CHAPTER III.

When Cynthia asked at Mrs. Parker's door if that lady were at home it was not necessary for her to give her name. The maid recognized Miss Trinkett at once.

"Yes, she's at home, ma'am. And won't you please step into the parlor, Miss Trinkett? Mrs. Parker'll be glad to see you."

Mrs. Parker came hurrying down.

"Dear Miss Trinkett, how are you? Why, I should scarcely have known you! What have you done to yourself?"

Cynthia laughed her great-aunt's high _staccato_ laugh.

"Well, now, I want to know, Mrs. Parker! Don't you see what it is? Why, my nieces at Oakleigh, they saw right away what the difference was. I thought 'twas about time I was keeping up with the fashions, and so I bought me a fine new piece of hair for my front. I was growing somewhat gray, and I thought 'twas best to keep young on Silas's account. It isn't that I care for myself, but you have to be particular about men-folks, as you'll know when you've seen as much of them as I have."

Cynthia was a good actress, and she carried herself precisely as Miss Betsey did, and imitated her voice to perfection.

She repeated some of her aunt's best-known tales, and good Mrs. Parker never dreamed of the possibility of her caller being any one but worthy Miss Betsey Trinkett, of Wayborough, whom she had known for years.

Mrs. Parker was a great talker, and usually she was obliged to fight hard to surpass Miss Trinkett in that respect. During the first part of the call to-day it was as difficult as usual, but Mrs. Parker presently made a remark which reduced her visitor to a state of alarming silence.

"I suppose you have come to announce the news," said the hostess, smiling sympathetically.

"Now I don't know a bit of news. Why, my dear Mrs. Parker, Silas and I we never--"

"Ah, but this has nothing to do with Silas, though it may affect you, more or less. Surely you know what I am alluding to?"

"I haven't the least idea."

And Cynthia bridled with curiosity on her own account as well as Aunt Betsey's. She thought something interesting must be coming.

"Well, now, to think of my being the one to tell you something about your own family! I don't know whether I ought to, but I think it must be true, and you'll hear it in other ways soon enough. You know I have relatives in Albany, where she lives."

"Where who lives?"

"Miss Gordon, Hester Gordon. They say--but, of course, I don't know that it's true, it may be just report, but they do say-- I don't know whether I ought to tell you, I declare! that it won't be long before she's Mrs. Franklin."

"Mrs. Franklin!"

"Yes, Mrs. John Franklin. Hasn't your nephew told you? Well, well, these men! They do beat all for keeping things quiet."

"Is it true?"

It was Cynthia's natural voice that asked this question. She quite forgot that she was supposed to be Miss Betsey Trinkett.

"I suppose it is. But, dear me, Miss Trinkett, don't be worried! Seems to me you look very queer, though I can't see your face very well through that veil, and you with your back to the light. Your voice sounds sort of unnatural, too," added Mrs. Parker. "Let me get you some water."

"Oh no, it is nothing," said Cynthia, who had quickly recovered herself, and was now summoning all her energy to finish the call in a proper manner. "You surprised me, that's all, and I never did care much for surprises. But I think there's not much truth in that, Mrs. Parker. I don't believe my fa--nephew is going to be married again. In fact, I'm very sure he is not." And she nodded her head emphatically.

"Ah, my dear Miss Trinkett, you never can tell. Sometimes a man's family is the last to hear those things. And it will be a good match, too. She comes of an old family, and she has a great deal of money. The Gordons are all rich."

"Do you suppose he'd care for that?" exclaimed her visitor, wrathfully.

"Well, well, one never knows! And think how much better it would be for the children. Edith is too young to have so much care, and they say Cynthia runs wild most of the time, just like a boy. Indeed, I call it a very good thing. Though I must say she is a pretty brave woman to take on herself the care of that family."

Here "Miss Betsey" suddenly darted for the door. It could be endured no longer. Mrs. Parker bade her farewell, and then went back to tell her daughters that Miss Trinkett was sadly changed. Though she was still so young in appearance, she was evidently very much broken.

For some time Jack could obtain no reply to his questions, but at last Cynthia's resolution broke down, and she burst into tears. They had turned into a shady lane instead of going directly home, and there was no danger of meeting any one.

"Jack, Jack!" she moaned, "I'll have to tell you. Mrs. Parker says papa is going to be married again! What shall we do! What shall we do!"

For answer Jack indulged in a prolonged whistle.

"Isn't it the most dreadful thing you ever heard of? Jack, how shall we ever endure it?"

"Well, it mayn't be as bad as you think. If she's nice--"

"Oh, Jack, she won't be! Stepmothers are never nice. I never in my life heard of one that was. She'll be horrid to us all."

"Oh, I say, that's nonsense. If you were to marry a widower with a lot of children you'd be nice to them."

"Jack, the very idea! _I_ marry a widower with a lot of children! I'd like to see myself doing such a thing!"

Cynthia almost forgot her present troubles in her wrath at her brother's suggestion.

"Well, after all it may not be true. Because Mrs. Parker says so, doesn't prove it. Where did she hear it?"

"From some of her Albany relations, I suppose. The--the lady lives there. But, oh, Jack! Do you think there is any chance of its not being true?" cried Cynthia, catching at the least straw of hope.

"Why, of course! Father hasn't told us, and you can't believe all the gossip you hear," said Jack, loftily.

"Perhaps it isn't true, after all," exclaimed Cynthia, drying her eyes and smiling once more, "and I've been boo-hooing all for nothing! I sha'n't say a word about it to Edith, and don't you either, Jack. It isn't worth while to worry her, and Mrs. Parker is a terrible gossip."

They went home, and Cynthia gave her sister a gay account of her visit, carefully omitting all exciting items, and then she helped Edith put away some of the things, and finally was free to go on the river in the afternoon. Jack, boylike, had forgotten all about Mrs. Parker's news. He did not believe it, and therefore it was not worth thinking of. But Cynthia's mind was not so easily diverted. She did not believe it, either, but then it might be true, and if it were, what was to be done? It seemed as if a worse calamity could not happen.

Jack, her usual companion on the river, was busy with some carpentry. He was making a "brooder" like one he had bought, to serve as a home for the little chicks when they should be hatched. He used the "barn chamber" for a workshop, and the sound of his saw and his hammer could be heard through the open window.

Cynthia was deeply interested in poultry-raising, but she wished it did not consume so much of her brother's time and attention.

Edith was going to the village to an afternoon tea at the Morgans'. Gertrude Morgan was her most intimate friend, and all the nicest girls and boys would be there to talk over a tennis tournament. Cynthia was rather sorry that she had not been asked. She said to herself that she would be of more value in the discussion than Edith, for she really played tennis, while Edith merely stood about looking graceful and pretty. However, she had not been invited, and, after all, the river was more fun than any afternoon tea.

One of the men put the canoe in the water for her, and, with a huge stone to act as ballast, she paddled up stream, browsing along the banks looking for wild flowers, or steering her way through the rocks, of which the river was very full just at this point.

Cynthia, fond as she was of companionship, being of an extremely sociable disposition, was never lonely on her beloved river.

Edith dressed herself carefully and drove off to the tea. She looked very attractive in her spring gown of gray and her large black hat, and as she studied herself in the small old-fashioned mirror that hung in her room she felt quite pleased with her appearance.

"If I only had more nice gloves I should be satisfied," she thought. "It is so horrid to be saving up one pair, and having to wear such old things for driving and whisk them off just before I get to a place and put on the good ones. And a handsome parasol would be so nice. I don't think I'll take this old thing. I don't really need one to-day. I wonder where the children are. I ought to look them up, I suppose, but they are all right, somewhere, and it is getting late. After all, why should I always be the one to run after those children?"

And then she drove away to Brenton, leaving housekeeping cares behind her, and prepared for a pleasant afternoon.

About half a dozen boys and girls had already arrived at the Morgans' when Edith drove in. It was a fine old house standing far back from the road, and surrounded with shady grounds. The river was at the back. A smooth and well-kept tennis-court was on the left of the drive as one approached the house, and here the guests were assembled.

"Oh, here's Edith Franklin at last!" cried Gertrude Morgan, while her brother went forward, and, after helping Edith to alight, took her horse and drove down to the stable.

Presently all the tongues were buzzing, each one suggesting what he or she considered the very best plan for holding a tournament. It was finally arranged to have it at the tennis club rather than at the Morgans', as had at first been thought best, and it would be open to all the comers who had reached the age of fourteen.

"That is very young," said Gertrude, "but we really ought to have it open to Cynthia Franklin. She is one of the best players in Brenton."

"By all means," said her brother, who was always on the side of the Franklins, "and, Edith, you'll play with me, won't you, in mixed doubles?"

"Oh, I don't play well enough!" exclaimed Edith. "Thank you ever so much, Dennis, but you had better ask some one else. I don't think I'll play."

