessels, which traded with all parts of the world, and which at the same time carried on an extensive coasting and fishing business, and were manned almost exclusively by American seamen.

As trade increased, ships were built faster than trained seamen could be found to man them. This brought seamen from Europe, and in a few years our shipping, excepting the officers, was manned by foreigners. Many ship-builders of New England were also farmers, who made both occupations pay. Although the size of our ships has been increased, and their models have been improved, there has been no improvement in their materials or in the style of their construction. As a rule, they were built of the best seasoned white oak, copper-fastened, coppered, and through treenailed, and they lasted longer than the best built ships of thirty years ago. They were certainly far more seaworthy than the best wooden ships of to-day. These, then, were the vessels which in so short a time became the subject of remark all over the world. The term clipper was first applied to schooners built at Baltimore (Maryland), designed to trade with South America, Africa, the Mediterranean, and the West Indies. They ranged in size from two hundred tons down to pilot-boats of fifty tons, were sharp at the ends and sharp on the bottoms or floors, and had raking masts. In time they became notorious as slave-traders and pirates, and during the last war with Great Britain were successful privateers. They were first upon the world of waters for speed and weatherly qualities. The "long low black schooner" so often mentioned in exciting sea-stories as a pirate was a clipper.

The late Captain R. B. Forbes, his father, mother, and two brothers, embarked on board the _Orders in Council_ at Bordeaux (France), in 1813, bound for the United States. She was one of a numerous fleet of Baltimore and New York clippers, armed with six nine-pounders, and had a crew of about twenty all told. Shortly after leaving port she was chased by three British cutters, sloop-rigged, and outsailed them, but the wind died away. The boats of the three cutters towed the _Wellington_, the nearest, within range, and a fight ensued, which lasted over an hour, when a breeze sprang up, and the _Orders in Council_ soon showed her clipperly speed. A parting shot cut the cutter's peak-halyards away, and before they could be replaced the American had escaped. War was then in progress between the United States and Great Britain. During the war of 1812-14 American clipper-privateers captured over one thousand British merchantmen.

The same year, Sir Walter Scott, the author of _Waverley_, while returning in a cutter along the west coast of Scotland from a cruise among the Shetland and Orkney islands, was chased by an American privateer, and barely escaped capture. The result of this cruise was the production of _The Pirate_, one of the best of his many delightful books.

Among the many great results of the discovery of gold in California in 1849, none were more interesting than the clippers which were built in a few years to perform the carrying trade to the new El Dorado. Rapidly as the population increased, it hardly kept pace with the means to furnish supplies, notwithstanding the distance and the tempestuous nature of the sea they had to be carried over. Month after month ships surpassing in beauty and strength all that the world had before produced were built and equipped by private enterprise, to form the means of communication with the new land of promise. The most eminent ship-builders and enterprising merchants vied with one another to lead in the great race round Cape Horn. The common rules which had for years circumscribed mechanical skill to a certain class of models were abandoned, and the ship-owner contracted only for speed and strength. Ships varying in size from 1000 to 3000 tons were soon built and sent to sea, and their wonderful performances, instead of satisfying, increased the demand to excel. The ship _Flying Cloud_, of 1700 tons, commanded by Captain Creesy, made the passage from New York to San Francisco in 89 days and 4 hours. Such results would have satisfied most men that they had at last produced a model that would defy competition, but such was not the conclusion of Mr. Donald McKay, who built her and several other successful clippers. He consulted their captains about wherein they had failed to come up to his designs. Like a proof-reader, he only desired to detect their errors. The floor, or bottom, of the _Flying Cloud_ represented the letter V. The next ship he designed was made to represent the letter U. This gave her more capacity and increased stability.

He built the _Sovereign of the Seas_, of 2400 tons, on his own account. Although she did not make as short a passage from New York to San Francisco as the _Flying Cloud_, yet she beat the swiftest of the entire fleet, which sailed about the same time, 7 days. In 24 consecutive hours she ran 430 geographical miles, 56 more than the greatest run of the _Flying Cloud_, and in 10 consecutive days she ran, by observation, 3144 miles. In eleven months her gross earnings amounted to $200,000.

The following were the passages made from New York to San Francisco by the clippers:

Tons. Passage. Flying Cloud 1700 89 days. Flying-Fish 1600 92 days. Sovereign of the Seas 2400 103 days. Bald Eagle 1600 107 days. Empress of the Sea 2250 118 days. Staghound 1550 112 days.

The following sailed from Boston to San Francisco:

Tons. Passage. Westward Ho 1700 107 days. Staffordshire 1950 101 days.

Mr. McKay built the _Great Republic_, of 4550 tons, with four decks; but she was partly burned in New York in 1853, and when repaired the fourth deck was taken off. She sailed several voyages between New York and San Francisco, and was never beaten. During the Crimean war she was hired as a transport by the French government, and with a leading whole-sail breeze not a steamer, far less a sailing-vessel, could keep alongside of her.

The last great ship designed and built by Mr. McKay was the _Glory of the Seas_, of 2009 tons. She was a combination of the clipper and the New York packet-ship, designed to carry a large cargo, to sail fast, and to work like a pilot-boat. She was 240 feet 2 inches long, had 44 feet extreme breadth of beam, and was 28 feet deep, with three decks. Captain Tom Chatfield, who commanded her several voyages, speaks of her as the grandest vessel he ever knew. She is still afloat, and hails from San Francisco. At one time she was owned by J. Henry Sears & Co., well known as eminent merchants of Boston.

