CHAPTER XI.

THE SWORD-FISH AND THE WHALE.

Now again we had changed our course, and were going before the wind directly to the westward. The breeze was light, and better for a small vessel than for a heavy, deep-laden man-of-war, and we might have run away in safety if we chose. That something was up, however, that meant adventure no one could help seeing.

Orders were given, without any bawling or shouting, to get down the top-gallant masts on deck. The crew worked like ants. (I loved them for the way they went about it.) The yards were lowered to the deck as quickly as if they were clothes-poles in a drying-yard. I had never seen anything done so neatly and with such despatch. Our headway decreased, of course, as we lost the use of our upper sails.

Mr. Spencer, who was aloft, reported to the deck: "We're hidden now, Captain Temple," he said. "She might pass within a quarter of a mile of us and never see us."

Purposely I had stepped close to him as he spoke to the Captain, and the latter's reply was as astonishing to me as it apparently startled the officer. Temple was eagerness in every line of his face. He struck his right fist into the palm of his left.

"The closer the better," he exclaimed. Then he turned. "What are the soundings?" he inquired of the bow-legged man who had hastened up. (I have forgotten to state that we had been heaving the lead for the last half-hour.)

"Six fathoms, sir, and shoaling; here it is, sir."

"Prepare to lower away the long-boat, Mr. Bullard," the skipper ordered, after a glance at the lead. "Mount the forward swivel in her, pick a crew, take a boat's compass, and make off due west. Mr. Spencer, you will take command of her. A word with you."

Every one looked at the Captain in astonishment, but no one asked a question or put in a word. As I was one of the crew of the long boat, I helped to get her ready and swing her overboard. The swivel was lashed on the forward gratings, and half a dozen muskets were handed down to her, and we shoved off. Mr. Spencer was pale and nervous. As we left the brig's side we saw that her helm had been put hard down, and that she once more was headed north. There was just enough wind to move her slowly through the water. In three minutes she was lost to sight.

We had been resting on our oars, and now Mr. Spencer spoke for the first time.

"Make no noise," he said. "Pull slowly, straight ahead."

We gave way, trying our best to silence the thumping in the row-locks. So light was the breeze that we could have kept apace of a vessel's sailing. For ten minutes we rowed on, and then we stopped again, and Spencer spoke.'

"Load that swivel and get ready with those muskets," he ordered.

I heard him mutter something in which I caught the words "tomfoolery" and "nonsense," and I looked back over my shoulder. A half-dozen perplexed-looking marines were grouped in the bow, and three sailors were ramming home a charge in the swivel.

"Lads," said Mr. Spencer, "it's Captain Temple's orders to fire into that frigate and get away, if we can. It all depends upon yourselves and the way this boat is handled whether we are blown out of the water, or cut to pieces, or escape with whole skins. I want no talking in the boat."

The man beside me on the thwart pulled his shirt over his head, and several others did likewise. They sat there bare from the waist up, and their torsos looked like those of the men in some of the old engravings in the handsome books I had read at Marshwood.

We were pulling slowly ahead now, and for fully a quarter of an hour we rowed without a break. Then Mr. Spencer called for oars, and we drifted a long time.

"Listen!" said one of the men in the bow, suddenly. He was bending over, with his hand making a hollow back of his ear. Half of the crew did likewise. For a minute I could hear nothing. Then I detected a groaning sound and a ripple of the water. It was the noise of a vessel's sailing.

"I can see her, sir," the bowman said in a hoarse whisper. "She's not five cable-lengths away."

The Lieutenant rose to his feet, and I could see that his hand was trembling as he fumbled in the breast of his jacket. He pulled a boatswain's whistle out and put it to his lips. But before he blew he spoke calmly.

"Bring that gun to bear on her," he said.

"Blow her out of water," spoke up the man beside me, with a chuckle.

What utter foolishness it seemed to me even then (and of a truth it probably was that anyhow) to attack a frigate in a long-boat armed with six muskets and a broadside that you could carry in the crown of your hat! But no one seemed to flinch.

"Give way softly," whispered Mr. Spencer, taking the tiller himself from the cockswain. Then, without warning, the silver pipe shrilled out, and he bawled at the top of his voice, as if he were commanding a ship's crew, instead of a handful of mystified seamen in a cockle-shell: "All hands on deck there, and lively! There's a vessel here astern of us! Port your helm!" He answered this order himself with an, "Ay, ay, sir," and leaning forward shouted, "Fire!"

Close to the water a great shape could be seen. The little gun slap-banged, and almost jumped overboard with the recoil. The six muskets rang; and, animated more by the gesture of Mr. Spencer's hand than the word, we laid back on the oars. We took perhaps some forty strokes or more, when the Lieutenant called for us to cease, with a sound of a hiss betwixt his teeth. The huge shape was now astern of us on the port hand close too. We had rowed across her bow! Now so tense was every nerve, and at such a tension was my mind, that I remembered everything I heard and saw so that I can repeat it to a dot.

The shot and volley had been followed by a confused cry and a great to-do from the direction of the frigate. Now we could hear a confused jumble of accents, and above it the cries of a man's voice in agony, "Oh, oh, I'm killed!" it said distinctly. Then a voice commanded silence, and we could make out every word that passed.

"Can you see anything ahead there, you men forward?" asked a voice so close that it appeared to be directed towards us.

"No, sir; not a thing, sir!" was the answer. If anything, it sounded closer than the first.

Then cool and distinct we caught the following orders, as we sat there holding our breaths, and our hearts beating so loudly that we nearly rocked the boat.

"Ready about! Ready! Ready! Put your helm down, quartermaster."

"Helm's alee, sir."

"Haul taut! Mainsail, haul!" (An anxious waiting pause.) "Head braces! Haul well taut! Let go, and haul!"

So firmly were these words impressed upon me that I never had to learn afterwards the orders for tacking ship.

Now followed a rumbling sound and some shouts and orders, and then a crash and an explosion that ripped the fog and cut great gashes of red flame through the gray opaque wall.

"Gee!" said the man next to me, with a shiver, "if that had caught us, eh!"

"Good-by, Mary Ann!" said the man in front, looking back over his shoulder.

Mr. Spencer was leaning forward. "They think we're off there," he whispered, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "Lads, you did well."

Now all was silence again, and the frigate gathered headway to the north. We staid where we were.

But now, if I shall live to be a hundred, I can never get one sound from my ears. To the eastward, and beyond the English vessel, sounded the shrilling of a fife. The first bars of "Yankee Doodle" was the tune it played. I almost leaped up to my feet, but the music was soon ended, for a rattling swingeing crash followed a burst of blurred red flame. I could smell the smoke from the frigate's broadside that reached us now. But it was not she that spoke the second time.

"Kill-Devil's got the weather-gauge of her, by Moses!" said the sailor next to me, putting his arm about my neck and giving me a hug.

"Silence in the boat there," ordered Mr. Spencer, angrily.

A roaring crash and confusion of explosions followed. The men in the bow began to laugh hysterically, and even Mr. Spencer joined them.

"The _Young Eagle_'s got under her quarter. She'll rip her hide," he laughed. "Hark! did you hear that? It's the long twelve. Don't cheer, you fools!"

It was well he had given this order, for the men were about to burst into a shout. One of them dropped his oar, and was roundly reprimanded for it. But now a multitude of sounds came from the direction of the fighting-vessels. Groans and orders, cries and firing, and above them all the comments from close about me, that in my ignorance I did not exactly understand.

"Old Johnny Bull's missed stays," roared Mr. Spencer, laughing. "It's the sword-fish and the whale. Stab her again, Captain Temple, stab her again!"

A distinct broadside was heard, and then a cheer, followed by a confused roaring, with high treble shrieks, like a countertenor's note in a chorus.

"Bleed, bleed, bleed," muttered the man next to me.

"That was our cheer," gurgled the cockswain, sawing to and fro in his narrow little box; but no sooner had he spoken than a crash louder and brighter colored than any of the rest ripped out.