Every one objected to this, but it was finally settled that Edith should act as one of the hostesses for the important occasion, which was greatly to her satisfaction. She rather enjoyed moving slowly and gracefully about, pouring tea and lemonade, and handing it to the poor, heated players, who were obliged to work so hard for their fun.

They were startled by the sound of the clock on the church across the road. It struck six, and Edith rose in haste.

"I must go," she said. "I had no idea it was so late! Those children have probably gotten into all kinds of mischief while I've been away, and papa will not be home until late, so I am not to wait in the village for him."

The others looked after her as she drove away.

"Isn't she the sweetest, dearest girl?" cried Gertrude. "And won't it be hard for her if her father marries again, as every one says he is going to do? But, after all, it may be a good thing, for then Edith wouldn't have to do so much for the children. I wonder if she knows about it? She hasn't breathed a word of it, even to me."

Janet and Willy, the inseparable but ever-fighting pair, came in at the side door, not very long after Edith went to the village. They found the house empty and the coast clear, and their active brains immediately set to work to solve the question of what mischief they could do.

They wandered into the big silent kitchen. The servants were upstairs, and beyond the buzzing of a fly on the window-pane and the singing of the kettle on the range perfect quiet reigned.

"Let's go down and see the inkerbaker," suggested Willy.

"All right," returned Janet, affably, and down they pattered as fast as their sturdy little legs could carry them.

They peered in through the glass front at the eggs, which lay so peacefully within.

"It must be turrible stupid in there," said Janet, pityingly. "Shouldn't you think those chickens would be tired of waiting to come out?"

"Yes. We might crack a lot and help 'em out."

"Oh, no. Jack says they won't be ready for two days. But I'll tell you what we might do. We might see whether it's hot enough for 'em in there. I guess Jack's forgotten all about 'em. I don't believe he's been near 'em to-day, nor Martha, either."

"How d'yer find out whever it's hot enough?"

"I don't know. Guess you open the door, and put your hand in and feel."

For Janet had never been taught the significance of the thermometer inside, and knew nothing of the proper means of ventilating the machine.

No sooner said than done. One of the doors was promptly opened, and two fat hands were thrust into the chamber.

"My goodies, it's hot there!" cried Janet. "We ought to cool it off. Let's leave the door open and turn down the lamp, and open the cellar window."

Mounted on an old barrel, Janet, at the risk of her life, struggled in vain with the window. She chose one that was never used, and it refused to respond to her efforts. Then she descended, and returned to the incubator.

"Can't do it," she said. "But I'll tell you what we'll do."

"What?" asked the ever-ready Willy.

"Pour some ice water over 'em. That'll cool 'em nicely."

They travelled up the cellar stairs to the "cooler," which stood in the hall.

"Wish we had a pitcher," said Janet. "You take the tum'ler, and I'll get a dipper."

It required several journeys to and fro to sufficiently cool the eggs, according to their way of thinking, but at last it was accomplished, with much dripping of water and splashing of clean clothes.

The water-cooler was left empty, and the incubator was in a state of dampness alarming to behold.

"There; I guess it's cool enough now!" said Janet, when the last trip had been taken.

Alas, the mercury, which should have remained at 103 deg., had dropped quietly down to 70 deg..

"I'd like to see what's in those eggs," said Willy, meditatively. "D'yer s'pose they're chickies yet?"

"I guess so. I'd like to see, too. I'll tell you what, Willy? Let's take one, and carry it off and see."

"All right. I'll be the one to take it. What'll Jack say?"

"He won't mind. Just one egg, and he has such a lot. And we've been helping him lots this afternoon, cooling 'em off so nicely. But I'll be the one to take it."

"No, me!"

"Let's both do it," said Janet, for once anxious to avoid a quarrel. "I speak for that big one over there," and she abstracted one from the "thermometer row," the row that was most important and precious in the eyes of the owner of the machine.

"And I'll take dis one. It's awful heavy, and I guess de dear little chicken'll he glad to get out and have some nice fresh air."

"Let's go down behind the carriage-house and look at 'em."

They fastened the door of the incubator, and departed with their treasures.

Half an hour later, Jack, having finished his work, came whistling into the house. He would go down and have a look at the machine, and then walk up the river-bank to meet Cynthia, whom he had seen as she paddled off early in the afternoon.

His first glance at the thermometer gave him a shock--75 deg. it registered. What had happened? He looked at the lamp which heated the chambers, and found that it had been turned down very low. What could Martha have been thinking of, when he told her it was so important to keep up the temperature this last day or so? The day after to-morrow he expected the hatching to begin, and he had closed the door of the incubator that morning. It was not to be opened again until the chicks were out.

Jack was on tiptoe with excitement. If they came out well, what a triumph it would be! If they failed, what would his father say?

He looked again, and a most unexpected sight met his eyes. Water was dripping from the trays, and the fine gravel beneath had become mud.

And there was a vacant space in the tray. An egg had gone--and it was from the third row, the row which he had been so careful about, which contained the best eggs.

And, yes, surely there was another hole. Another egg gone! What could have happened?

He ran up stairs three steps at a time, shouting for Martha.

"What have you been doing, Martha?" he cried. "Two eggs are gone, and the thermometer way below 80 deg., and all that water!"

"Sure, Mr. Jack, I haven't been there at all! You were at home yourself to-day, and I never go near the place of a Saturday."

"Well, some one has been at it. Where's Cynthia? Where's Edith? Why isn't somebody at home to attend to things?"

No one could be found. Jack rushed frantically about, and at last heard the sound of wheels. Edith was returning from the tea. And at the same moment, around the corner of the house came Cynthia, leading two crying children.

They all met on the front porch.

"They've been up to mischief, Jack," said Cynthia; "I hope they haven't done much harm. I found them on the bank behind the carriage-house. They must have been at the incubator, for they had two eggs and the chickens are dead. And they are two bad, naughty children!"

Even Cynthia the peacemaker had been stirred to righteous wrath by the sight on the river-bank.

"You rascals!" cried Jack, in a fury, shaking them each in turn; "I'd like to lick you to pieces! You've ruined the whole hatch."

"Go straight to bed," said Edith, sternly; "you are the very worst children I ever knew. I ought not to leave the house a minute. You can't be trusted at all."

They all went in, scolding, storming, and crying. In the midst of the confusion Mr. Franklin arrived, earlier than he had been expected. It was some minutes before he could understand the meaning of the uproar.

He looked about from one to the other.

"It only serves to justify me in a conclusion that I have reached," he said. "You are all too young to be without some one to look after you. Take the children to bed, Edith, and then come to me. I have something to tell you."

Edith, wondering, did as she was told. Cynthia gave Jack one despairing look and fled from the room. Her worst fears were on the point of being realized.

And after tea, when they were sitting as usual in the long parlor, Mr. Franklin, with some hesitation and much embarrassment, informed them that he was engaged to be married to Miss Hester Gordon, of Albany.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

BY WILLIAM HAMILTON GIBSON.

he pretty works of my fairy and his companions in mischief are seen on every hand from spring until winter, but few of us have ever seen the fay, for Puck is no myth nor Ariel a creature of the poet's fancy. Their prototype existed in entomological entity and demoralizing mischievousness ages before the traditional fay, in diminutive human form, had been dreamt of. The quaint bow-legged little "brownies" which have brought our entire land beneath the witching spell of their drollery can scarce claim prestige in the ingenuity of their mischief, nor can the droll doings of imps and elves chronicled in the folk-lore of many an ancient people begin to match the actual doings of the real, live, busy little fairy whose works abound in meadow, wood, and copse, and which any of us may discover if we can once be brought to realize that our imp is visible. Then we must not forget that ideal type of the true "fairy"--a paragon of beauty and goodness, with golden hair and dazzling crown of brilliants, with her airy costume of gossamer begemmed and spangled, her dainty twinkling feet and gorgeously painted butterfly wings. And we all remember that wonderful wand which she carried so gracefully, and whose simple touch could evoke such a train of surprising consequences.

And who shall say that our pretty fay is a myth, or her magic wand a wild creation of the fancy? May we not see the wonder-workings of that potent wand on every hand, even though our fairy has eluded us while she cast the spell? There are a host of these wee fairies continually flitting about among the trees plotting all sorts of mischief, and leaving an astonishing witness of their visitation in their trail as they pass from leaf to leaf or twig to twig. But these fairies, like those of Grimm and Laboulaye, are agile little atoms, and are not to be caught in their pranks if they know it, and even though our eye chanced to rest on one of them, it is doubtful whether we would recognize him, so different is the guise of these _real_ fairies from those invented Creatures of the books. Once, when a mere boy, I caught one of the little imps at work, and watched her for several minutes without dreaming that I had been looking at a real fairy all this time. What did I see? I was sitting in a clearing, partly in the shade of a sapling growth of oak which sprang from the trunk of a felled tree. While thus half reclining I noticed a diminutive black wasplike insect upon one of the oak leaves close to my face.