Captain Waterman, in command of the clipper-ship _Sea Witch_, made some of the quickest passages on record between New York and China. His last command afloat was in the ship _Challenge_, which he took from New York to San Francisco. Captain Philip Dumaresq, of Boston, who last sailed in the ship _Florence_ in the China trade with New York, ranked high during his whole service afloat. At sea he never took his clothes off to turn in at night, that he might always be on hand to spring on deck. The quickest passage on record from Shanghai (China) to New York was made in the ship _Swordfish_ by Captain Crocker. Though becalmed a week on the equator, he made the run in 84 days, and beat the overland mail from India a week. It was stated in a San Francisco paper that the _Young America_ made the passage from New York in less time than the _Flying Cloud_, but it was not confirmed. One hundred days was considered quick time for an outward passage. The ship _Northern Light_ made the passage from San Francisco to Boston in 76 days. She was in ballast, and had fair winds all the way.

To show the rapidity with which clippers were built, the ship _John Bertram_, of 1080 tons, was launched six weeks from the time her keel was laid, and in two weeks more was on her way from Boston for San Francisco with 1500 tons of cargo on board. When she was launched, her builder, Mr. Robert E. Jackson, fell overboard; her owner, Captain William T. Glidden, plunged after him, without even taking off his coat, and saved him. Old sailors predicted that she would be unlucky, yet she kept afloat thirty years afterward, and cleared her original cost a dozen times.

In 1855 there were 268 ships of an average of 1200 tons each under our flag, and most of them were clippers. In addition to these there were many barks, brigs, and schooners remarkable for beauty of model and famous for speed. From 1849 to the breaking out of the civil war we had the cream of the carrying trade of the world. After that our shipping declined rapidly; many of our famous clippers were sold to avoid capture. Steam navigation has superseded sails in the China and Mediterranean trade, and to-day there are not a dozen clipper-ships left under our flag.

When gold was discovered in Australia, the British purchased many of our fine clippers, which were very successful in their passages. The emigrants from British ports soon preferred them to their own vessels, on account of their spacious between-decks and high rate of speed. We also shared largely in the trade, and for several years kept regular lines of swift ships, laden with American goods, which found a ready market in Melbourne. After the adaptation of iron to ship-building, the British copied our clipper lines for most of their new sailing-vessels, and now compete successfully with us in carrying heavy cargoes. Iron ships have the preference in carrying grain from San Francisco to Europe.

In 1813 a vessel from China received a pilot off Cape Cod in a fog, and kept close inshore to avoid two British frigates which were in the bay. When off Plymouth the fog lifted and revealed the frigates about two miles distant, which instantly made all sail in chase. It was only half-flood, and the pilot was afraid that there was not water enough to run in; but he took the chances and succeeded, though both vessels opened fire upon him. Fortunately there was a company of militia on hand with a field-piece, which protected the ship against the boats that were despatched to cut her out. All the men of the place turned out and soon landed her cargo, composed of teas and silks, and then stripped the ship to her lower masts, apprehensive that the boats might make a night attack on her. But they did not.

William Gray, a rich ship-owner, had a clipper-bark which had been knocking about in the West Indies in search of freight. A vessel laden with sugar put into St. Thomas in distress, and sold her cargo, which the American purchased as a venture. She ran the blockade, and Mr. Gray was the first to board her. "Captain," he said, nervously, "I see you're very deep; what have you got in?" "Sugar," was the brief reply, "purchased on the ship's account." He felt that he had made no mistake, especially as Mr. Gray threw his hat in the air before he responded. Picking up his hat, Mr. Gray faced the Captain with a pleasant smile, and said, "It's just our luck, Captain; you have not only saved your ship, but this day there are not fifty boxes of sugar in all Boston, and prices are sky-high."

Early in the century Salem had some swift vessels engaged in the East India and China trade, but these have mostly disappeared.

Although large clipper-ships have mostly disappeared, we have many fine clipper-schooners engaged in fishing, which are unequalled for speed and weatherly qualities by the fishermen of all other nations. Change is the order of the day in shipping, as well as in most other things. The navies of the world have been changed three times during the past fifty years. The huge wooden ships of the line and frigates were displaced by the application of steam, and these have been superseded by iron and steel; and the end is not yet, for inventors assert that electricity will be the motive power on the ocean as well as on the land.

WITH THE THANKS OF THE WAR DEPARTMENT.

BY WILLIAM DRYSDALE.

"Yes, the boy is in a bad way," Dr. Murray said, with his fingers on Frank's pulse; "a very bad way. This is a serious case. Why not let me take him out to Tortugas? We have plenty of fresh air there, and I should like to have him with me."

"To Tortugas?" Mrs. Bethel exclaimed. "To the quarantine station? Why, you are liable to have yellow fever cases there any day! Oh, doctor, I never could let him go out there!"

"Do you think I would take him into any danger?" the doctor laughed. "It is much safer there than in Key West. Our quarters are in the great fort, but the pest-house is on Bird Key, half a mile away. I do not know of any place in the far South that has as good a summer climate, for the wind strikes us on every side, as we are seventy miles from land. And as to danger--pshaw!"