"The frigate's broadside!" gasped Mr. Spencer.

All was silence now.

"Heaven help us, they've sunk her!" the Lieutenant said, hoarsely.

No sound for full five minutes.

Three or four shots now, and then silence again. It appeared to me that the fog had lessened. A fine drizzle was falling; and we could see the outlines of a vessel not a quarter of a mile away from us.

"Pull for your lives!" cried Mr. Spencer. "Pull for your lives!"

We gave way together, and the heavy boat was soon hitting up a good pace and burying her nose as she rose and fell on the seas. The Lieutenant took a glance at the small compass, and headed us toward the northwest.

"We're close to Long Island," he said. "I can't make out the _Young Eagle_ at all. That ship's the Britisher."

We had rowed but a few minutes longer when, as if by a miracle, the mist cleared away and the sun shone out. Clear and distinct a big vessel lay off to the eastward. The hated emblem of St. George flew at her peak.

"I thought as much," remarked Mr. Spencer to the cockswain. "She's grounded on the sand bank. That's what Temple counted on."

But hurrah! to the windward of the British vessel was a sight that gave us joy. There was the _Young Eagle_, eating up into the wind, with her jib-boom hanging, and one of her yards aslant. Somehow Temple had found time to get up his top-gallant masts again, for they were both in place. But now those on board the frigate had espied us; that was plain enough. She was not so large a vessel as she had first seemed, being of the smaller class, carrying probably not over thirty-two guns at the most. She was badly cut up from the effects of her encounter with the brig, however. Her foretopmast was gone, her mainyard was over the side, and all her running-gear in great confusion. If Captain Temple had been an officer of the regular navy he might have deserved cashiering for such a foolhardy bit of business as attacking a powerful vessel when he might have escaped. He was the only one on board the privateer, however, who had reckoned her at less than forty-four guns, and besides this, after his glance at the lead he knew where he was, and could have pricked his position to a certainty on the map. I know that now.

As Mr. Spencer had said, he surely must have counted on the proximity of the sand bar. If the frigate had been taking careful soundings, she would never have got on to it.

The fresh wind that had spoiled the fog was coming from the northward (I can recall no day in my seafaring life when it blew from so many different points as it had in the last ten hours). But I am wandering from the recital of what occurred, and now to pick it up again.

As I have stated, the frigate had seen us, and proof positive was not wanting, for a puff of smoke from one of the guns of her forward division leaped from her side, and the ball came spattering along toward us.

"Oh, shoot the shot!" laughed one of the bowmen. We were missed by fully a cable's length.

But the wind was against us, and with a good light to observe our progress I noticed that we were making slow headway. The long-boat was intended to be rowed by six oars of a side. Now, owing to the extra men that we carried, there was only room for ten men to do the pulling; and by some mistake the oars that we were wielding were not all of the same length, some of the cutter's having been put in by mistake. The weight of the swivel caused us to be well down by the head, moreover, and the cockswain had to mind his eye to keep headed straight. All idea, of course, of our getting back to the brig that day at least was done for, and to save ourselves we were making for the shore of Long Island, distant about three miles. But we were not out of range of the guns on the frigate, and consequently we were yet in danger.

"Come aft here, you men in the bow!" ordered Mr. Spencer. "She'll row better. Here, stir a foot!"

He looked back, and just as he did so there came another puff of smoke. I saw the ball smash into the top of a wave, strike the water again, and then, slightly deflected, it came right for us. I saw this first, and backed water, giving a shout of fear. The men in the bow gave a leap forward and tumbled in among us, sprawling over our heads and shoulders, and bruising shins and elbows.

If the shot had struck four inches lower we would have been sunk then and there. It caught the gunwale forward, just abreast of the grating on which the swivel was lashed. The poor fellow pulling the bow oar on that side gave a shriek and dropped his oar, clasping both hands about his head. I looked back and saw the blood trickling over his shoulders and through his fingers. A splinter had almost scalped him. We yawed about and shipped the top of a sea, and it looked like the end of matters, for we were out away to within eight inches of the water, and the bow badly stove and broken.

"Cast loose that gun and heave it overboard, two of you," roared Mr. Spencer. "The rest all aft. No! Steady! Debrin, you and Jones keep your place, and pull, do ye hear, pull."

I laid back with all my might, and so did the man next to me. The brave lad in the bow had recovered from the shock of his flesh-wound, and with another fellow cast off the lashings of the swivel and dumped it over the side. I can never forget the sight of that gory man working there with his broad naked back red from his head to his waist. As soon as it was finished he tumbled weakly across the thwart. The men in the stern-sheets were baling with their hands, and one was using Mr. Spencer's cocked hat with great effect, while Jones and I were giving way at top strength and keeping with a great effort the seas from broaching us. As the weight was now in the stern, we could ride, bar accidents, in half safety. And the oars were taken up again. The bowman bent over and tied up his wounded comrade's head with his neckerchief, and for this the other thanked him as he might for some slight courtesy. But a new terror threatened us.

Two successive shots that had been fired at us during the confusion went wide, but now we saw that they were lowering away a great barge over the Englishman's side, and that the men were sliding down into her.

"Heigh! Look there! The _Young Eagle_'s coming down to pick us up, lads," cried Mr. Spencer, turning about in response to a touch on his elbow from the cockswain. "Pull now, and get down to it!"

He headed the long-boat more to the westward, and we could see that the _Young Eagle_ had repaired some of her damage, and had tacked in the direction we were going. She would have passed almost within range of the frigate, but all at once the latter vessel gained sternway (her top-sails had been aback for some few minutes), and she worked off the bar. Our hopes of rescue fell. Turning on her heel, she made out to meet our brig. Now we perceived that the frigate's sides were gashed, and two or three of her ports astern had been knocked into one big opening. But the barge was after us! Every man rowing in our boat could count her strokes. There was no use of making light of it! She was gaining at every jump, lifting high above the top of a sea, and now and again almost disappearing.

There were twelve good men behind those long white sweeps, and they rowed a light boat with speed in her. We were making for the shore now, and grunting with the weight we put into every backward swing. Mr. Spencer was talking to us after the fashion of a cockswain to a racing crew, calling out continually:

"Lift her, boys! That's the ticket! Pull altogether," and so forth.

My mouth grew so dry that I could not swallow, and I could feel my head roll backward and forward. Presently I began to row with my eyes shut, for it seemed an effort to keep my lids from falling. One of the men in the stern began to spatter us with water to refresh us, for the sun was blistering hot by this time. The Lieutenant stopped his cackling.

The stroke oars were being helped at their work by two men pushing as the rowers pulled. I caught a dim sight of this, and wished that some one could lay hold of my sweep with me, for my forearms pained, and I felt gone in the pit of my stomach. How long we rowed that way I do not know, but suddenly I was awakened, as it were, by hearing Mr. Spencer say:

"Lads, you have held your own. Keep at it!" Then in a lower tone he added, "Get ready with those muskets."

This speech had called me to my senses, and it was almost with a shock of surprise that I found myself keeping up the stroke. My eyes had been closed so long that the light dazzled me, and at first I could see nothing, but I felt better than I had before I closed them. And now to say something that is of interest. A refreshment often comes to a man whose muscles have apparently expended all their strength, and thus it was with me. I was working on my heart and nerves alone, on the very life of me, as it were, and to keep this up too long means ruin; that is its limitation. When my eyes could focus, what little breath I had almost checked.

There was the English barge _not three hundred yards astern_! A despairing look behind me, and I saw that the shore was yet a half-mile off. The sea was breaking in little rolls of white on every hand, and we were in shoal water that had a peculiar yellowish look. I noticed Mr. Spencer kicking off his boots.

I closed my eyes again, for the sweat stung them, and I felt a blackness coming over me. But just then the crack of a musket sounded in front of me. It was followed by another, and a little action began, for the English boat was answering. I was wide-awake once more now, but in a dream apparently. The marines would stand up and fire, and then squat down and load again. I could hear the English bullets sing past.

"Ouch!" exclaimed the cockswain, all at once, as if he had dropped something on his toe.