The insect seemed almost stationary and not inclined to resent my intrusion, so I observed her closely. I soon discovered that she was inserting her sting into the midstem of the leaf, or, perhaps, withdrawing it therefrom, for in a few moments the midge flew away. I remember wondering what the insect was trying to do, and not until years later did I realize that I had been witnessing the secret arts of the magician of the insect world--a very Puck or Ariel, as I have said--a fairy with a magic wand which any sprite in elfindom might covet.

The wand of Hermann never wrought such a wonder as did this magic touch of the little black fly upon the oak leaf. Had I chanced to visit the spot a few weeks later, what a beautiful red-cheeked apple could I have plucked from that hemstitched leaf!

This was but one of a veritable swarm of mischief-making midges everywhere flitting among the trees; and while they are quite as various in their shapes as the traditional forms of fairies--the ouphes and imps, the gnomes and elves of quaintest mien, as well as the dainty fays and sylphs and sprites--there is one feature common to them all which annihilates the ideal of all the pictorial authorities on fairydom. Neither Grimm, nor Laboulaye, nor any of the masters of fairy lore seems to have discovered that a fairy has no right to those butterfly wings which the pages of books show us. Those of the real fairy are quite different, being narrow and glassy, and bear the magician's peculiar sign in their crisscross veins.

What a world of mischief is going on here in the fields! Here is one of the witching sprites among the drooping blossoms of the oak. "You would fain be an acorn," she says, as she pierces the tender blossoms with her wand, "but I charge thee bring forth a string of currants"; and immediately the blossoms begin to obey the behest, and erelong a mimic string of currants droops upon the stem. Upon another tender branch near by a jet-black gauze-winged elf is casting a similar spell, which is this time followed by a tiny downy pink-cheeked peach. And here alights a tiny sprite, whose magic touch evokes even from the _same_ leaf a cherry, or a coral bead, perhaps a huge green apple! How many of us have seen the little elf that spends her life among the tangles of creeping cinque-foil, and decks its stems with those brilliant scarlet beads which we may always find upon them, looking verily like tempting berries.

We see here about us swarms of these busy elves in obedience to their own peculiar mischievous promptings. What whispers this glittering midge to the oak twig here to which she clings so closely? We may not guess; but if we pass this way a month or so hence what a beautiful response in the glistening rosy-clouded sponge which encircles the stem! "But this sponge is not pretty enough by half," exclaims a rival fairy. "Wait until you see what yonder sweet-brier rose will do for _me_." Hovering thither among its thorns she imparts her spell, and, lo! within a month the stem is clothed in emerald fringe, which grows apace, until it has become a dense pompon of deep crimson--a sponge worthy the toilet of the fairy queen herself!

Who shall still say that the fairy is a myth! These two fairy sponges are familiar to us all, at least to those of us who dwell for even a small part of the year in the country and use our eyes. Indeed, we need go no further than our city parks, or even our "back-yard" gardens to find at least one of them, for the sweet-brier is rarely neglected by this particular fairy.

So many specimens of both of these sponges have been sent to me by ROUND TABLE correspondents and others, that I have begun to wonder how many of those other young people who have seen them and kept silence have wondered at their secret.

The two fairies which are responsible for these sponges have been captured by the inquisitive scientist, and have had their portraits taken for the rogues' gallery, and now we see them stuck upon tiny little three-cornered pieces of paper, and pinned in the specimen case as mere _insects_--gall-flies. The one is labelled _Cynips seminator_, the other, _Cynips rosae_.

And now the prosaic entomologist proceeds to supplant fact for fancy. This gall-fly is a sort of cousin to the wasps, but what we would call its sting is more than a mere sting. Like a sting, it seems to puncture the bark or leaf, and at the same time probably to inject its drop of venom; but at the same time it conveys to the depths of the wound a tiny egg, or perhaps a host of them. One gall-fly is thus a magician in chemistry, at least, for no sooner are these eggs deposited than the wounded branch begins to swell and form a cellular growth or tumor about them, the character of this abnormal growth depending upon the peculiar charm of the venomous touch--to one a tiny coral globe, to another a cluster of spines, to another a curved horn, and to our cynips of the white or scrub oak a peculiar globular spongy growth which completely envelops the stem, sometimes to the size of a small apple. In its prime it is a beautiful object, with its fibrous glistening texture studded with pink points. But this condition lasts but a few days, when the entire mass becomes brownish and woolly, which fact has given this insect the common name of "wool-sower."

And now we must lose no time if we would follow its history to its complete cycle. If we put one of these faded sponges in a tight-closed box, we shall in a few days learn the secret of its being. For this singular mimic fruit, which has sprung at the behest of the gall-fly, like other fruits, has its seeds--seeds which are animated with peculiar life, and which sprout in a way we would hardly expect. Within a fortnight after gathering, perhaps, we find our box swarming with tiny black flies, while if we dissect the sponge we find its long-beaked seeds entirely empty, and each with a clean round hole gnawed through its shell, explaining this host of gall-flies, all similar to the parent of a few weeks since, and all bent on the same mischief when you shall let them loose at the window.

The beautiful sponge of the sweet-brier has been called into being by exactly similar means. And its hard woody centre is packed full of cells, at first each with its tiny egg, and then with its plump larva, followed by the chrysalis, and at length by the emergence of the full-fledged _Cynips rosae_.

This sponge-gall of the rose is commonly known as the Bedegnar, and like all other members of its tribe, as with the familiar oak-apple, was long supposed to be a regular accessory fruit of its parent stalk. Among early students were many superstitions connected with the Bedegnar, the nature of which may readily be inferred from its other common name of "Robin's Pin-cushion."

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.

A LIST OF DON'TS FOR STAMP COLLECTORS.

Don't paste your stamps into your albums, but use "stickers" or "hinges."

Don't use any old copy-book if you can afford to buy an album. Dealers can supply albums at any price from twenty-five cents upward.

Don't trim your stamps. Many valuable stamps have been ruined by this process.

Don't cut envelope stamps to shape. Cut them out square, leaving a good margin on all sides.

Don't handle your stamps any more than you can help.

Don't buy rare stamps from any but responsible dealers. Some counterfeits resemble the genuine stamps marvellously. No one not an expert could tell them apart.

Don't buy Chinese locals, "Seebecks," and other philatelic trash, which is made purposely for sale to stamp collectors.

Don't expect to get something for nothing.

FRANK P. HELSEL.--The U. S. 12c. 1872 issue is worth 15 cents. The 50c. green Mauritius 1880 issue is worth 60 cents, unused; 85 cents, used. The "U.S. Post" is the 1864 issue; worth 15 cents.

W. L. L. P.--Most of the Heligoland stamps sold are reprints. They are worth 3 cents each. Originals are worth from 15 cents to $5 each.

JAMES H. CREIGHTON.--The two stamps are the 3c. 1861 and 1872. They are sold by stamp-dealers at 1 cent each.

J. A. M.--There is no premium on the 1872 U. S. 1c. coin.

R. F. B.--The U. S. 2c. stamp bearing a representation of a horseman is the 1869 issue, worth 8 cents used, 25 cents unused.

J. DUFF.--The coin-dealers ask $1.50 for good copies of the 1877 trade dollar. There are several varieties of the 1801 and 1797 copper cents worth from 25 cents to $3 each, according to condition. There is no premium on the Canadian coin.

G. G. BEATTIE.--Write to any stamp-dealer whose address you find in our advertising columns. We cannot give addresses in this Department. The German coin mentioned has no premium.

HARRY RILEY, Brunswick, Maine, wants to correspond with some members of the ROUND TABLE living in Central or South America. Most of the Hamburg stamps in albums are reprints. When the word "cancelled" is printed on a stamp it cannot be used for postage. It is simply a "specimen" or fac-simile. The Hong-Kong stamps mentioned by you have not yet been catalogued.

G. KNAUFF.--Many thanks for calling my attention to the three varieties of the present 2c. U. S. (1) The variety in which the horizontal lines run across the triangular ornaments in uniform thickness. (2) That in which the horizontal lines between the outer and inner lines of the ornaments are deepened. (3) That in which the lines are entirely missing between the outer and inner lines of the ornaments. All three were known, and in addition there is the variety showing a flaw in the forehead. This is sometimes found strongly marked; in others it is more or less distinct. I advise philatelists to collect all these varieties, as well as all the shades of color, which are almost innumerable.

LAURA WELCH.--Both the stamp and the embossed envelope were used by the War Department for several years. This use has been discontinued many years. The stamp is worth 5 cents, the 1c. envelope, if on white paper, is worth $2.50, if on amber paper $35, if on manila paper 5 cents

L. P. DODGE.--The stamp you describe is one of the German locals which are not collected in this country. There are many counterfeits of the New Orleans Confederate local. It is impossible to say whether your copy is genuine or counterfeit without examination.