With Frank eager to go and his mother anxious to have his health improved, there was not much doubt that in the end the doctor's invitation would be accepted. That was the way it turned out, and when the doctor's steam-launch started from the naval depot wharf two days later, Frank was in the little cabin with the doctor, and his trunk was stowed away somewhere up forward.

"Now for a quick run to 'Tugas, let us hope!" the doctor exclaimed, as the launch began to cut through the clear water of Key West Harbor. "Eight-thirty; we ought to be there by four-thirty this evening, unless the weather changes. We can't risk any rough seas in this launch, you know. If a storm should come up, we'd have to take refuge on one of the four or five keys between here and 'Tugas. Do you know that Fort Jefferson is the hardest place in the United States for a traveller to reach, Frank, unless he has a government boat to travel in?"

The Gulf was as smooth as a pond, as it often is in summer, and every minute Frank could see fish darting through the transparent water, and great turtles and sea-fans and brain-stones on the bottom. He was as much excited over it as if he had been starting for China.

"There's something ahead," he exclaimed, about the middle of the afternoon, "that I should say was a city growing right out of the water if I didn't know that it must be the great fort. But there can hardly be any fort as big as that. Is that really it, doctor?"

"That is really the fort," the doctor answered, "and I think we will be there now inside of an hour."

"But it seems to stand right in the water!" Frank exclaimed. "I don't see any land around it at all!"

"It would take good eyes to see any land around it," the doctor replied, with a twinkle in his own eyes. "You see, the island was only five acres in extent, and they built a fort covering seven acres, so the foundations were laid right out in the water."

When they were near enough to see plainly, Frank did not try to conceal his delight.

"What an immense building!" he exclaimed. "I never imagined there was such a big building in the world. No wonder it cost thirty millions! And there are roofs and chimneys inside the walls, and palm-trees waving over the top. I didn't know they had chimneys on a fort, doctor, and palm-trees?"

"They do in this one," the doctor laughed. "The roofs and chimneys belong to the officers' quarters and barracks, and the palm-trees have been growing ever since the fort was dismantled, thirty years ago."

Once inside the great walls, they were in a large yard grown up with palms and bushes; and crossing this, they entered the officers' quarters, where Dr. Murray had his office and living-rooms. Such big rooms, too, with great open fireplaces, and broad halls with iron staircases.

"Now make yourself at home, Frank," the doctor told him. "The whole place is open to you, and you can go anywhere you like."

For an hour or more he wandered alone among the open casemates, dodging around conical piles of cannon-balls, patting the immense but long-silent columbiads. Then the doctor joined him for a short time before dinner in the vaulted casemates.

"There are so many rusty machines here, doctor!" Frank exclaimed. "This looks like a little furnace. What do you suppose it was for?"

"That was for heating cannon-balls," the doctor answered, "so that they could fire hot shot into a hostile ship."

"And this thing looks like an oven big enough to supply a city."

"It is an oven," the doctor explained. "This is the fort's oven. You know at one time there were nearly three thousand people here, prisoners and garrison, and all their bread was baked in this brick oven. That is the reason it is almost as big as a house."

"And this great machine in the bastion?" Frank asked. "It looks something like a steam-engine; but it is rusty enough to fall to pieces."

"Ah, I am glad you reminded me of that!" the doctor explained. "I must caution you about the water-tanks. That big machine is a condenser, Frank. So many people required not only a great deal of bread, but a great deal of water, too, and no fresh water is to be had out of this coral rock. So this big condenser was put up. It pumped water out of the Gulf and converted it into steam, and when the steam condensed into water again the water was fresh. This old machine used to run day and night at one time.

"Then," the doctor went on, "they had to have places to store the water, of course. For that purpose they built a system of water-tanks under the entire fort. Under every one of these lower casemates there is a great stone tank twenty or thirty feet square and ten or twelve feet deep; and they are all connected, so that now when they are not full you could go under the whole fort through the tanks. I suppose there is not another series of water-tanks like them in the whole country. They have not been used for years, but a little rain-water still flows in from the roofs, so that the water is always two or three feet deep in them. It is a dark, slimy place down in the tanks.

"And that is what I want to caution you about," he continued. "You see in the stone floor of every one of these lower casemates there is a trap about two and a half feet square, covered with a square stone with an iron ring in the centre. Those traps lead down to the tanks. Sometimes one of the covers is lifted and is carelessly left off. I want you to be very careful about them if you come into the casemates at night, for it would be an ugly thing to tumble into the tanks. Here, I will lift this cover and let you look down."

"Ugh!" Frank exclaimed, drawing back from the black hole. "What a ghostly place! I suppose that stagnant water is full of all sorts of creatures, too!"

The dinner bell called them back to their quarters, and Frank found that the quarantine establishment comprised about eighteen persons, including the doctors and nurses, engineers, boatmen, and laborers; and these, with the ordnance sergeant and the light-house-keeper, were the sole inhabitants of the big fort.

After dinner the doctor was busy, but Frank went out alone into the soft moonlight to enjoy the cool evening breeze. He soon made the acquaintance of the ordnance sergeant, and together they climbed the solid stone stairs in one of the bastions up to the upper casemates.

"Why, this is like fairy-land, if there is such a place!" Frank exclaimed. "Just see the moonshine through the long rows of brick arches! What a tre_men_dous big place! And the water looks like silver outside, and in the enclosure everything is dark green."