A ball had struck him on the fleshy part of the thigh, and he sat there rubbing it and talking in such a comical way that the man on the thwart next to me laughed outright in a hoarse, jarring fashion.

We were in the surf by this time, and the British barge was half-pistol-shot away, when No. 5 on the starboard hand fell over in a faint; the cockswain got another ball, this time in the wrist, that caused him to let go the tiller, and a breaking wave catching us under the quarter, we rolled over fairly end for end with a clatter. When I came up, there was a tremendous seething and bubbling in my ears, and putting out my arm I managed to catch hold of the tiller-hooks of the overturned boat, and hung on with all my might.

"Help me!" cried a voice. I looked about, and saw the wounded seaman weakly swimming alongside. I extended my hand to him, and observed that eight or ten others were holding fast with straining fingers to the long-boat.

The English barge was backing in carefully and with skill. We were not a cable's length from shore, and making for it hand over hand, swimming with the ease of a porpoise, was Mr. Spencer. I knew it was he by the gleam of gold lace on his high collar. But the seaman had grasped me so tightly that I lost my hold, and there came to me the sense that I was drowning, and did not care at all.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

A FAIRY FÊTE.

BY EMMA J. GRAY.

"I'm to be a fairy god-mother to-night," were Mabel's words, as, sitting in the large Indian chair, her eyes glistened with anticipation.

"What will you wear?"

"Oh, one of Millie's old costumes. You may remember that three years ago she took part in the fairies' dream!"

"Yes, I remember."

"Well, by a little alteration the same frock and wings will do for me."

"Are you to have anything to say?"

"I'm to have everything to say. And I'm to wear a crown with a big star in the centre," and up went her hand to indicate the place. "And my wings are showered with diamond dust, and my dress--oh-h, it dazzles my eyes under gas-light! You ought to see the silver spangles!"

"What's the entertainment for, Mabel?"

"Oh, just to amuse people. It is to be given in Mrs. R's---- parlor. Lots of folks will be there. It will be simply gorgeous! You know it's the fad now to have a magician or something to entertain one's friends, and I'm to be sacrificed to-night."

And then up the merry girl jumped to practise a violin solo.

Every reader of HARPER'S ROUND TABLE is familiar with the tales of Hans Andersen and the Brothers Grimm, but it is possible that every one does not appreciate what delightful entertainment they would make. Therefore when Ralph and Margaret wonder what their league could give to replenish the treasury, select an appropriate fairy-tale, and while your committee are making the business arrangements, the persons who are to take part should be busy with rehearsals, so that when the night of entertainment arrives, and the house is packed to overflowing, no one will be covered with shame and confusion of face.

Among many wonderful tales worthy of particular mention is "Little Ida's Flowers," because it is capable of charming representation and necessitates many characters. It may be given at any time of the year.

_Characters:_

LITTLE IDA, _a short girl_. STUDENT, _a tall boy_. FIRST FAIRY. SECOND FAIRY. PRIVY COUNCILLOR, _a boy representing a middle-aged man_. THE READER, _a girl_. YELLOW LILY, _a girl_. BLUE CROCUS, _a boy_. FLOWERS, _girls and boys_. BUTTERFLIES, _girls and boys_.

SCENE FIRST.--A library, showing a table, lamp, easy-chairs, sofa, one very high chair representing a throne. Ida, costumed as a little girl, walks toward the Student, who is seated on the sofa, and holds towards him a bunch of flowers.

_Ida_. "My poor flowers are quite dead. They were so pretty yesterday, and now all the leaves are withered. Why do the flowers look so faded to-day?"

_Student_. "Do you know what's the matter? The flowers have been at a ball last night, and that's why they hang their heads."

_Ida_. "But flowers cannot dance!"

_Student_. "Oh yes! When it grows dark and we are asleep they jump about merrily. Almost every night they have a ball."

_Ida_. "Can children go to this ball?"

_Student_. "Yes, quite little daisies and lilies-of-the-valley."

_Ida_. "Where do the beautiful flowers dance?"

_Student_. "Have you not often been outside of the town gate, by the great castle where the King lives in summer, and where the beautiful garden is with all the flowers? You have seen the swans which swim up to you when you want to give them bread crumbs. There are capital balls there, believe me!"

_Ida_. "I was out there in the garden yesterday with my mother, but all the leaves were off the trees, and there was not one flower left. Where are they?"

_Student_. "They are within the castle. As soon as the King and all the court go to town, the flowers run out of the garden into the castle and are merry. You should see that. The two most beautiful roses seat themselves on the throne, and then they are King and Queen; all the red coxcombs arrange themselves on either side, and stand and bow; they are the chamberlains. Then all the pretty flowers come, and there is a great ball. The blue violets represent little naval cadets; they dance with hyacinths and crocuses, which they call young ladies; the tulips and the great tiger-lilies are old ladies who keep watch that the dancing is well done and everything goes on with propriety."

No sooner is this last word uttered than a sound of music is heard. Enter two Fairies, who stand one on either side of little Ida, and waving their wands over her, sing:

"Oh, listen, listen! your eyes shall glisten With pleasure and love and jubilee."

_First Fairy_. "She looks surprised."

_Second Fairy_. "She has dropped her flowers."

_First Fairy_. "She would better sit down."

_Second Fairy_. "Follow me."

Whereupon Ida follows the Second Fairy's lead, who waves her to a seat by the Student's side, and immediately the fairies walk to the opposite end of the room. As they walk gay music is heard louder and yet louder, and in run the Flowers, as the Student has described, the two most beautiful roses seating themselves on the tall chair which represents the throne.

This scene will allow for a large number of girls and boys, and each should be costumed so that no one can make mistake as to what flower they are exhibiting. When all are in the room dancing begins, and continues for half an hour; as the Flowers retire they make obeisance to the King and Queen. And all having now gone but the Fairies, the King asks the First Fairy to dance with him, and the Queen the Second Fairy to dance with her, and after a short dance they also retire, and Ida and the Student are again alone.

_Ida_. "But is nobody there who hurts the flowers for dancing in the King's castle?"

_Student_. "There is nobody who really knows about it."

_Ida_. "Can the flowers out of the botanical garden get there? Can they go a long distance?"

_Student_. "Yes, certainly. If they like they can fly. Have you not seen the beautiful butterflies--red, yellow, and white? They almost look like flowers, and that is what they have been."

Once again gay music is heard, and in come the fairies dancing, followed by a train of dancing butterflies, costumed in red, yellow, and white. After dancing for ten minutes the butterflies retire, and the fairies wave their wands to Ida and the Student, and sing,

"We be fairies of the wood, And spend our time, on doing good."

Then they immediately touch their wands to the floor, and the First Fairy draws a ring at the feet of Ida, and the Second Fairy at the feet of the Student, and then they retire.

_Ida_. "How can one flower talk to another? For you know flowers cannot speak."

_Student_. "That they cannot, certainly; but then they can make signs. Have you not noticed that when the wind blows a little the flowers nod at one another, and move all their green leaves? They can understand that just as well as we when we speak together."

_Ida_. "That is funny." And she laughs.

Enter the Privy Councillor, who has come to pay a visit, and sits down on the sofa by the Student's side.

_Privy Councillor_. "How can any one put such notions into a child's head? They are stupid fancies!"

_Ida_. "What the Student told about the flowers seemed very droll." And picking up her nosegay, which had been scattered over the floor, she looks tenderly on it while saying, "The flowers are tired because they have danced all night." And then walking to a table on which stands a doll's bed, she lays them in and puts the coverlet over them. The whole evening through she can not help but think of what the Student has told her.

SCENE SECOND.--Ida's bedroom. Ida in bed. The night-lamp burning on the table.

_Ida_. "I wonder if my flowers are still lying in the doll's bed? How I should like to know!" She raises herself a little, and looks at the door, which stands ajar. Within lie the flowers. Ida puts her head down on her pillow.