H. R. C.--The present blue Special Delivery is collected as a new variety. The Sedang stamps are worthless. Your complaint will be investigated if you will send the Stamp Editor your full name and address.

F. E. WELSH, JUN.--"Regular" perforations cut out little circles of white paper between each stamp on the sheet. "Pin" perforations are simply holes punched into the spaces between the stamps without removing the little circles of white paper. Saw-tooth perforations are simply cuts into the spaces between the stamps somewhat like this--v v v v v v. When the stamps are torn apart the margins look just like the teeth on a saw. The Columbian stamps are rapidly advancing in value. The 8c. Sherman has dropped in value during the past year from 4 cents to a 1/2 cent each.

JAMES F. ANDERSON.--The stamp you describe is the New Orleans local. It is worth at least $1.50.

A. W. DUNCAN.--The 1830 half-dollar is not at a premium.

R. B. H.--The 3c. green U.S. is worth 1 cent.

F. LOCKE.--The 1853 dime is worth face value only.

GEO. H.--We cannot answer questions regarding dealers in this column.

B. W. LEAVITT.--The 50c. revenue-stamps mentioned are sold by dealers at 2 cents each.

C. C. COONER.--The 1c. blue 1861 is worth 3 cents; the others are worth 1 cent each.

PHILATUS.

THAT SLEIGHT-OF-HAND PERFORMANCE.

BY CHARLES M. SHELDON.

It had been a very dull winter at Colby, and when we college boys came home for our Christmas vacation we determined we would liven it up for the village.

As it happened, curiously enough, a funeral was the cause of the lively time that followed our determination.

Old Father Colby, one of the original settlers, had died the week before, leaving a wife and three orphaned grandchildren in the old homestead, and, as it turned out, very destitute. So the idea occurred to us to get up a benefit entertainment, and turn over the proceeds to the widow Colby and her family of grandchildren.

The idea took with the neighborhood. And we at once rented the Town-hall, and proceeded to bill the village and every barn in the township with the notices of our performance.

There were three of us: Tom Chandler, Jonas Willitts, and myself, Peter Samuels. We were the only village boys who had ever been to college, and we were the envy of all the farmers' boys and the admiration of all the village girls. So we made the most of our brief vacations to get into public notice.

We determined to give a sleight-of-hand performance. Tom sent down to Boston for materials, and we all practised diligently, keeping everything as secret as if we were in a conspiracy against the United States.

Our announcements, which were scattered all over the township, were certainly very attractive. They read as follows:

"Extraordinary Performance to be given at the Town-hall, Colby, December 20, 18--. Marvellous Feats of Prestidigitatorism! The Egg and the Handkerchief! The Watch Mortar and Magic Pistol!

"The Handkerchief that will not Burn! The Pudding in the Hat! The Inexhaustible Bottle! And Numerous other Marvels and Mysteries lately Imported from India and the East!

"The above Unrivalled Performance will be given for only 25 cents admission. Proceeds to be devoted to Benevolent Cause. Doors open at 7.30. Performance to begin at 8. Come early and avoid being turned away. No reserved seats. Carriages may be ordered for ten o'clock."

We debated some over the last line on the handbills, but finally decided to let it go in. It made the bills look more cosmopolitan and did no harm.

Tom and Jonas were to be the principal performers. I was general ticket agent and business and stage manager. We all had our dress suits with us, and, of course, we wore them when the time came.

Well, that was the largest crowd that ever came to an entertainment in Colby. There hadn't been anything going on all winter. Most of the young people had never seen any sleight-of-hand tricks, and all the old people turned out to help Grandma Colby. Before eight o'clock the hall was jammed. Every seat was taken, and people crowded into the broad aisle and sat on the platform, and stood up all around in a black fringe against the wall.

We had rigged up a curtain in front of the narrow platform, and at eight o'clock, when the hall was so full that no more people could get into it, the curtain was pulled aside by Peter Samuels, the stage director, and revealed the Magician's Home.

The first trick on the programme was "The Egg and the Handkerchief." Jonas was behind the table acting as Tom's assistant, while I was stationed just out of sight behind a fold of the curtain, ready to step in at the right moment, for the trick required the use of three persons.

It was simple enough, and yet Tom's blunder at the start led to the ridiculous accident which was the first of a series that made that sleight-of-hand performance a thing for Colby people to reckon time from.

The trick was, first, for Tom to produce an egg from Jonas's month by rapping him on the back of his head, Jonas already having been provided with a guinea-hen's egg secreted in his mouth for the purpose. Then, when the egg appeared, Tom was to pretend to place it in a handkerchief, really substituting for it a china egg of the same size, and slipping the real egg into a little pochette of his dress-coat. What he did, however, was to drop the real egg into the handkerchief, because, as he afterwards said, the china egg stuck in his pochette, and he could not get it out. The next part of the trick was to gather up the four corners of the handkerchief and whirl it around rapidly, saying, "Ladies and gentlemen, keep your eyes on my assistant yonder." At that point I stepped out, holding on a plate a very nice-looking sponge-cake previously prepared. Then Tom was to say: "I will now cause the egg in the handkerchief to pass into the cake. Watch closely, ladies and gentlemen."

At that point Tom should have brought the handkerchief around in such a way as to slip the china egg out into his other hand. Then I was to come forward and cut open the cake, displaying an egg (also china), previously placed within. And then Tom was to have produced the real egg, and in order to prove that it was a real egg within the cake (exchanging the two by palming one of them), he was to break the real one into a dish.

All this, which sounds so complex to describe, was simple enough as we had rehearsed it, and even with Tom's blunder of dropping the real egg in the handkerchief, might have turned out all right if he had not let go one of the corners of the handkerchief as he whirled it around his head. I, Peter Samuels, stage manager and director of that extraordinary performance of "Marvellous Feats of Prestidigitatorism," will never forget my sensations when, as I advanced solemnly with the cake, a white body whizzed through the air and struck me full on my expansive shirt bosom, breaking with a splash, and running down over my vest and trousers in a yellow stream.

I remember the scared look on Jonas's face, the perfectly horrified expression that Tom wore, and also remember dimly wondering if a guinea-fowl's egg would make as large an omlet as that of an ostrich. For it seemed to me as if I was swimming in egg batter.

The next instant the audience broke into a perfect roar of laughter. I threw the cake down on the table and rushed back of the curtain again, leaving Tom and Jonas to get out of the blunder as best they could, while I wiped off the egg as best I could with my handkerchief.

How that audience did roar! Tom stood with a knife in his hand waiting to cut the cake. He said afterwards he felt mad enough to jump down off the platform and pummel half a dozen big boys on the front seat. But he kept his temper, and when the laugh died down he cut the cake open and showed the egg, saying something about its being a small-sized egg on account of spilling a part of it on the way. So that mystified the people a little and restored the reputation of the performance, at least for a while.

The next trick was an easy one, and went off without any slip, and was applauded. Tom and Jonas had the stage to themselves for a while, and I staid out of sight and scrubbed at the egg. But do what I could, my shirt bosom was ruined.

Then came the "Watch Mortar" trick, and to my dying day I shall never forget how that turned out. Neither will Tom.

We had an apparatus made to resemble an old-fashioned druggists' mortar. It was really made of tin, in two compartments, so that any heavy object dropped into it would depress a false bottom and drop through on a shelf back of the magician's table, at the same time letting into the upper part of the mortar the fragments of an old watch previously pounded into bits. Then Tom was to pretend to smash the borrowed watch, and afterwards fire a pistol at me and take the real watch from my vest pocket, where he would place it when he went back of the scenes for his pistol.

He described his intentions and asked for a watch from the audience. Uncle Job Cavendish, the village barber, handed up an old silver-case time-piece that was worth perhaps $3.

Tom took it, and after a good deal of talk, dropped it down into the mortar, picked up the ridiculous club used for a pestle, and began to pound away. There was a great smashing sound, and poor Uncle Job looked serious. But he did not begin to look half so serious as Tom did, and I saw in a minute that something was wrong.

He dropped the pestle, and said hurriedly to the audience, "Ladies and gentlemen, I find I have left my pistol in the other room. Excuse me while I run after it."

Then Tom came into the wing where I stood, and jerking his own gold watch out of his pocket, thrust it into mine, and whispered to me fiercely, "That mortar stuck in some way, and I smashed Uncle Job's watch into chicken-feed! Here is mine! I'll have to give him something back, or we'll be mobbed out of the village!"

Then he grabbed up the stage pistol and hurried back. He rammed the remains of Uncle Job's poor watch down the big mouth of the pistol, and I stepped forth, baring my egg-stained bosom to the pistol shot. Bang! went the powder from the false chamber of the pistol, and Tom, with a ghastly smile, stepped up to me and pulled his watch out of my pocket, and with the utmost courage leaned out over the edge of the platform and handed the watch to Uncle Job, saying, "Here you are, sir! Not only as good as new, but changed from silver to gold!"