"This is only one section of the fort that you see," the sergeant said, smiling at Frank's enthusiasm. "There are six sections just like this. To-morrow I will take you up on the parapets. You can almost see Cuba from there, but not quite."

"And to think that three thousand people once lived on this little island!" Frank exclaimed. "They must have been packed pretty thickly in these casemates."

For days Frank spent all his spare time in wandering about the great fort, sometimes alone, and sometimes with the doctor or sergeant. There were so many queer things to see! And everything was so solid and warlike! And every evening while the moon lasted he climbed to the upper casemates to enjoy the silvery water and the cool breeze.

But after a while the moon disappeared and the nights became dark. Then he moved about with caution, for the bushes in the enclosure tripped him, and the vastness and silence of the great place awed him. Late one evening, after he had said good-night to the ordnance sergeant and was thinking of going to bed, the notion occurred to him:

"How terrible it must have been to be shut up for months in one of those lower casemates, with only a big columbiad and a pile of shells for company! It makes a fellow shiver just to think of it!"

"Pshaw!" he exclaimed, a moment later. "I don't like this being scared at a shadow. I'm going over to some of those cells this minute, just to punish myself. I know every inch of the way now, and can easily find them in the dark."

He started across the enclosure, picking his way carefully among the bushes. The long grass tripped him, but he persevered. Once he ran plump against something tall and hard, and after feeling it with his hand he knew just where he was, for it was the tombstone of Major Smith, who died in the fort of yellow fever in 1867, and was buried on the spot. That made his flesh creep just a little bit, but he kept on. After he reached the sally-port, which always stood wide open, he turned to the right, dodging piles of solid shot, a fallen partition, and an old steam-engine. In a minute more he was in front of the casemate he wanted--not the casemate which he had stood in so many times already to look out upon the sea, but a particularly gloomy one he remembered. He stepped into the casemate, about two feet higher than the ground, and the thick darkness staggered him for a moment. But he would not back out now. Slowly he groped his way across the stone floor.

Crash! In a second he saw a thousand stars shooting, and like a flash he thought he realized that some one had struck him a blow on the head.

"Help! help! help!" he shouted. "Murder! help! help!"

He put up a hand to ward off a second blow, and found that it was dripping wet. Blood, perhaps! Something was trickling down his face. Maybe that was blood too! He was dripping all over. He tried to run, but he could not, for something held his feet. He was standing in water above his knees!

Then he realized his terrible situation. Somebody had uncovered the trap in the casemate and left it open, and he had fallen into the tank. He was down in that horrible, black, slimy pit. Perhaps he had struck his head in falling, but the water had broken the fall.

"Help! help!" he cried, when this dawned upon him. But he soon stopped that. All the men, he knew, were on the opposite side of the fort, and probably all in bed. There was not the faintest hope of making any one hear if he shouted all night. To climb out was impossible, for the hole was six feet above his head, in the middle of the ceiling. He was doomed to spend the night in that dreadful place, and in the morning he might hope to attract attention.

How long he stood there, shivering with the damp chill and with terror, he does not know. It was long enough, at any rate, to make him fear that he might lose his senses before morning, and fall and be drowned in the slimy black water. Perhaps older fellows than Frank would have shivered with fear in that awful black vault.

He had pulled himself together enough to try to dry his upper clothes, when he was startled by a slight noise overhead. Yes, he was sure he heard a noise; and the next moment he heard a voice. Ah! surely a human voice never sounded so sweet before! He had his mouth ready to cry out for help, when he caught a word or two that made him pause to listen.

"I tell you I'll wait no longer," the voice said. "They're all in bed before this, and we're going to work. Come on."

Frank was familiar with all the voices in the fort, but this was a strange voice. Evidently strangers had landed; but what could they mean by going to work at night?

He still waited to listen, but instead of more words he heard the tread of feet overhead. Could they be going away? Whoever the men were, he must have help, and he would have called out in a second more if-- Hark! There was a grating on the stones above, then a glimmer of light, as if from a lantern. Then another strange thing happened. By the dim light he saw the end of a ladder come down through the trap--not the trap over his head, but two casemates further down, nearer the sally-port.

By the same dim light Frank saw that the tanks were connected by broad brick arches, through which the water flowed from one to another. The ladder was let all the way down, and down it came four men, one after another, one carrying the lantern, all carrying hammers and saws, and all strangers. Frank was so surprised that he could do nothing but stand still and watch. There was no danger of his being seen, for he was in the deep gloom; but he could see every move the men made, as they carried the light.

The men seemed to know the ground thoroughly, for they waded off through the water without hesitation, going in the opposite direction from Frank. Through two of the brick arches they went, then up to the front wall of the tank, and began to use their hammers and saws briskly.

Frank saw that the wall was covered with a perfect maze of pipes, both iron and lead, and that made it all plain to him. These men were thieves, and they were cutting away the lead pipes to steal them. Perhaps the strange situation sharpened his wits. At any rate, Frank saw that the men were all absorbed in their work two casemates beyond the ladder, and without waiting a moment longer he waded silently but swiftly down to the foot of the ladder, flew up its rounds like an athlete, and drew the ladder up after him. That left the thieves securely trapped in the tanks. The stars were shining brightly now, and half wild with joy at his release Frank rushed across the enclosure.