Enter two Fairies. They walk directly to her bed, and stand one on either side of Ida's head, slowly waving their wands over her. Piano music is softly played, and Ida goes to sleep.

An unseen person now reads the following dream, which may be acted as far as is deemed advisable:

"Ida listened, and then it seemed to her as if she heard some one playing in the next room. Now all the flowers are certainly dancing in there! 'Oh, how glad I should be to see it!' But she dared not get up.

"'If they would only come in,' thought she. But the flowers did not come, and the music continued to play beautifully. Then she could not bear it any longer, for it was too pretty. She crept out of her little bed, and went quietly to the door and looked into the room. Oh, how splendid it was!

"There was no night-lamp burning, but still it was quite light; the moon shone through the window in the middle of the floor. All the hyacinths and tulips stood in two long rows. On the floor all the flowers were dancing very gracefully round one another, making perfect turns, and holding one another by the long green leaves as they swung round. But at the piano sat a great yellow lily, which little Ida had certainly seen in summer, for she remembered its manners in playing, sometimes holding its long yellow face to one side, sometimes to the other, and nodding in tune to the music. (Enter a tall girl, representing a yellow lily.)

"No one noticed little Ida. Then she saw a great blue crocus hop into the middle of the table where the doll's bed stood. (Enter a boy, costumed to represent a blue crocus.)

"There lay the sick flowers, but they got up directly and nodded to the others to say that they wanted to dance too.

"Then it seemed as if something fell down from the table. Ida looked that way. It was the birch rod which was jumping down! And a wax doll, with just such a broad hat as the Councillor wore, sat upon it. The birch rod hopped about among the flowers, for it was dancing the mazourka; and the other flowers could not manage that dance because they were too light and unable to stamp like that.

"The wax doll on the birch rod all at once became quite great and long, and said: 'How can one put such things in a child's head? Those are stupid fancies.' And then the wax doll was exactly like the Councillor in the broad hat, and looked just as yellow and cross as he. But the flowers hit him, and then he shrank up again and became quite a little wax doll. That was very amusing to see, and Ida could not restrain her laughter. The birch rod went on dancing, and the Councillor was obliged to dance too; it was no use, he might make himself great and long, or remain the little yellow wax doll with the big black hat. Then the other flowers put in a good word for him, and the birch rod gave over.

"Then the door opened and a great number of splendid flowers came dancing in. (Enter roses of all sorts and Butterflies, dancing.)

"Ida could not imagine whence they had come; these must certainly be all the flowers from the King's castle. First of all came two glorious roses, and they had little gold crowns on; they were a King and a Queen. Then came the prettiest coronations, and they bowed in all directions. Great poppies and peonies blew upon pea-pods till they were quite red in the face. The blue hyacinths and the little white snowdrops rang just as if they had bells. All danced together, and all the flowers kissed one another. It was beautiful to look at.

"At last the flowers wished one another good-night."

No sooner is good-night uttered than the Fairies motion to the flowers to keep perfectly still, and point their wands at Ida.

_First Fairy_. "She sleeps, her breathings are not heard."

_Second Fairy_. "Her fragrant tresses are not stirred."

_First Fairy_. "Hasten hither, King and Queen."

_Second Fairy_. "Roses, sweet that we employ."

And immediately the quartette step to the front of the stage and sing a good-night song.

At the close of which all dance--even Ida, who wakens by the jollity.

Exeunt.

* * * * *

A GOOD TIMEPIECE.

Here is a fish story, for the truth of which we cannot vouch, but which all fishermen young or old will enjoy. It comes from an English journal, the Northampton _Daily Reporter_.

Last spring, while a party of tourists were fishing "up North," a well-known lawyer lost his gold watch from the boat in which he was sitting. Last week he made another visit to the lakes, and during the first day's sport caught an eight-pound trout. His astonishment can be imagined, when he found his watch lodged in the throat of the trout. The watch was running, and the time correct. It being a "stem-winder," the supposition is that in masticating his food the fish wound up the watch daily.

THE NEW YEAR.

The clock struck twelve in the tall church tower, And the old year slipped away, To be lost in the crowd of phantom years In the House of Dreams that stay All wrapped in their cloaks of gray.

Then swift and sweet o'er the door's worn sill Came the youngest child of Time, With a gay little bow and a merry laugh, And a voice like bells achime, Challenging frost and rime.

He found there was plenty for him to do, The strong and the weak were here, And both held out their hands to him And gave him greetings dear, The beautiful young new year.

"You must bring us better days," they said, "The old year was a cheat." Which I think was mean when the year was dead; Such fate do dead years meet, To be spurned by scornful feet!

"I bring you the best a year can bring," The new-comer stoutly spake, "The chance of work, the gift of trust, And the bread of love to break, If but my gifts you'll take!"

The noblest thing a year can lay In the lap of you or me, The brave new year has brought this day, It is Opportunity, Which the wise are quick to see.

MARGARET E. SANGSTER.

SAVING A TORPEDO-BOAT.

ONE OF THE OLD SAILOR'S YARNS.

BY W. J. HENDERSON.

It was a day of southwesterly weather, one of those days on which shower follows shower across the murky and writhing sky, and the air feels like water atomized. The boys had grown tired of sitting in the house, and having donned oil-skins and rubber boots, they had gone down to the pier in hope of seeing some interesting sight at sea. They found the Old Sailor in his favorite position, and sat down beside him. He too was clad in oil-skins, and was shaking his head in solemn discontent because he could not get a good view of the ocean. The sea-water was quite cold and the rain was much warmer; consequently the surface of the great deep was covered with a wavering veil of light gray mist, through which the eye could not penetrate more than two hundred and fifty yards.

A few minutes after the boys sat down another thunder-storm broke, and rain fell in torrents. The lightning flashed fiercely and the thunder bellowed mightily. Suddenly, in the very height of the tumult, out of the curtain of the gray mist came a wild, unearthly shriek, rising in pitch and intensity each second. The boys started to their feet, pale to the lips, and gazing at the Old Sailor with appealing eyes. The next instant a long, low, lean, olive-colored hull shot out of the mist. From two funnels, one forward and one aft, great streamers of oily black smoke went swirling away over the stern, while under the bows a snowy jet of gleaming spray spurted high along the craft's sides. From her crouching stern the water sprang outward and upward in a boiling wave, lashed into silver and emerald by the whizzing screws. She shot past the end of the pier, not a hundred yards away, with her whistle shrieking wildly as she went. The boys had barely time to catch the outline of her and to see the crouching figure of the seaman who tried to peer into the mist ahead of her, before she had hissed out of sight, and left only the troubled wake to tell the story of her passage.

"What was that?" gasped Henry, when he could catch his breath.

"That, my son," said the Old Sailor, solemnly, "were the United States torpedo-boat _Cushing_, bound fur Sandy Hook, an' no time to spare."

"But I should think she'd be in danger of running into some vessel."

"Oh, they can stop her an' back her in twice her own length," said the Old Sailor.

"But why does she go so fast?" asked George. "Do they wish to get out of the rain?"

"No, I reckon they ain't afraid o' rain," said the Old Sailor, with a grave sidewise movement of his head. "But mebbe she are in the same fix as the torpedo-boat _Hop-lo_ were at the battle o' Yalu, w'ich the same I were her bosun's mate, an' also, moreover, kep' her from sinkin'."

"Oh, tell us about that!" exclaimed George.

"W'ich are the werry identical thing wot I'm agoin' fur to come fur to do. It so happened as how I were in Hong-kong w'en that misfortinate disagreeability atwixt China and Japan come to a head. Pussonally I 'ain't never had no werry high respeck fur a Chinaman, but w'en I l'arned as how my friend Li Hung-Chang were a-offerin' double wages an' double prize-money fur American sailors to ship in the Chinese navy, w'y, sez I to myself, sez I, 'Ef I don't get killed, a Chinaman's money are as good as a Jap's, an' there's twicet as much on 't; an' ef I do get killed, w'y, I reckon as how I won't be no deader under one flag than under t'other.' An' with that I ups an' I ships. An' they orders me to a bloomin' torpedo-boat.