Uncle Job was so taken by surprise that he sat with open mouth. He took the watch and looked at it in dumb astonishment. The audience was taken as much by surprise as he was.

Tom and Jonas held a hurried consultation, and at once announced the next trick. There was a great deal of confusion in the hall. Several voices shouted out, "Show the silver watch!" Tom paid no attention, and the next half-dozen tricks were so well done that the people applauded, and we began to gain fresh courage.

But alas! The next on the programme was the "Handkerchief that will not burn."

Almost any one with a little practice can pass a handkerchief obliquely through the flame of a candle without burning it. All that is needed is the proper dexterity. And this caution must be heeded. The handkerchief must be free from cologne or perfumery, which contains spirits, and is very inflammable.

This was Jonas's trick. He called for a lady's handkerchief, and who should hand one up but Sally Conners, the prettiest girl in the village, and the one of all with whom Jonas was smitten.

But to the grief of Jonas, Sally was very much addicted to perfumery, and had that evening drenched her handkerchief with it. Jonas lighted the candle, keeping up a running talk about making the handkerchief enchanted, and then he passed it through the flame.

The effect could not have been more certain if he had poured kerosene on the candle. Poor Sally's delicate perfume-drenched handkerchief blazed up in an instant like a display of fireworks. Jonas squeezed his hands around the fragments that were left, and danced around the stage, howling at the sudden pain of the burn. And the audience went wild. I thought it never would stop laughing. Tom was desperate. I could see he meant to conclude the performance before we had ruined our reputations forever.

With becoming modesty he addressed himself to the audience when it had tired of laughing, and announced that the entertainment would close with the startling trick, "The pudding in the hat."

He and Jonas had practised this until they felt sure of it. Like all sleight-of-hand tricks, it is easy enough if properly done.

First Jonas prepared a dish of batter made of eggs broken in, shells and all, a little flour, milk, raisins, and molasses. A ridiculous mixture, from which, he assured the audience, would come forth a beautiful pudding, nicely baked in a stovepipe hat, which he would wear on his own head to prove that there was nothing in it. A sentence which had a double meaning, and to which Jonas fully assented in every particular before the evening was over.

Well, the dish that held the batter was poured into the hat, apparently. Of course it was really poured into a tin which exactly fitted into the hat, and which contained also a second tin concealing the pudding, tipped into it by Tom at the proper moment. Then the next part of the trick consisted in placing the hat on Jonas's head, while he was to strut about the stage jauntily. Then the hat would be removed, and lo! in the centre of it would be found the pudding nicely baked.

Now, whether Tom made some mistake in getting those tins canted into the hat properly or not will never be known. Perhaps he pulled the hat down too hard over Jonas's brows when he put it on him, and so loosened something. At any rate, Jonas had not taken two steps before a streak of batter was seen running down over his face. Then the whole hat seemed to let go like a broken reservoir, and the milk and molasses and egg and flour streamed down in a shower over the miserable Jonas.

He tried to pull the hat off, and did so, leaving on his head, however, the tins, which gave him the most astonishing appearance possible. Tom fell back on the table in an agony of laughter, and in doing so sat down on the dish that had contained the batter. The audience simply cried itself hoarse with laughter. Sally Conners screamed with all her might, and all the farmers' boys, who were present for miles around, haw-hawed, and the old folks almost died looking at poor Jonas. In the midst of it all, I, Peter Samuels, stage director, drew the curtain, and with the other two performers stole down the back stairs, and made a run for home, and so the great sleight-of-hand performance came to an end.

The Colby people never forgot that performance. We never did, either. Uncle Job kept Tom's watch until he left for college, and then gave it back to him, and Tom bought him a new silver time-piece. The widow Colby and her grandchildren realized a good sum from the entertainment, and the next vacation we three boys spent in the city. I am afraid Jonas has lost the favor of Sally Conners, for she never can speak of him without laughing. But then Sally always did laugh on almost any provocation.

So far as is known, no schedule of interscholastic track and field records has ever before been printed, and although the table published in this issue is as accurate as can be made under the circumstances, still there are doubtless a few errors scattered around in it somewhere that will be discovered by sharp-eyed readers in the very near future. If the latter will inform this Department of the mistakes as soon as they are found out, the table may be depended upon to be absolutely exact the next time it is printed--and it certainly will be offered in better form. To-day I have been obliged to put two bicycle events and two hammer and shot events on the list, because the interscholastic associations in the various parts of the country are about evenly divided in the choice of distances and the use of weights. I have left out entirely such acrobatic events as the hop, step, and jump, and throwing the baseball, because they are not athletic, and do not deserve to be recognized on any interscholastic programme. Perhaps a year from now the school associations will have come to the conclusion that, take it all in all, it is really better to have a uniform measure of efficiency in sport as well as in anything else, and then a comparative table will be of more value.

INTERSCHOLASTIC RECORDS OF THE UNITED STATES, 1895.

Event. Record. Maker.

100-yard dash 10-1/5 sec. F. H. Bigelow. 220-yard run 22-2/5 " F. H. Bigelow. 440-yard run 50-3/5 " T. E. Burke. Half-mile inn 2 m. 4-1/5 " J. A. Meehan. Mile run 4 " 34-2/5 " W. T. Laing. Mile walk 7 " 17-3/5 " A. N. Butler. 120-yard hurdle 15-3/5 " A. F. Beers. 220-yard hurdle 26-1/2 " Field. Mile bicycle 2 " 34-1/5 " I. A. Powell. Two-mile bicycle 5 " 18-2/5 " Baker. Running high jump 5 ft. 11 in. S. A. W. Baltazzi. Running broad jump 21 " 6 " C. Brewer. Pole vault 10 " 7 " B. Johnson. Throwing 12-lb. hammer 125 " R. F. Johnson. Throwing 16-lb. hammer 111 " 10 " F. G. Beck. Putting 12-lb. shot 40 " 3/4 " A. C. Ayres. Putting 16-lb. shot 39 " 3 " M. O'Brien.

Event. School.

100-yard dash Worcester H.-S. 220-yard run Worcester H.-S. 440-yard run Boston English H.-S. Half-mile inn Condon, N.Y. Mile run Phillips Academy, Andover. Mile walk Hillhouse H.-S., New Haven. 120-yard hurdle De La Salle, N.Y. 220-yard hurdle Hartford H.-S. Mile bicycle Cutler, N.Y. Two-mile bicycle Hotchkiss, Lakeville, Conn. Running high jump Harvard, N.Y. Running broad jump Hopkinson, Boston. Pole vault Worcester Academy. Throwing 12-lb. hammer Brookline H.-S. Throwing 16-lb. hammer Hillhouse H.-S. Putting 12-lb. shot Condon, N.Y. Putting 16-lb. shot Boston English H.-S.

Event. Time and place.

100-yard dash N.E.I.S.A.A. games, 1894. 220-yard run N.E.I.S.A.A. games, 1894. 440-yard run N.E.I S.A.A. games, 1894. Half-mile inn N.Y.I.S.A.A. games, May 11, 1895. Mile run N.E.I.S.A.A. games, 1894 Mile walk Conn. H.-S.A.A. games, June 8, 1895 120-yard hurdle N.Y.I.S.A.A. games, May 11, 1895. 220-yard hurdle Conn. H.-S.A.A. games, June 8, 1895. Mile bicycle N.Y.I.S.A.A. games, May 11, 1895. Two-mile bicycle Conn. H.-S.A.A. games, June 8, 1895. Running high jump N.Y.I.S.A.A. games, May 11, 1895. Running broad jump N.E.I.S.A.A. games, 1890. Pole vault N.E.I.S.A.A. games, June 15, 1895. Throwing 12-lb. hammer N.E.I.S.A.A. games, 1894. Throwing 16-lb. hammer Conn. H.-S.A.A. games, June 8, 1895. Putting 12-lb. shot N.Y.I.S.A.A. games, May 11, 1895. Putting 16-lb. shot N.E.I.S.A.A. games, 1894.

INTER-COLLEGIATE RECORDS OF THE UNITED STATES, 1895.

Event. Record. Made by.