"Help! help! help!" he shouted again. "Thieves! thieves!"

His friends could hear him plainly enough now that he was outside; and when Frank told his story they made short work of capturing the burglars and taking possession of their sloop that waited by the wharf.

"Those fellows have been here before," the men reported who were sent down into the tanks: "they have cut away miles of lead pipe."

The doctor saw that Frank was nearly used up with the excitement, and insisted upon his having a cup of hot coffee and going to bed.

"You have made an important discovery," he said, "and the War Department ought to have something to say to you for it. Those fellows must have taken hundreds of dollars' worth of pipes, and I think we can recover them. I shall make a report to the Department, of course."

It was not long before nearly $1600 worth of lead pipes were recovered in Key West, where they had been taken; and when Frank went home late in the fall, as strong and brown as any mother could ask to see her son, he found a big letter waiting for him, without any stamps on the envelope, but printed in the corner, "War Department, Adjutant-General's Office. Official business."

"Mr. Frank Bethel," the letter said:

"DEAR SIR,--The Secretary of War has learned from Dr. R. D. Murray, and from other official sources, of the recovery, through your efforts, of a large amount of government property stolen from Fort Jefferson.

"I am therefore directed to forward you the enclosed check for one hundred dollars, with the thanks of the War Department. Respectfully yours,

"J. W. ARMSTRONG, Chief Clerk."

"Phew!" Frank exclaimed. "I'm glad the War Department don't know how scared I was down in those tanks!"

The interest in golf among the schools of the country seems to be growing rapidly, and at a number of the large out-of-town schools, as has already been told in this Department, courses have been laid out, and tournaments have been held, notably at St. Paul's School, Concord, Hotchkiss School, Lakeville, and at Lawrenceville.

The first scholastic tournament to be held in New York was that played by the students of Berkeley on Election day. The competition was medal play for a cup offered by Dr. White, the winner to receive an individual cup in addition to having his name engraved on the championship cup, which is to remain in the possession of the School Athletic Association.

Great interest was taken in this tournament, and although H. M. Bowers, one of the best golfers in school, was unable to take part, the competition brought out some good play. The tournament was held at the Van Cortlandt Park links, and there were fifteen entries. Studwell won by an easy margin of seven strokes over Granbery, who came in second. Summary of the match: G. Stuart Studwell, Jun., out, 63; in, 60--total, 123. E. Carleton Granbery, out, 73; in, 57--total, 130. Theodore R. Pell, out, 67; in, 66--total, 133. Cornelius S. Pinkney, out, 76; in, 64--total, 140.

The last three holes on the Van Cortlandt course are long ones, the equivalent in distance to the total of the first six, the distance between the eighth and ninth holes being nearly half a mile. Thus a score of 60 on this course at Van Cortlandt Park would seem to be about as good as 50 on an ordinary course where the holes are shorter.

The Van Cortlandt Park course has only recently been opened to the public, but doubtless it will soon become one of the most popular in the neighborhood of the city. The first hole is an open one, and may very well be made in three strokes. There are two obstacles before the second hole, a stone wall and a brook, but a long drive ought to clear both of these. A skilful player can make this hole in three, but the ordinary player will doubtless require four strokes, by reason of falling short of the stone wall.

There is a bunker that even the unskilful player should be able to drive over toward the third hole. On the way to the fourth there is another stone wall, just beyond which is a hazard in the form of a dry river-bed. The third stone wall lies on the road to the fifth hole, and ought to be cleared with the second shot. It is unadvisable to attempt to drive over it, unless one is particularly skilful.

The sixth hole is a very short one. It starts with an easy hazard, a little ditch not more than ten yards from the tee, which anybody but the most inexperienced should be able to drive over safely. The return trip consists of only three holes, but they are all harder than any of the preceding. There is long grass, and the railroad track along the right of the first two, and then the shore of a pond as a boundary for the ninth. Therefore any swaying to the right will prove expensive; to the left the ground is level and safe.

The seventh hole might be called an open one, except for the low stone wall that runs through it, and a dirt bunker at a good distance this side of the putting-green. Both these obstacles, however, are placed so as only to penalize the very poor player. Toward the eighth hole one meets two more bunkers, that ought also to be easily handled by a fairly experienced player. Thereafter comes what is said to be the longest hole in the United States, the distance being 700 yards. The turf is fairly clear, and crossed by two stone walls, and broken by a dirt bunker. It is possible to clear the first stone wall on the drive, and a brassey shot will bring the ball nearer the second. It is proposed to shorten this last hole at an early date, and to lengthen the eighth to about 580 yards, making the two thus more nearly equal. As it is, the ninth hole is an unsatisfactory one to play.

The trouble about crossing the next hazard is the danger of swinging to the right and going into the tall grass, or even into the pond. Then comes the bunker, and after that the course is clear. I am told that the best record for this hole is 7, which is remarkably good. It is also said that the best amateur record over this course is 42, but there is nothing to show that this is a fact. Studwell's best figure was made in the second round,--60; but Granbery made it in 57, making the record for that tournament.

The rules adopted by the Milwaukee schools to govern interscholastic sport are in some respects severe, but it is very probable that the condition of affairs necessitated this stringency. Many of the students are complaining that the 70-per-cent. standard in scholarship required of all those who wish to take part in athletics is too high, and it is very probable that next year this figure will be somewhat reduced. It will not do any harm, however, for a short time, to bring things around with a sharp turn, and to make high scholarship a condition of participation in sport.