"I won't say as the _Hop-lo_ weren't a werry good boat, though she'd orter been called the Hop-hi, seein' as she were a thirty-knot boat, one o' the best ever built by old Thorneycroft in England. She looked a good deal like this 'ere _Cushing_ wot jes scooted past, 'ceptin' as how she were higher in the bows an' used to get more down by the stern w'en she were goin' fast, w'ich the same it were owin' to that I saved her. As I said afore, it were at the battle o' Yalu wot it happened. I ain't agoin' far to make no circumstigious attempt fur to tell the story o' that battle; 'cos w'y, w'en you're into a battle you don't know nothin' 'bout it. All I knowed was that the torpedo-boats in gineral was a-cruisin' around outside o' the battle-ships, like so many porpoises in the wake o' whales. The Admiral, w'ich the same I could see him without glasses, were a-prancin' around on one leg an' sendin' up signals every minute. Waal, the fight was on putty soon, an' ye couldn't see a thing 'ceptin' smoke. The noise o' them big guns was enough to skeer ye blue, but that are not wot I started out fur to tell ye. We got orders fur to launch a torpedo at one o' the Japanese battle-ships, an' we went an' done it. Wot that there torpedo hit I never rightly knowed--but it didn't hit that battle-ship. But she hit us with one o' her five-inch guns right under the starboard bow an' blowed a bloomin' big hole below our water-line.

"'Wei! Wei!' yells the Cap'n, a pug-faced Chinaman with one eye. 'We go dlownee now allee samee stonee! Wei! Wei!'

"An' with that the hull crew took to catterwaulin' an' squealin' like a lot o' pigs at feedin'-time.

"'Avast there, ye leather-faced slobs!' sez I to them, sez I. 'Run the bloomin' boat on the beach!'

"'Melican man biggee foolee!' screamed the Cap'n. 'Beachee allee samee twently mile.'

"'Waal, go ahead, anyhow!' sez I to he, sez I, 'an' don't be layin' still here. They'll shoot your bloomin' boat full o' holes an' make a marine sponge out o' her,' sez I, jes like that, him bein' Cap'n with epaulets on, an' me a bosun's mate with nothin' finer 'n a quid o' 'baccy. Werry good. I rings the bell myself an' the engineer starts her ahead full speed. It weren't two minutes afore we was out o' the wust o' the fight, but them there Chinks was still scared blue. Nex' minute they was scared bluer than ever, fur up comes a feller yellin' like a Bowery boy at a four-story fire:

"'We sinkee! Sinkee!'

"'Wei! Wei!' screamed the Cap'n; 'we sinkee; allee samee sharkee eat us! Wei! Wei!'

"'Shut up, ye doughnut-headed son of a sea-cook!' sez I to he, sez I. 'What makes ye think we'll sink?'

"'Watee comee in chop-chop; allee samee whole ocean come! Welly bad! U-u-u-gh!'

"'Wei! Wei!' begin the Cap'n agin, jumpin' up an' down like he thought he was a jig-dancer in a variety show.

"'Stow yer jaw-tackle there, ye moon-eyed monkey!' sez I, to he, sez I, me havin' lost my respeck for him, though he were a Cap'n an' wore a sword, w'ich the same it didn't cut no ice. 'Man the pumps, ye batherin' screechers!'

"Waal, o' course that weren't edzackly the right kind o' order to give; 'cos w'y, she were a modern torpedo-boat an' her pumps was run by steam; but anyhow it started 'em goin'. Chunk-chunk! chunk-chunk! chunk-chunk! they pounded along fur a little while, and then one on 'em stopped all on a suddent, with a big crack.

"'Wei! Wei!' squeals the Cap'n.

"'Shut up, ye molasses-colored parrot!' sez I to he, sez I, 'or I'll stick ye into one o' yer own torpedo-tubes an' pull the string.'

"'Melican man welly wicked,' he muttered, as he walked forward.

"'Wot are the matter below there?' sez I.

"'Pumpee brokee!' hollered the engineer.

"'Both on 'em?'

"'No, only onee. He heap much brokee. No go any moree.'

"'Keep the other one at it,' sez I.

"Then I goes down below myself fur to see where the bloomin' trouble were. Waal, it were not no cheerin' sight wot I seed down there. The water sartainly were a-pourin' into the blessed old pot at a werry discouragin' gait, and the one pump were not able for to gain any ground on it. So sez I to myself, sez I, 'I got to git this 'ere water out o' her somehow, or else I'm agoin' to git more water 'n I want myself.' So sez I, 'How are I going fur to persuade this 'ere water fur to run out o' this 'ere weasel?' An' the werry minute I sez it, I seed how 'twere to be done. I jumps on deck an' I sings out fur the crew o' the three-pounder rapid-fire gun.

"'Stan' by here, ye clay-colored scaramouches, an' git the gun below!'

"'Wei! Wei!' begins the Cap'n, and with that I ups an' grabs him by the pigtail. I hauled him forrad an' I made him fast by that pigtail to the ring o' the starboard anchor.

"'Now,' sez I, 'ye howlin' son o' darkness, if I hear another sound out o' ye, I'll heave to an' let go the anchor.'

"'Melican man welly wicked,' he moaned.

"I got the gun down into the hold of her, an' I run it away aft. Then I loaded it an' p'inted it at the lowest part of her starn. The haythen set up a werry commojious amount o' weepin' an' whoopin' w'en they seed wot I were a-doin'; 'cos w'y, they thort it would make two holes an' sink the boat jes that much faster. But I pulled the trigger an' blowed a bloomin' big hole into her starn right alongside o' the rudder-post an' underwater. The water did come in right off, an' the Chinks broke fur the deck an' commenced to cast off the boat falls. I stood at the door o' the fire-room, an' sez I to the engineers an' firemen, sez I:

"'Turn her up to her hottest gait, an' mind that I'll shoot the first man that leaves his post.'

"W'ich the same I would 'a' done it; 'cos w'y, they might as well 'a' ben shot as drownded.

"'Now, ye gallopin' haythen,' sez I to they, sez I, 'shovel coal fur yer lives. Hop, now, hop! Fill the furnaces full; put a ton o' lead on the safety-valve; turn on the forced draught, an' turn up the screws till they make the water hot astarn on us.'

"Waal, my sons, ye never in all yer born days seed any such hustlin'. It warn't fifteen minutes afore they had the furnaces red-hot, an' the screws was agoin' round at the rate o' a hundred an' thirty-seven turns a minute. It took the wessel a little while to git agoin', but in ten minutes she were a-vibratin' like a fiddle-string, so that she jes actooally hummed like one. An' go! Waal, ye 'ain't never seed nothin' like it in water. W'y, the waves goin' past her looked like the tracks o' one o' Farmer Hulick's harrows. Then my scheme beginned fur to work. I told ye that the _Hop-lo_ always went down by the starn when she got to goin' fast, didn't I?"

"Yes," answered both boys.

"Waal, that were what I were countin' on partly--that an' her speed. The water inside o' her commenced fur to run out o' the hole wot I'd blowed in her starn. More come in the hole forrad an' flowed aft, so w'en she got to goin' at a twenty-five-knot gait, wot come in forrad couldn't stop; but jes ran right through her an' out the hole in the starn. The faster she went the faster the water went through her, but it couldn't stop inside, an' so it didn't get no deeper. Say, ye ort to seed the faces o' them Chinamen w'en they seed how my scheme were a-workin'! W'y, them fellers mos' killed theirselves a-heavin' coal on an' keepin' her goin' faster an' faster. The Cap'll he come down below, looked at the water a-runnin' through her, an' sez he to me, sez he,

"'Melican man biggee head.'

"'Werry good,' sez I to he, sez I; 'but wot I want o' you is silence, an' that o' the werry quietest sort.'

"'Allee lightee,' sez he.

"'Now,' sez I, 'you stay down here an' keep these bloomin' engineers an' firemen at work, an' I'll go an' do the navigatin'.'