{ E. J. Wendell, Harvard; W. { Baker, Harvard; C. H. 100-yard dash 10 sec. { Sherrill, Yale; L. Cary, { Princeton; E. S. Ramsdell, { Penn. 220-yard dash 21-4/5 " L. H. Cary, Princeton. Quarter-mile run 47-3/4 " W. Baker, Harvard. Half-mile run 1 m. 55-1/4 " W. C. Dohm, Princeton. Mile run 4 " 23-2/5 " G. W. Orton, Penn. Mile walk 6 " 42-4/5 " F. A. Borcheling, Princeton. 120-yard hurdle 15-4/5 " H. L. Williams, Yale. 220-yard hurdle 24-3/5 " J. L. Bremer, Harvard. Two-mile bicycle 4 " 10 " W. D. Osgood, Penn. Running high jump 6 ft. 4 in. W. B. Page, Penn. Running broad jump 23 " L. P. Sheldon, Yale. Pole vault 11 " 2-3/4 " C. T. Buckholz, Penn. Throwing 16-lb. ham'r 135 " 7-1/2 " W. O. Hickok, Yale. Putting 16-lb. shot 44 " 1-1/2 " W. O. Hickok, Yale.

How is it possible to gauge the performances of school champions with those of others--college-men and athletic club amateurs--when we have no common ratio? We cannot, of course. For instance, take Beers's record of 15-3/5 sec. in the high hurdles, made at the New York Interscholastics last May. On paper this looks very well. It apparently beats the inter-collegiate record made by Harry Williams in 1891, by one-fifth of a second. But it really does not. Beers ran his race over lower hurdles, and so it is not possible to make a comparison. The hurdles used by the N.Y.I.S.A.A. are only 3 feet high, whereas the inter-collegiate sticks are 3 ft. 6 in. Some of the interscholastic associations use the standard 3 ft. 6 in. hurdles, but as it was impossible to ascertain exactly what the records were that had been made over these at school meetings in the past, I took the fastest time over the dwarfed hurdles, and let it go in as a fit companion for the 12-lb. shot and hammer and the mile bicycle-race.

In the future, however, I shall give little attention to these one-eyed records. The college associations have set up a standard of distance and weight which experience has shown to be a good one. A sufficient number of interscholastic associations have adopted the same standard, thereby making it clearly evident that it is none too high for school-boy athletes. Therefore, in making out a comparative table of college and school records, this Department will accept the standard established by the I.C.A.A.A. and adopted by the majority of the interscholastic associations. If in the near future a general interscholastic league is formed, I feel sure that its legislators will agree with me in this, and will adopt the same course when they lay out their programme.

It is to be regretted that the Oakland, Cal., High-School athletic team was unable to accept the Stockton High-School's challenge for dual games to be held on June 15th last, but unless something unforeseen turns up the meeting will be held soon after the next school term begins, which is in August. The California schools open about five weeks earlier than our Eastern institutions, and the football season with them, therefore, starts in the closing days of summer. There will also be the semi-annual field day of the Academic Athletic League at about that time, or in September, and bicycle road races, in which teams from the several schools of the A.A.L. will be matched against one another. At the field day there will be a contest for the all 'round championship of the Pacific Coast Association. Five or six events will be selected from the programme, and every competitor for the championship will have to compete in each one, the champion to be the winner of the greatest number of points.

The object of this athletic Department in HARPER'S ROUND TABLE is not only to criticise and comment upon the various sports of the calender, but also to explain any intricate points of these games, to answer questions on matters of sport and athletics, and to give all such information as shall justly come under the head of Interscholastic Sport. A number of correspondents have requested that some space be devoted to an explanation of the "100-up" method of scoring in tennis, and to give the rules for odds. This "100-up" method, sometimes called the "Pastime" system, was devised a few years ago to meet the defects of the old system of scoring, which had been handed down to us from the ancient English game of tennis. The latter has a good many disadvantages in spite of its universal use, the chief objection being that it frequently happens in a match that a player scores more strokes, or even more games, than his antagonist, and yet is beaten. This, of course, is manifestly unfair; and as for handicaps, in which more than two players are competing, the complex and unsatisfactory system of adjusting the odds according to the old way is unnecessarily complicated.

The rules for the "100-up" method are comparatively simple and very easily remembered after having been used once or twice. The player who serves first must serve six times in succession, and then his opponent does the same, the service changing always after each one has served six consecutive times. One fault and one good service; two faults; or one good service counts as a service. After the first, third, fifth, or, in other words, every alternate series of service, the players change courts, thus making each six successive services one series of services. The first player to score one hundred points wins the game; but the match can be played for any number of points--more or less than a hundred--as the contestants may agree upon beforehand. The usual figure, however, is one hundred. If the score comes to be 99-all, play goes on as before, until one of the players has a majority of two points. He then wins; but no game can be won by a lesser majority than two points.

The odds in the regular old-fashioned method of counting are, briefly, thus: A "bisque" is one point that can be taken by the receiver of the odds at any time during the set except after a service is delivered, or, if he is serving, after a fault. "Half fifteen" is one stroke given at the beginning of the second, fourth, and every alternate game of a set, and "fifteen" is one stroke given at the beginning of every game. In the same way "thirty" is two strokes given at the beginning of every game, whereas "half thirty" is one stroke given at the beginning of the first game, two at the beginning of the second, one at the beginning of the third, and so on, two and one, alternately, until the end of the set. "Forty" is three strokes before every game, "half forty" three and two, alternately, as before. "Owed odds" signifies that the giver of the odds starts behind scratch. Thus "owe half fifteen" means that one stroke is owed at the beginning of the first, third, fifth, and every alternate game of the set. Other "owed odds" are reckoned inversely in the same manner as given odds. If a player gives odds of "half court," he agrees to play in a certain half of the court, either the right or the left, and he loses a stroke whenever he returns a ball outside any of the lines that bound that half court.

But the newest of all the systems of odds, and the one now most generally used by experts, is called the "quarter" system. In this method fifteen is divided into four quarters, and thus a closer handicap may be obtained. "One quarter" of fifteen is one stroke given at the beginning of the second, sixth, and every fourth game thereafter in the set. "Two quarters" (the "half fifteen" spoken of above) is one stroke at the beginning of the second, fourth, sixth, etc., games. "Three quarters" is one stroke at the beginning of the second, third, fourth, sixth, seventh, and eighth games, and so on. When it is "odds owed," as before, "one quarter" is one stroke in the first and fifth games; "two quarters" is one stroke in the first and third; and "three quarters" is one stroke in the first, third, and fourth games, and so on to the end of the set. In order to get odds at a similar ratio when the match is being scored on the "100-up" system, the following table of equivalents has been adopted:

1 quarter of 15 = 5 points per 100 2 quarters " 11 " " 3 " " 16 " " 15 " " 22 " " 15.1 " " 27 " " 15.2 " " 32 " " 15.3 " " 38 " " 30 " " 43 " " 30.1 " " 49 " " 30.2 " " 54 " " 30.3 " " 59 " " 40 " " 65 " "

The principal difficulty about this new system of odds, except for experts and for those who play constantly, is the difficulty of remembering it. It certainly takes more study to become familiar with it than with the old half-point system. In that the odds change at every game, and change directly back again even when most complicated, so that really all there is to remember is which odds came with the service. The chief advantage of the "quarter" system is that it affords greater accuracy, and to experts this is a sufficient compensation for its intricacy. I should not advise the average player, however, to bother with it, for, unless he intends to try for a national championship, life is too short to devote many hours of study to the "quarter" system.

Another correspondent asks for information as to the best way to get up a tennis tournament, and now that we are on the subject of tennis, his query might just as well be disposed of. A tournament, like anything else, demands time and care in preparation if it is to be a success. Don't put off everything until the last moment, or the day will surely be a failure; whereas, if thought is given to all the small details that go to make such an occasion enjoyable, everything will go as easily as rolling off a log. In the first place, those who want to arrange a tournament, or the committee which has been chosen to make the arrangements, should get together and discuss the situation and decide what they want to do and how they want to do it. In this preliminary talk a calculation of expenses should first be made. Find out how much money will probably be required, and then, as a measure of safety, add about ten per cent. to that, for expenses are usually underestimated. Having determined how much money will be needed, make arrangements for securing that amount either by subscription, entrance fees, or sale of tickets. If the tournament is to be conducted by a club, there will probably be some money in the treasury that can be used. It is not usually advisable, and seldom practicable at an impromptu summer tennis tournament, to demand admission fees of the spectators.

The financial part of the enterprise having now been attended to, a treasurer should be appointed to take charge of the funds, and to keep an account of all receipts and expenditures. Of course, if, as I have said before, the tournament is being held by a club, many of these details are already fulfilled by previous organization. The date should be the next thing decided. In each instance there will be many circumstances affecting this date. If the idea of having a tournament is being discussed with a view to holding it later in the summer, find out what players will be in the neighborhood at that time, and try to invite players to visit the locality at about that period. If you only have a week or ten days in which to make your preparations (for a small tournament), try to fix on a day when there will be nothing else of importance going on near by. The chief object of the managers or of the committee should be to secure as large an attendance as possible, for a crowd will encourage the players to better effort.