In looking over these new rules there are some which strike one as somewhat peculiar. For instance, it is specified that nobody shall play under an assumed name. That it has been necessary to insert such a regulation proves conclusively that amateur sport must have fallen to a pretty low ebb if boys would enter contests under names not their own. But we know that this is done, and that it was shamefully done, by a number of football-players in Chicago this last fall.

One of the new Milwaukee rules provides that "the principal of the school, or persons authorized by him, shall be the manager or managers of the teams representing the school." This is not a desirable change. It is always best for schoolboys to manage their own sports, and if it is found that they cannot or will not manage them properly and honestly and in a sportsmanlike manner, then it is time for older heads to take a hand in the proceedings. But even then it is not advisable to have head masters as managers.

It is far better to let graduates of the school act as an advisory board, and to empower graduates with sufficient power to control the actions of the undergraduate managers. It is hardly possible to find any school principal who can understand and be in thorough sympathy with the boys in their athletics. A schoolmaster is bound to look at things from a different point of view from his pupils, and he would naturally try to reach an end, doubtless for good, in an entirely different way from that which will appeal to the students.

On the other hand, graduates of the school, who are no longer affected by the influences of active personal competition in sport, can better understand the methods and feelings of the students and the requirements of school athletics. They are closer to the boys than the professor can possibly be, and they naturally inspire more confidence in the younger men, because the latter feel that these graduates have a livelier personal interest in sport itself than an older man can have, who has probably never participated in any of these games. Furthermore, a number of these graduates, who might be called upon as advisers, are probably in college or have been through college, and have there acquired much valuable experience in the conduct and management of athletics of all kinds.

One of the chief elements to do away with in the management of sports, especially where reforms are being undertaken, is friction; and there is bound to be more or less friction between head master and pupils, because their chief relations are so entirely different from the new ones that are being inaugurated through athletics.

Among other suggestions proposed at the time these rules were adopted at the Milwaukee schools was one that certain changes be made in the football-playing rules. Fortunately, however, there was enough good sense in the committee to overcome this proposition, and it was decided that the intercollegiate football rules were plenty good enough for Milwaukee.

A new departure in interscholastic sport is to be made by the East Side High-School of Milwaukee this spring. It intends to put a crew on the water. A number of men are already in training, and a racing-shell has been secured. If an eight is eventually turned out, it will be the first crew that ever represented a high-school in the West, and, so far as I know, the first that ever represented any high-school in this country.

No particular progress has been made so far in the arrangements for the Knickerbocker in-door games. It is probable that there will be a relay-race for "juniors," which is an absurd and unnecessary event, as most of these "junior" events are. If a boy is too young to compete in the regular events at an athletic meeting, he is too young to go into active competition at all, and it will do him more harm than good to train at that age. I hope to see the day when these "junior" events will be entirely done away with, and when boys under sixteen years of age will be discouraged from competition with older lads. These youngsters have plenty of time ahead of them, and their constitutions will be much the better for it if they postpone athletic work until their muscles are better able to stand the exertion.

A very good change that is to be inaugurated at these games is the adoption of the regulation high hurdles--3 ft. 6 in.--instead of the dwarfed obstacles that the New York I.S.A.A. has hitherto favored.

It is reported that the Harvard School will apply for readmission to the New York Interscholastic League this spring. It is to be hoped that there will be no opposition to this request, for it would be unjust to keep a body of young men from participation in interscholastic sport because of the mistakes of some misguided youths who attended the school before they did, and for whose actions they should never, of course, be held responsible.

Just as we are about to go to press I am informed that the Connecticut Interscholastic Association has decided not to divide up the $400 surplus remaining in the treasury after the football season. The officers of that Association are to be congratulated upon this action. They will no doubt eventually realize that they have done much for the good of amateur sport in Connecticut by keeping the money question as far away as possible from athletic competition.

The Interscholastic skating-races held at the St. Nicholas Rink last week were contested at too late a day to allow of proper comment in this issue of the ROUND TABLE. Mention of them, therefore, will be reserved until next week.

Ice polo has begun to be played among the Boston schools, the first game of the season having been held in the last week of December. There were several matches on the 21st of that month, Stoneham High defeating Wakefield High, 1-0, English High First defeating English High Second, 2-1, and Somerville High defeating Medford High, 5-0.

A few days later Arlington High met Cambridge High and Latin, and took them into camp, 2-1. Arlington's team-work was far superior to that of the Cambridge men, and although the latter tried all sorts of changes in their team, they were unable to withstand the fierce rushes of their opponents. The same afternoon, on Spy Pond, Arlington met Winchester High, and scored another victory, 3-0.

This Arlington H.-S. team is undoubtedly a very strong one, and is putting up good polo this winter. On January 3 they met Cambridge Latin, and defeated them, 6-0. Arlington's especially strong point is in passing.

A very unsportsmanlike dispute has arisen between two schools of the Worcester County South Football Association. Both the North Brookfield H.-S. and the Southbridge H.-S. claim the championship of the League in football, and so eager is each to write the word "championship" upon its school banner that each seems to have lost its head in the discussion. As to which school is entitled to this rather empty honor I am not prepared to determine, although both parties have laid rather lengthy arguments before me, but it would seem that North Brookfield has the better claim.