"So I left him there, an' I went up an' headed the boat fur the port o' Yu-hi, where I knowed there were a ship-yard an' we could git hauled out an' repaired. An' in an hour the bloomin' harbor were right over our bow. An' now I were puzzled agin; 'cos w'y, ef I stopped her she'd sink, an' ef I run her onto the beach the way she were agoin', I'd smash her all to splinters no bigger'n rope-yarns. While I were a-walkin' around on the deck an' a-worryin', I tuk a look ahead through the marine-glass, an' blow me fur a pickled oyster ef I didn't see the werry way out o' my trouble."

"What was it?" asked Henry, excitedly.

"A marine railway wot they hauls out wessels on fur to repair 'em. There wasn't nothin' on to it, an' there was the rails runnin' with a nice slant right down into the water. Waal, I headed her right fur it, an' I opened up the whistle an' let out a yell that would wake the town. People came out runnin' like they was crazy, an' wavin' their hands fur me to stop her; but I didn't pay no 'tention. I hadn't time fur to stop. I put my head down the hatchway an' yelled,

"'All hands on deck!'

"Up come the blatherin' chinks a-fallin' all over each other, an' w'en they seed how we was headin', they squealed dreadful.

"'Wei! Wei!' sez the Cap'n.

"An' bein' tired o' that, I jes ketched him by the pigtail an' swung him overboard an' let him swim ashore. The next minute we struck the marine railway head on, going square atween the rails, jes as I counted to do. An' o' course we skated our whole length right up the tracks.

"'Over all hands?' I yelled.

"The Chinamen came to life an' seemed to understan', fur over they went, an' had chocks under her quicker'n ye could say 'ahoy'; an' there she were, comf'able an' snug as an old woman in bed, with all the water run out o' her, an' nothin' to do but to plug up the holes an' get to sea agin. But d'ye s'pose them bloomin' beggars was grateful to me, fur wot I done fur 'em? Not a bit. They court-martialled me fur firin' on my own wessel."

The All-Boston Interscholastic Football Team for 1896 is as follows:

J. W. HALLOWELL, _Hopkinson's_ end. F. GILLISPEE, _Brookline High_ tackle. F. W. LOWE, _Boston Latin_ guard. F. R. HUTCHINS, _Brookline High_ centre. O. TALBOT, _Brookline High_ guard. W. D. EATON, _English High_ tackle. E. W. MANAHAN, _English High_ end. G. A. SAWIN, _Cambridge Manual_ quarter-back. W. B. BOYCE, _Brookline High_ half-back. CATO THOMPSON, _Cambridge Manual_ half-back. A. STILLMAN, _Hopkinson's_ full-back.

The substitutes are W. Murphy, English High, end; C. W. Jaynes, Hopkinson's, tackle; C. Shea, Hopkinson's, guard; R. Hazen, Cambridge Manual, centre; E. F. Sherlock, English High, quarter-back; G. L. Huntress, Hopkinson's, half-back; T. F. Teevens, Boston Latin, full-back.

In picking a representative All-Boston Team the first consideration given to the individual has been his ability to play his position as near perfection as it is proper to expect. The player who has displayed the most talent in this direction has earned the title to become a member of this team. To reach a standard above the average an All-Boston player must necessarily have the essential qualities that define a football expert--namely, courage, pluck, reliance, and a true conception of collective strength.

For quarter-back, that most important position so difficult to fill satisfactorily, there is only one choice, and that is George A. Sawin, of Cambridge Manual. He has exemplified the execution of accurate passing and the propagation of complicated trick plays, born of natural aptitude and experience. Cambridge Manual was reputed to have the most intricate formation plays of any team in the league, and their ultimate successful completion depended entirely on Sawin's steadiness. That he never slipped up was proved by the prosperity that attended the team. Sawin's station on the defence is directly behind the centre, where he can close up holes at either side of the pivot of the line. As a tackler his real value is felt, for he backs up the line and makes it impregnable. Sawin has done all the punting for his team, and whenever a kick was wanted he exchanged places with a half-back to receive the ball. His long punts were constantly commented on, and no one in the league excelled him.

The command of the team should also be assumed by Sawin, not alone because of his point of vantage in the field, but for his excellence as a strategist, and as a leader who inspires confidence in his players, and exacts their respect.

The centre of the line can well be taken care of by Hutchins of Brookline, who, for a centre, has been unusually active throughout the season. He has outclassed every centre that faced him, though outweighed in many cases. His football personality lies in his strength to make a pathway for a rusher and his conspicuousness in tackling back of the line.

No one guard has given evidence of having star abilities, and there are several ranking on about the same plane. Talbot of Brookline High, who was substitute on last year's All-Boston team, is inferior to nobody now, and easily takes a permanent place. He has had excellent coaching from an old Harvard guard all the season, and it is no wonder that he exhibits all the capabilities of a finished guardsman. For the other guard the competition is much closer, but should go to Captain Fred Lowe, of Boston Latin, who has had three years' experience, and in that time has always stood at the front.

There is no disputing the fact that the tackle positions belong to Eaton of English High and Gillispee of Brookline High. Eaton was a member of the All-Boston team a year ago as guard, but exigencies arising, he was moved to tackle, and his all-round proclivities cropped out there, where he has played the same aggressive, straight-forward game that characterized him in '95. As a rushing linesman he can claim superiority over any man who stood on the scholastic gridiron this fall.

Gillispee of Brookline High has proved his worth as a tackle as the season advanced. He has earned his position by hard, untiring effort, and in every game he has been prominent in smashing interference and making his position invulnerable.

With Hallowell, of Hopkinson's, and Manahan on the ends, the team would have an almost perfect line. Hallowell occupied a similar position last year, and has sustained his reputation this season. He was the most difficult end in the league to circle, for he can wade through the most compact interference and nail the runner.

Manahan has played tackle all the year, but this was because he found a better end player than a tackle. His position is end, where he demonstrated last season his talents, and where he should have been this fall. As it was, he played an excellent game at tackle, although generally handicapped by the weight of his opponent. The players in this team to whom the burden of rushing the ball would fall are Cato Thompson, Cambridge Manual, Walter B. Boyce, Brookline, and A. Stillman, Hopkinson's.

Thompson and Boyce, the half-backs, are good at line-breaking or end plays. The former is especially clever at sprinting around the extremities of the line, and has exceptional speed. Boyce is the best individual back in the association, and his bucking the line has been Brookline's chief mode of gaining ground. Both players are fine defensive workers, and would aid Sawin on the line. Stillman gets placed not so much for his rushing game as his fearless punting. He can always be relied upon to follow his interference closely, and goes into a hole like a shot. Teevens of Boston Latin pushes Stillman for the position, as he is the surer at gaining through the line.

The following tables complete the records of the New York, Connecticut, and Cook County football leagues:

N.Y.I.S.A.A. FOOTBALL CHAMPIONSHIP.

SECTION I.

Games Games Games Points Points won. lost. tied. won. lost. De La Salle 2 1 1 26 16 Berkeley 1 1 1 30 14 Barnard 1 2 0 12 32

SECTION II.

Trinity 2 0 0 50 0 Dwight 1[1] 2 0 8 42 Cutler 1 2 0 10 8

[1] This game was won by default from Cutler.

FINAL CHAMPIONSHIP GAME.

De La Salle 2--Trinity 0

SCORES OF GAMES PLAYED.

De La Salle 4--Barnard 6 De La Salle 6--Berkeley 6 De La Salle 6--Berkeley 0 De La Salle 10--Barnard 4[2] De La Salle 2--Trinity 0 Trinity 32--Dwight 0 Trinity 18--Cutler 0 Berkeley 24--Barnard 2 Cutler 10--Dwight 8 Cutler 0--Dwight 6[3]

[2] An all-round tie in Section I. necessitated a play-off, but as Berkeley forfeited, this was the only game played.

[3] Won by Dwight by default.

COOK COUNTY FOOTBALL LEAGUE.