The date having been settled upon, send out notices. State clearly all the facts. Say at what place, on what date, and at what time of day the tournament is to be held; and also under whose auspices. Give a list of the events--such as men's singles, doubles, women's singles, mixed doubles, or whatever there is to be; state the requirements for entrances, and give the date when entries close. Be sure to give the name and address of the person who has been assigned to receive these entries. State also in the notice the hours of play, the number of sets to the match, the kind of balls that are to be used, and announce any special regulations that it may have been found necessary to adopt. Finally, enumerate the prizes; but remember that it is always in better taste to make these inexpensive and more in the nature of souvenirs of the occasion than trophies.

The notices disposed of and sent out, the managers should now see that the courts are rolled and otherwise put in order, so that they may be in the best possible condition on the day set for the tournament. There should be a plentiful supply of balls, for sometimes an entire box is used in a match. In large tournaments I have seen the players dispose of a box every set. At each end of the net put up a couple of chairs on boxes for the umpires, and arrange seats about the court for the spectators. If there are not enough chairs and benches handy, lay boards on boxes, and so produce impromptu settees. Don't fail to hire a couple of boys to pick up the balls.

All these details are necessary ones; there are a few others that might be termed luxuries, such as having printed tickets and programmes, and an awning stretched along one side of the court to shelter the ladies from the sun. One more necessary point, however, is to secure competent judges and umpires, otherwise something might occur during play that would mar the pleasure of the day. Of course it would be a misunderstanding, but this can be easily avoided by having officials fully conversant with the game and familiar with the duties required of them.

After all the entries have been received, make the drawings, and, if possible, post them somewhere where all those interested in the coming tournament will be able to see them. When, on the day set, the hour to begin play arrives, start promptly. Delay is always fatal to the success of any sporting event. People don't like to sit around and wait. But all that I have said here is merely in the line of suggestion. Many little matters crop up as soon as any enterprise of this kind is entered into, and these questions have to be settled according to the emergency. Let the central idea be to anticipate anything that might happen; then, as a rule, nothing will happen.

THE GRADUATE.

This Department is conducted in the interest of stamp and coin collectors, and the Editor will be pleased to answer any question on these subjects so far as possible. Correspondents should address Editor Stamp Department.

HOW TO CATCH CLOUDS.

7th. About 11th. this 14th. time 17th. look 21st. out 28th. for 31st. storms.

This was usually the weather warning in the old-time almanacs which the farmer was in the habit of consulting nightly, in order to make his plans for his haying or harvesting, his sowing or reaping, the success of which depended on the state of the weather.

The amateur photographer who makes a specialty of landscapes should put this warning in his note-book, substituting the word clouds for that of storms, changing it to read, "About this time look out for clouds."

A picture of a landscape with clouds in the sky is much finer than where the sky is perfectly white, and cloud pictures themselves are very interesting.

It is not an easy matter to catch the clouds even when the sky is full of them. If they are obtained in the negative, they are usually lost in the printing, as the landscape portion of the negative, being less dense than the sky, prints much more quickly, and to obtain a print of the clouds the lines of the landscape would be almost black from over-printing.

There is a device called a "cloud-catcher," which is a shutter so arranged with adjustable disks that the foreground or landscape part of the picture is given a time exposure, while the sky is taken instantaneously. This is supposed to give the proper time of exposure for each part of the picture.

The amateur cannot always afford such an attachment, and, in order to obtain clouds in his landscapes, must resort to various devices of developing and printing.

The most common method is to take two pictures, one exposed for the sky, and the other for the landscape, and print from both negatives. In printing from a "sky"-and-"landscape" negative, print the sky first, covering the part of the sensitive paper on which the landscape is to be printed. After printing the sky, place the other negative in the frame and print the landscape. It does not matter if the opaque paper which covers the landscape does not follow the horizon lines exactly, as the darker tones of the landscape will blot out the outlines of the clouds if they lap on the horizon.

If one has a negative where the clouds are good but will not print out unless the rest of the picture is over-printed, a good print may be obtained by this simple device: Take an empty tin-can a little longer than the printing-frame. Cut off the top and bottom, and cut the can in two the long way. This will give you a piece of rolled tin. Flatten one edge, leaving the other curved. Attach the flat edge to the side of the printing-frame so as to shield the landscape part of the negative. This will make a shade for this part of the negative, which prints the fastest, and thus retard the printing, allowing the denser portions a longer time to print. A shaded negative should always be printed in diffused light, not in the direct rays of the sun.

Pictures of clouds, or rather, _false_ clouds, are made by holding the negative over the flame of a candle and letting the glass side become covered with lamp-black. Then, with a soft tuft of cotton, wipe off the smoke in places, leaving the outlines of clouds on the glass. Very good clouds can be made by this method with a little practice. Another way is to attach a piece of fine tissue-paper to the negative and sketch clouds in the sky portion, unless the sky is very dense. A thin sky is often improved by these sham clouds.

The picture which we reproduce here was taken by Sir Knight Sidney Stearns, of Cleveland, Ohio. It was taken at Halle in the Tyrol, time nearly sunset. The sun, as may be seen by looking at the picture, is at the left of the camera and well toward the front. This is usually the best direction from which the strongest light should fall, either from the left or right and near the front of the camera. One should seldom or never take a picture with the sun directly behind the camera.

ADVERTISEMENTS.

Highest of all in Leavening Power.--Latest U. S. Gov't Report.

WONDER CABINET =FREE=. Missing Link Puzzle, Devil's Bottle, Pocket Camera, Latest Wire Puzzle, Spook Photos, Book of Sleight of Hand. Total Value 60c. Sent free with immense catalogue of 1000 Bargains for 10c. for postage.

INGERSOLL & BRO., 65 Cortlandt Street N. Y.

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

The final run into Albany on the road from New York, according to the plan which we have been following--that is, of making the journey in four days--is from Hudson to Albany, a distance of twenty-eight to thirty miles. Leaving Hudson, which was the northernmost point reached on last week's map, the rider goes out on to the main road by the way of Fourth Street and Pond Road, and thence follows the telegraph poles direct to Stockport, passing through Stottville. The road is hilly while running from the town of Hudson, and about half-way from Stottville to Stockport there is another rather stiff hill. The distance is a little over five miles, and the road is poor, on the whole, owing to its rolling nature and the fact that the road-bottom is largely clay. From Stockport to Stuyvesant Falls it improves a little, though it is somewhat hilly. The rider should follow the telegraph poles all the way, and keep a sharp lookout for L.A.W. signs, which will be of great assistance wherever they are found. This run is about three and three-quarters or four miles, and the next stage, from Stuyvesant Falls to Kinderhook, is four miles. There is no difficulty in following the road, with the possible exception of an abrupt fork about one and one-half or two miles out of Stuyvesant Falls. Here, of course, the rider should keep to the right on the main road. From Kinderhook to Pine Grove is a little under five miles. Keep to the left at Kinderhook after leaving the Kinderhook Hotel, keeping always to the Albany Post Road with the telegraph poles. Thence continue from Pine Grove to Schodack Centre, and when you have made four and one-half miles, and crossed two small bridges, turn to the right at Willow Trees, whence the run to Schodack Centre is clearly marked, a distance, in all, of a little over eight miles. From here the run to the Hudson, opposite Albany, passes through East Greenbush, three miles away, and finally brings up at the Hudson at South Bridge, a little less than five miles further. This last stage of the journey is somewhat hilly again, and there is a bad descent just before reaching Greenbush, where the rider should take the utmost care, owing to the fact that the hill itself is bad, and the difficulty complicated by a railroad crossing. On reaching the Hudson the rider should cross on South Bridge, and running into Albany turn into Broadway, thence to State Street, thence to North Pearl Street, and finally put up at the Kenmore Hotel.

While this run from New York to Albany is in parts hilly, and while occasionally the rider will strike a bit of difficult road, it is nevertheless one of the best bicycle trips in the United States, not only on account of the condition of the roads, but on account of its picturesque and historical interest. As was said last week, any one who intends to take the trip, or who can give the time to it, is strongly advised to take a week to do it in, to cross the Hudson several times on the way, and make short runs into the country on the other side. It is possible in this way for a rider of reasonable experience to see practically the whole of the Hudson River valley between these two points, and to have a fine outing without doing too much "scorching," or, on the other hand, taking the journey too slowly. The distance from New York to Albany, or rather from Central Park and 110th Street to the Kenmore Hotel, is one hundred and fifty-three and three-quarter miles, and by taking seven or eight days to the trip, the rider can easily cover three to four hundred miles in his excursions off the main route.

NOTE.--Map of New York city asphalted streets in No. 809. Map of route from New York to Tarrytown in No. 810. New York to Stamford, Connecticut, in No. 811. New York to Staten Island in No. 812. New Jersey from Hoboken to Pine Brook in No. 813. Brooklyn in No. 814. Brooklyn to Babylon in No. 815. Brooklyn to Northport in No. 816. Tarrytown to Poughkeepsie in No. 817. Poughkeepsie to Hudson in No. 818.