A game was played early in the season between these two schools, in which a member of Southbridge H.-S. acted as referee. His decisions proved unsatisfactory to the North Brookfield players, and a squabble ensued. As I understand it, the game was left undecided, with the score favoring Southbridge. Later it was arranged that a second game should be played by these two schools. It was played, and North Brookfield won, 4-0.

If this contest was held to settle the question that arose over the first game, then the first can have no bearing on the championship, and the final game alone counts as a championship game. But the defeated players cannot see it this way, and the result is that both schools are claiming everything in sight, and their mathematicians are juggling figures to prove the case. This is one of the evils of the "championship" system.

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QUESTIONS FOR YOUNG MEN.

ON THE USE OF BOOKS.

M. Taine, the famous french essayist, once said that a book was only the overflow of a man's mind; that his mind must be full of thoughts first before anything could come out on paper, and that after the mind had been filled to the brim a book overflowed. So that in reading any work of great merit we must always read between the lines, and see how much more the author meant to say than he did say, and how much care and thought and study he must have put into it before it appeared in its present form. Any one who understands books, therefore, has for them a wholesome respect that approaches reverence, and you can estimate the amount of brains a man has by the way he treats his books. If he tosses them about, if he leaves them lying open, if he turns down the leaves, you may be sure he uses them but little, and knows less about them and what they contain. There is many a strong athlete and good fighter who is as tender as a woman with his books. He loves to have them around, to sit in the same room with loaded bookshelves, and to turn to them occasionally. There you will find--in the room of the boy or man who knows books--copies of this or that book, from the _Three Musketeers_ to the Bible, pretty well worn, and showing that they are not merely once read, but that they are companions to whom he turns when he feels blue, when there is nothing else to do for the moment, when something is bothering him about which he does not wish to think.

Another good remark somebody made once is that if you own books you do not have to read them. That is, if you hear of a certain book, you say, "I must get that out of the library and read it." If you do so, it is necessary to read it at once and return it. If you can buy it, you read what portion satisfies your particular want at the moment, and then there it stands among your other good friends, always ready, like any real friend, to serve you at a moment's notice in any way it can. Indeed, it is a real friend, because it never deserts you, never goes back on you, never changes, unless somebody borrows it, and that is not the book's fault. The mere fact that your room is filled with books is a good kind of influence, for there is something in the mere proximity of books that makes a chap serious occasionally, and induces him to sit and ponder once in a while in the midst of his grind, his sport, his daily work, and his other and less valuable friends at school or college.

Then, too, in these days, when there are so many hundreds of books a year and so many millions already published, it is utterly impossible to try to read, as the old fellows in the later Middle Ages used to, everything that is published. It is far better to re-read some good familiar things again and again. They are good books, they are your especial favorites, and you will seldom fail to find something new in them each time you read them. It gives you a little idea of how much the writing of them must have meant to their author if you can read them, say, twenty times, and still go on finding something you had not succeeded in discovering in them before.

Some day you will go to call upon a friend who is perhaps a good deal older than you are, and finding him in his library, you will walk in and come upon him standing at his bookshelves, with a volume in his hand. As he stops reading or examining a book, he will sit down, talking with you and handling the book carefully, smoothing down its outside cover, or gently feeling the leaves between his thumb and forefinger. Then, as he gets up to take down a book to show you, he will gently blow off the dust from the top, in order that as he opens it no dirt shall go down between the leaves, there to remain and work ruin like sand-paper. Such a man understands books and has an affection for them. He may be a busy merchant; he may be a lawyer; he may be a bookworm; but in all three cases he is sure to be a refined, educated, more or less scholarly man, because no one can live in the company of good books long and be otherwise. It is a good plan for a schoolboy to begin to make his library at once. Money spent in good books is never wasted, and no sensible parent will check a reasonable desire for them. At college the library will increase, and before you know it you will be starting in on your work of life with one little room in your bachelor apartments or your family home that is just as good as a teacher--better in many ways.

* * * * *

A PERSON TO BE AVOIDED.

There is one thing that every bicycler needs to look out for more than for anything else, and that is the bicycle-thief. There is no denying that he springs up everywhere, and his ingenuity is something to marvel at. The latest device of these people is somewhat amusingly shown in a story which comes to us from over the sea. It seems that a well-known guards Colonel was exhibiting to an admiring group of ladies in Battersea Park, the other morning, the excellences of a magnificent bicycle, rumored to have cost an immense sum, when he was courteously accosted by name by a well-dressed stranger, who ventured to admire the wonderful machine. The stranger inquired as to the cost, and address of the makers, and asked if he might mention the Colonel's name when ordering a similar machine, a request to which the Colonel, who thought that the stranger might be an acquaintance whose face he had forgotten, immediately acceded. Then the stranger wanted to try the bicycle, and the Colonel, proud that his machine should have created such an impression, agreed to that proposition also. "I am only a novice, you know," the stranger remarked, as he treadled feebly along in a serpentine course; and then he mysteriously quickened his pace and began to ride straight. He was out of sight in a minute, and the Colonel is still waiting for him to return.

* * * * *

THE REPLY TO THE "DRUMMER."

Travellers in the buffet-car of the Chicago Limited have provided many good stories for the delectation of readers. The following is a good instance.