T o u G c o h S a - a l d f s o e w t f n i r s e o s m f a B T i y P o l P o G u i O o i G a c n p i n a m h g p n t m e - o t s e s d G n s s o o e l l w a n W o w o n l t o s o s s s s n t n t

Englewood 12 3 .. 118 12 9 0 Hyde Park 14 11 .. 128 54 8 1 Lake View 11 4 .. 40 16 6 2 Evanston 11 4 .. 82 50 5 3 North Division 17 6 .. 126 72 5 4 English High 3 1 .. 22 24 4 5 Northwest Division 3 1 .. 22 86 3 6 Manual-Training 1 1 .. 10 78 2 7 Oak Park 6 3 .. 48 142 1 8 West Division 0 2 .. 8 84 1 8

CONNECTICUT I.S.F.B.A.

NORTHERN DIVISION.

October 31--New Britain H.-S., 42; Hartford H.-S., 6. November 7--New Britain H.-S., 50; Norwich[4] F. A., 0.

SOUTHERN DIVISION.

October 31--Meriden H.-S., 54; Hillhouse H.-S., 12. October 31--Bridgeport H.-S., 12; Waterbury H.-S., 8. November 7--Meriden H.-S., 20; Bridgeport H.-S., 12.

CHAMPIONSHIP GAME.

November 14--New Britain H.-S., 30; Meriden H.-S., 6.

[4] On October 31 Connecticut Lit. Inst. forfeited to Norwich F. A.

The Trinity School Football Team this year was the strongest that that school has ever put into the field; and although it did not win the New York championship, it made an enviable record for itself during the season. Thirteen games in all were played as follows:

Trinity 10--Yonkers High-School 0 Trinity 28--St. Austin's School 0 Trinity 4--Montclair High-School 2 Trinity 44--Packard Business College 4 Trinity 0--St. Paul's School 30 Trinity 6--Rutger Prep. School 0 Trinity 10--Staten Island C. C., 2d team 6 Trinity 0--Princeton Prep. School 10 Trinity *32--Dwight School 0 Trinity *18--Cutler School 0 Trinity * 0--De La Salle School 2 Trinity 10--Columbia Freshmen 0

The contests marked with a star were games played in the New York Interscholastic championship series.

For the first time in several years the Trinity players this season had a regular coach, to whom much of the credit of their success is due. The '95 team knew nothing of systematic interference, whereas this year's eleven was well trained in that branch of the sport, and developed a special strength on end plays. Only four of the '95 team returned to school this fall. These were Page, centre; Brown, left guard; Stromeyer, left half-back, and O'Rourke, full-back. Page and Brown were moved to tackles, and proved efficient in those positions.

On looking over the new material at the beginning of the season Captain O'Rourke found that he had an abundance of men capable of playing end and back, but there were not many heavy players for the centre of the line. Consequently in the early games Trinity's opponents made most of their advances through the centre; but this weakness was finally remedied, and the eleven developed a strong defence. With the experience acquired this season next year's eleven should prove particularly strong.

With the great development of football among all the schools, it has now come to be an important matter with the colleges to keep track of the scholastic players, and to depend upon them for material for the university elevens. In connection with this it is interesting to look over a list of the graduating football-players which has been recently compiled.

Beginning with the New York League we find that of the seven members of the Berkeley team who graduate next spring, Bien, Gilson, and Rice will go to Yale, Walker and Hasbrouck will go to Columbia, Wiley will enter Princeton, and Pell will not go to college at all. From the Cutler team Yale will get Kimball, Kip, and Lee, Harvard will get Hoffman and Sands, and McElroy will go to Columbia. Columbia will get four men from Drisler's eleven--Agate, Ballin, Furnald, and Wolff. Columbia also gets Brooks from Hamilton Institute; and from the same school Carey will go to Princeton, and Foster to Technology, Boston. Of the Dwight football-players, Bogart, Cameron, McCord, and Vinton go to Yale, Adler to Pennsylvania, Slawson to Princeton, and Eickemeyer to Columbia. From the champion team of De La Salle only two go to college--Tilford to Yale, and Bennett to Manhattan College.

Not so many men go to college from the Long Island League. Pratt Institute will send Bowie and Warner to Cornell, and Nevins to Columbia. Brooklyn Latin will send three men to Harvard--Lawrence, E. Motley, and J. L. Motley; Auchincloss, Brown, and Hoppin will go to Yale. From the championship team of St. Paul's, Garden City, Loraine, Symonds, and White will enter Harvard; and Cluett will go to Yale.

The Connecticut League will naturally send more football-players to Yale than to any other college. From Hotchkiss School six men will go down to New Haven--Hixon, Hoysradt, Montague, Noyes, Reynolds, and Savage. Two of the substitutes of the team, Coy, also a tennis-player, and Robertson, will likewise go to Yale. Fincke, football man and tennis champion, will go to Harvard. From the Hartford High-School Wood goes to Cornell; and Cutter, Gibb, Hanford, and Lockwood go to Yale. From Meriden Hubbard will go to Yale, and also possibly Gibson and Lane; Collins will enter Tufts College. From the champion New Britain team Yale will get Buckley, Corbin, and Flannery.

From other schools not in any of the large interscholastic leagues the larger colleges will also get a number of good men. From Andover, Yale will get Holladay, Swift, Wheeler, and White, and also one or more substitutes. Exeter will probably send three players to Harvard. From Lawrenceville, Cadwalader, Dudley, and Richards go to Yale; Loy and Mattis to Princeton. From the football team of St. Paul's, Concord, Henderson and Hollingsworth will enter Harvard; Vredenburg will go to Princeton; and Yale will get Campbell, Phipps, and Richardson, besides three or four substitutes of the team. Groton will send six football-players to Yale--Allen, Gillett, Smith, Strong, Twichell, and Whaples. Sturtevant will go to Trinity.

From St. Mark's, Southboro', Harvard will receive Wittemore; Technology of Boston will get Adams; while Hare and Nash will go to Yale. Westminster School will probably send six of the players of its team to Yale--Fabbri, Knapp, McLean, Nisbet, Scott, and Wells. From the Hill School only two of the first football team graduate--Keifer, who will go to Yale, and Fincke, who is undecided. Taft's School will send seven of its football men to New Haven--Bell, Barnett, Lear, Merriman, Townshend, Welch, and White.

"FOOTBALL FACTS AND FIGURES."--BY WALTER CAMP.--POST 8VO, PAPER, 75 CENTS.

THE GRADUATE.

ADVERTISEMENTS.

If you wish

the lightest,

sweetest, finest

cake, biscuit and bread,

ROYAL

BAKING POWDER

is indispensable

in their preparation.

ROYAL BAKING POWDER CO., NEW YORK.

QUESTIONS FOR YOUNG MEN.

ON DRESS.

There is a certain professor in a certain university of the United States who once, at the beginning of one of his lectures on fine arts, got on the subject of the kind of pins worn in the neck-ties of young college men. He was a good lecturer, and was always interesting, but this lecture was the most interesting of his course to the three hundred boys who heard him, and the whole hour was spent on neck-tie pins, their use and misuse, and what they suggested. The gist of what he said was that there was no more reason why a boy should wear a horseshoe with a whip across it all in gold than that houses should have sieves for roofs. And that as it was extremely foolish to put a big sieve on your house for a roof, so it was quite as foolish to wear horseshoes on your neck-ties. The principle of this is that you should have a reason in what you wear as well as in other things, and that senseless decorations, like horseshoes on neck-ties or neck-ties on horseshoes, are silly and unbecoming to a self-respecting person. This particular example was only one to illustrate a principle, which is that nothing unusual, queer, out of the ordinary, is in itself a good thing; that, in fact, most things that are queer and out of the ordinary are likely, in the question of dress, to be in bad taste. A man's dress ought to be quiet, but it _must_ be clean and well taken care of in every instance. The best dressed man is the man who, in whatever company he finds himself, is inconspicuous; who, you realize in an indefinite way, is well appointed, though you cannot well tell why. If you appear at a dinner in overalls, people say you are badly dressed, and they would repeat that wise observation if you went out in the field in a swallow-tail-coat. In the same way a man who has a flaring neck-tie or a purple handkerchief, or very long coat or very short trousers, is at once conspicuous, and therefore badly dressed.