As the train pulled out of Chicago, a quiet, gentlemanly-looking man entered the buffet-car, and ensconcing himself in a comfortable chair, drew out a long cigar, and entered deeply into his paper. He remained so quiet and retained his seat so long that another passenger, whose hearing distinctly stamped him as a commercial travelling man, one of the kind full of chatter and curiosity, could no longer restrain himself. Addressing the quiet gentleman, he inquired, "Travelling East?"

Slowly removing his cigar the gentleman turned and looked at his questioner with slightly elevated eyebrows, replying, "Yes."

"New York?"

"Yes."

"Pleasure?"

"Yes and no."

"Great place, New York. Ever been there before?"

"No."

"I'm going home this trip--New York, you know."

The gentleman made no reply but resumed his paper. After a little silence the commercial man began again.

"I'm with C. & Co., on Broadway. If you drop in I'll show you over the city."

"Thank you, it will not be necessary."

"Excuse me, but might I ask what you're going to New York for?"

By this time most of the other passengers were interested. The gentleman, who was extremely annoyed at the drummer's curiosity, laid down his paper, and exclaimed:

"I'm going to New York, first, because the train is taking me there; second, because I've got lots of money and can afford it; and last, because if I like the place I intend to buy it."

The commercial man subsided amidst a roar of laughter.

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.

A HOME-MADE VIGNETTING-GLASS.

A short time ago directions were given for vignetting pictures, using empty plate-boxes with an opening covered with tissue-paper. This is a good way to vignette pictures, but a new box must be prepared for each kind of vignette desired. By using a sheet of ground glass in a frame and painting on it with a non-actinic paint, water-color paint, a vignetting glass is made which is always ready for use by simply washing off the paint and covering again, leaving the shape of the vignette clear.

The frame for the glass may be of wood, or one can take an empty plate-box a little larger than the printing-frame, cut out the bottom, and put the glass in its place, gluing strips of cloth along the edge to hold it in place. The ground side of the glass should be uppermost.

Mark on the glass with pencil the shape of the vignette, have some Gihon's opaque--which is a non-actinic water-color--and paint the glass with it, except in the place marked for the vignette. The paint should be mixed quite thick and be applied evenly, so that the light cannot shine through the glass except where the vignette is to be made. Along the edges of the opening work the paint with a piece of moist surgeon's cotton, which will give a soft effect in the printed picture. A new vignette is made by washing the glass and applying the paint in a different shape. This device for making vignetted pictures will be found very handy, and one which can be easily prepared.

SIR KNIGHT W. RYERSON asks to have the rules of the competition published; what the cause of the yellowish color is in the finished negative; the expense of putting up a reasonable amount of toning solution; and the necessary qualifications to belong to the Camera Club. The competition rules were published in the ROUND TABLE for October 6. The yellowish color in the negative is caused by the unused silver salts not being thoroughly dissolved out of the film. If a toning solution is prepared with chloride of gold and sodium with bicarbonate of soda, it will cost 35c. for the chloride of gold and sodium, and 5c. for the bicarbonate of soda. Put the 15 grs. of gold and soda into 7-1/2 oz. of water. This is the stock solution. Put the bicarbonate of soda in water, using just enough water to dissolve it. To make the bath for use, take 3-1/2 oz. of water, and 1/2 oz. of the gold solution. Dip a piece of blue litmus into the solution, and if it does not turn the paper red, add a little more of the gold solution. Add to this a few drops of the bicarbonate of soda, till it turns the litmus-paper back to blue. Mix the bath half an hour before it is needed. To be a member of the Camera Club one must be an amateur photographer. To join the club, send name and address and state your wish to the editor of the Camera Club.

SIR KNIGHT WILBUR T. HELM, JUN., and SIR KNIGHT HALL M. CROSSMAN ask whether a pocket-kodak picture can be entered in the prize competition, and which is the best film or plate. The pocket-kodak pictures are under the size allowed, 4 by 5 being the smallest size entered. The Stanley, Carbutt, Cramer, Seed, as well as other standard makes, are all good plates. Eastman and Carbutt films are both fine.

GEORGE WASHINGTON

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

What particularly strikes the reader in enjoying Professor Woodrow Wilson's "George Washington" is the way the writer makes that historic figure warm and vital for us.... This stimulating and delightful historical study.... This work of Professor Wilson's must be widely recognized as of great value, because of this grasping of the salient features of Washington's life and character, the features we all want to see.--_Hartford Courant._

We must now be content with a word of praise for its finished literary workmanship, its accurate scholarship, and its high patriotic ideal. We doubt if the career of Washington has ever received worthier treatment at the hands of biographer, historian, or political philosopher.--_Dial_, Chicago.

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

A VIRGINIA CAVALIER

A Story of the Youth of George Washington. By MOLLY ELLIOT SEAWELL. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.50.

An absorbing tale.... The account of Braddock's rout is an admirable bit of descriptive writing. The style is warm and polished, the characters are faithfully drawn, and there are passages of intense interest in the book.--_Philadelphia Bulletin._

The youth of George Washington is treated in almost biographic form, and certainly with lifelike effect.... The book is well adapted to the needs of young people, giving them an admirable picture of Washington's early home life.--_Pittsburg Chronicle-Telegraph._

"HARPER'S ROUND TABLE" FOR 1896