This is not a question which involves the expenditure of money. A young man's clothing may be worn threadbare, but it can always be clean, and it costs no more to buy a quiet-colored cloth than to buy a big check of black and green or brown and yellow. If you study the matter a little you will find that you can tell the general character of any person by his clothes. Some men are sure to always wear slouchy clothes, half-soiled linen, a bright green neck-tie; others wear highly colored waistcoats; others again are always in the height of fashion--that is, a little in the extreme year after year; and still others make a point of being badly dressed and out of the prevalent style to show that they are not swayed by such silly laws as style. It is easy enough to place all these men in their proper places. And then, finally, you see some young chap whose clothes are clean, who is neither out of the style of the day nor in the height of it, whose clothes may be showing distinct signs of wear, but who seems to fit them pretty well, and to be noticeable in no particular way so far as they are concerned, and in all probability you put him down, if you think of the matter at all, as a man of common-sense, of decency, of self-respect, and good manners.

Then, again, some men sit in their shirt sleeves at home. There is no reason for this. It is merely a queer idea that you are more comfortable in that style of dress. But such men do not realize that their sisters, wives, mothers, naturally lose some of their respect for them, and that they unconsciously lose a good deal of respect for themselves. Certainly these sisters and wives and mothers are the girls and women we think most of, and why do we treat them with a disrespect that we would never think of subjecting strangers to in our own or in their homes? That disrespect to them is a boomerang, a reflector on us ourselves. If you dress quietly and decently and as well as you can, if you keep yourself and your clothes clean, you are more likely to keep morally clean, to think and act in a dignified way, and to treat others with proper respect. Of course there are great men who are slovenly, but they are never great because they are slovenly, and it would not dull their greatness if they kept themselves clean and orderly. It is because they grow careless, and carelessness is never excusable in any one. Think about your clothes, then, and avoid anything that will make you noticeable. That does not mean that one should always be thinking of what to wear, that one should be a dandy and a fop. It simply means that he should be a self-respecting man who tries to be decent.

* * * * *

Postmen sometimes have very lively experiences in the course of their daily rounds. It has often happened that on lonely roads they have had to fight their way against tramps and others who lie in wait to see what they can get that doesn't belong to them, and may be worth having. The most novel experience that has come to notice, however, was in the work of an English postman. It appears that on a recent Sunday a swarm of bees took possession of the village letter-box at Haunton, six miles from Tamworth. There is no collection on Sunday, and on Monday night, when the rural postman essayed to take out the letters, he was compelled to beat a speedy retreat, and no one could approach within twenty yards of the box. The postman avers that that was the liveliest mail he has had to do with in a long while.

* * * * *

BLÜCHER'S PIPE-BEARER.

There is a story told somewhere of an old Indian-fighter, one of the kind that trailed the war parties of the redskins far back in the last century. This veteran loved his pipe, and as the story goes, during one of his exploits the Indians followed his trail by the smell of the tobacco smoke, and finally a well-aimed bullet knocked the glowing bowl from his mouth. Thus warned, he made his escape.

This pipe story does not equal that told of Christian Hennemann, a countryman from Rostock, who fought with Field-Marshal Blücher at Waterloo. Those who are familiar with Blücher's life know of his partiality for a pipe, and even in the heat of battle he never neglected his smoke. As day broke the morning of the memorable battle of Waterloo, Blücher called the hussar Christian Hennemann, and placed him in charge of a box of clay pipes, with the instruction to keep one always ready to hand to him, that he might enjoy a few whiffs during the engagement.

As the morning wore on, Blücher sat on his white charger gravely puffing away. He had reached out his hand for the second time to take the refilled pipe, when an ungenerous cannon-ball dug up the ground near at hand, causing his horse to shy. Blücher hastily handed the pipe to Christian, saying, "Just keep that lighted for a few moments while I drive those rascally Frenchmen back."

The chase was a long one, as history relates, and through the hot summer day the battle waged and men fought and died. When the battle was over, Blücher and Wellington, who were riding over the scene together, happened to pass near where Blücher had first started to chase the enemy. Outlined against the sky a lonely man sat perched on a rock. A bloody rag was bound around his head, and one arm hung in a sling. He was calmly smoking a clay pipe.

With an exclamation of surprise Blücher pulled up.

"Why, it's my Hennemann! How you look, boy! What are you doing here alone?"

"Waiting for you, as ordered," was the grumbled reply. "Been waiting ever since you left. The French have shot away every pipe in the box. They ripped the flesh from my head and shattered my arm with their bullets. It's well there is an end to the battle, or you would have been too late even for this last pipe."

Wellington, turning to Blücher, remarked:

"You have admired the unflinching loyalty and bravery of my Highlanders. What shall I say of this brave soul?"

"But your Highlanders had no pipes to regale themselves with," Blücher replied.

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.

The prices of great rarities are not declining, and the common stamps are worth as much to-day as ever; but the middle-class U. S. stamps have had a serious decline during the past three months. However, the stock is not large, it cannot be increased, and the good stamps are constantly being spoiled by carelessness or destroyed by accident, hence the eventual return to higher values is inevitable.

A rumor has gone abroad that the Bureau of Engraving and Printing in Washington contemplates making an entirely new set of postage-stamps, or keeping the present dies and changing all the colors. In either case there will be a great demand for Plate Nos. The present prices of Plate Nos. are quite low, and collectors should make up their albums as soon as possible. If a new set of stamps is issued, almost every one will be able to get all the new Nos. at a slight advance on face values.

One of the New York dealers has adopted a new method of selling scarce stamps. For instance, a U. S. Revenue was placed in the window marked $20, the catalogue price, with a notice that the price would be reduced $1 each day until sold. Quite a number of collectors kept tally, and determined to buy the stamp when it had come down to $12 or $13. They are still waiting, as the stamp was sold at $14. Other dealers intend to do the same thing with other stamps, and in many instances they expect the stamp to be sold the second day.

S. P. KENNA.--There is no accounting for fashion, but the wise collector is one of those who set the fashion. Those who come in later must pay highest prices. Australians were the most sought after three or four years ago, then came West-Indians. U. S. stamps, of course, are, and probably will be, more sought after in this country than abroad.

J. SHACKHEIM.--A fine unused 90c. U. S. 1860 issue, sold at one auction for $11 a few days ago, and the next day a poor copy of the same stamp brought $13.50 at another auction. The first was very cheap, the second very dear. Unused high values U. S. will always be very scarce, and in some cases rare.

J. URBAN.--You have a very interesting lot of coins, but none of them is of such rarity as to be worth sending to a dealer. You will doubtless be able to get many others in time at nominal prices, and thus make up a good collection.

W. HAMMOND, 8 High St., Peabody, Mass., wishes to exchange stamps.

J. O. HALL.--To get the new stamps as issued I would advise you to join the American Philatelic Association. Address J. F. Beard, secretary, Muscatine, Iowa.

F. X. SCHMIDT.--The first coins struck for an American English-speaking country were the Sommer Island III., VI., XII. pence in 1616. These are now called the Bermuda Islands. The next coins were the New England III., VI., XII. in 1652, and the Pine-Tree pieces struck in the same year.

J. KLEINSCHMIDT.--There are two varieties of the 1869 15c. stamp. 1. The ordinary, in the frame of which, under the letter T of the word POSTAGE, is a diamond. This variety is worth $1.25 used. 2. The other has the diamond cut out, and this variety is worth $3 used.

A. A. DAVIS.--Brazil stamps, both used and unused, had been very low in price for all issues from 1850 to 1893. Daring the past two years they have gone up in price quite remarkably, as the dealers and collectors find that certain varieties are quite scarce. If you have the complete sets unused hold on to them, as prices are bound to advance.

PHILATUS.

You Should Have

"Harper's Round Table" for 1896