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

I have talked to you about notes and letters in a previous number of the paper, but some of my ROUND TABLE readers ask to have the subject treated again, with special attention to correspondence of a ceremonious character.

A note of invitation should be very cordial, affectionate, and explicit. You should state clearly in such a note the day and train which you would like your friend to take, and the length of time you expect her to stay with you. Formerly it was regarded as inhospitable to limit in any way the duration of a friend's visit, but we understand now that it is more convenient and comfortable for all concerned to have the precise number of days or weeks indicated. This arrangement enables your friends to make other engagements, and leaves you free to invite other friends if, as often happens, you can have the pleasure of entertaining successive guests during a summer. Let me give you some examples.

Mary Hills wishes to ask Abby Lewis to spend a week with her at Dove's Nest in the Catskills, Mary's country home. Her letter of invitation might be written as follows:

DOVE'S NEST, TANNERSVILLE P.O., NEW YORK.

DEAREST ABBY,--It seems very long since I saw you. Mamma and I were talking last night about the delightful visit we had at your home just before the Van Blarcoms went abroad. It is very lovely at Dove's Nest now, and we are anxious to have you see the place while our sweet-pease and nasturtiums are in bloom. Won't you come on Thursday, the twentieth, by the ten-o'clock train (West Shore), and stay with me till Monday, the thirty-first? I will meet you at the station on Thursday afternoon. We have a new golf course, and all sorts of pleasant things are going on.

Hoping soon to see you, I am, dear Abby,

Yours lovingly, MARY HILLS. July fifteenth, eighteen--

Abby's reply would probably be somewhat like this:

182 SEVENTY-EIGHTH STREET, NEW YORK.

DEAR, DEAR MARY,--How good you are to ask me for so charming a visit! It will give me the greatest pleasure to go to you on the twentieth and to stay for ten days, as you suggest. You may expect to see me flying down the station to meet you when the ten-o'clock train reaches the mountains on that afternoon. I can hardly wait for the blissful time to arrive. Mamma sends her love, and I am, as ever,

Devotedly yours, ABBY LEWIS.

A household critic suggests to me at this point that "Dearest Abby" and "Dear, dear Mary," are rather gushing, and not quite in the approved literary style which ought to be shown to girls. But I am talking to real girls, and I know how they write, and I don't mind in the least a little effervescence in the way of adjectives. I like girls to call me "Dearest" when they write to me, and I don't mind their saying "Dear" to one another over and over again.

How much luggage you must take when going on a visit depends on the length of the visit and the number of engagements it will include. As a rule, in our changeable climate you will need, in going away from home, something thick and something thin. A trunk is a great comfort, though one can manage with a large bag or a telescope, while a man's suit-case lends itself finely to the folding of a girl's gown.

With two or three pretty shirt-waists and a nice skirt, a simple dress for evenings, and a warm stuff costume of serge or flannel for cool or rainy mornings, a girl will be supplied for every needful requirement. One's own dainty home wardrobe is sufficient for a visit, and if the sailor hat be trim, the shoes and gloves in order, and the girl carry herself gracefully, nobody will think a second time about her dress.

As soon as possible after a journey lay aside your travelling dress, and make a fresh toilette before joining the family. Try to ascertain the family habits, and conform to them.

I heard not long ago of a girl, said to be very clever and bright, who exclaimed: "Make my own bed! Why, I wouldn't know how to begin! I couldn't get the sheets on straight!" She wasn't a Pudding Stick girl of mine, I'm happy to say. More on this subject next time.

* * * * *

SICKNESS AMONG CHILDREN

is prevalent at all seasons of the year, but can be avoided largely when they are properly cared for. _Infant Health_ is the title of a valuable pamphlet accessible to all who will send address to the New York Condensed Milk Co., N. Y. City.--[_Adv._]

ADVERTISEMENTS.

Arnold

Constable & Co

* * * * *

MISSES' AND CHILDREN'S

Wash Suits

GREATLY REDUCED PRICES.

* * * * *

Broadway & 19th st.

NEW YORK.

Trilby's Foot

was perfect (perhaps yours is), but even perfect feet get tired, and nothing takes out the tired aches like Pond's Extract.

Avoid substitutes; accept genuine only, with buff wrapper and yellow label.

POND'S EXTRACT CO., 76 Fifth Ave., New York.

Postage Stamps, &c.

100 all dif. Venezuela, Costa Rica, etc., only 10c.; 200 all dif. Hayti, Hawaii, etc., only 50c. Ag'ts wanted at 50 per ct. com. List FREE!

=C. A. Stegmann=, 2722 Eads Av., St. Louis, Mo.

=100= all different, China, etc., 10c.; 5 Saxony, 10c.; 40 Spain, 40c.; 6 Tunis, 14c.; 10 U. S. Revenues, 10c. Agts. wtd., 50% com.; '95 list free.

CRITTENDEN & BORGMAN CO., Detroit, Mich.

Commit to Memory

the best things in Prose and Poetry, always including good Songs and Hymns. It is surprising how little good work of this kind seems to be done in the Schools, if one must judge from the small number of people who can repeat, without mistake or omission, as many as =Three= good songs or hymns.

Clear, Sharp, Definite,

and accurate Memory work is a most excellent thing, whether in School or out of it, among all ages and all classes. But let that which is so learned be worth learning and worth retaining. The Franklin Square Song Collection presents a large number of

Old and New Songs

and Hymns, in great variety and very carefully selected, comprising Sixteen Hundred in the Eight Numbers thus far issued, together with much choice and profitable Reading Matter relating to Music and Musicians. In the complete and varied

Table of Contents,

which is sent free on application to the Publishers, there are found dozens of the best things in the World, which are well worth committing to memory; and they who know most of such good things, and appreciate and enjoy them most, are really among the best educated people in any country. They have the best result of Education. For above Contents, with sample pages of Music, address

Harper & Brothers, New York.

PRIZE-STORY COMPETITION.

SECOND-PRIZE STORY.

An Exciting Game. By Nancy Howe Wood.

It was when I was a struggling young physician in a small country town that I passed through an adventure which I would not care to repeat, although now I can plainly see its humorous aspect.

I had but shortly before graduated from a medical college, and was trying hard to get my living in a little village where there were two other older and more experienced doctors. I was becoming greatly disheartened, when one day, on my return from a visit to a poor woman of the village, I found an official-looking letter awaiting me. I opened it with some degree of excitement, and was astonished to find that it was an offer to me of the position of resident physician in the Blankville Insane Asylum, situated about two miles away. A salary was named which seemed a fortune to me, poverty-stricken as I then was. (I afterwards learned that the offer was made to me through the efforts of an influential friend.)

At first the letter gave me unlimited joy, and I shouted like a school-boy; but when I began to think what it would actually mean my heart sank. All my life I had had a nervous horror of insane persons, and if I should accept this offer I would be obliged to stay with them, eat with them, and live among them almost as one of themselves. At this thought I fairly shuddered, and was forced to confess to myself that I could never endure such a strain on my nerves, doctor though I was.

The next morning, however, when I again read the letter, the offer seemed so tempting that I said to myself: "Pshaw! I will not be conquered by an attack of nerves. Come, brace yourself up, man. Why, a few years at that salary will be enough to set you up for life!" Nevertheless, I determined to go up the following day, and _look over_ the place before deciding on my final answer.

So early the next morning I presented myself at the asylum, all my nervousness gone. I was so politely shown about, and everything looked so orderly and well cared for, and the grounds without seemed so peaceful and quiet, that I was delighted with it all. My misgivings had almost vanished, and I had so nearly made up my mind to accept the lucrative offer, that I said to the smiling and complaisant guard who was acting as my guide:

"Tell the superintendent that if he will kindly allow me to stroll in the garden and think the matter over, I will give him my final answer within the hour." So saying, I began to pace up and down the flower-bordered walks.

I was by this time in such a well-satisfied frame of mind that I promptly dispelled the last remnants of my former nervousness.

I was just on the point of re-entering the asylum to say to the Superintendent that I gratefully accepted his offer when I was startled by the sound of crackling twigs behind me. Turning quickly, I found myself face to face with a man whom I supposed at first to be one of the guards. But as soon as I moved away from him to go toward the house he sprang forward with hand outstretched to clutch me, uttering an idiotic chuckle. Cold shivers chased up and down my back as the thought flashed upon me that it was an escaped patient! With a shriek I ran down the path at the top of my speed, my fear increased by the sound of pursuing steps behind me.

I doubled and turned on the track, striving to distance or elude my dreaded pursuer, but in spite of my frantic efforts, he kept closely at my heels. Finally in one of my windings I was confronted by the six-foot stone wall that surrounded the asylum on every side. Glancing backward, I saw that the maniac--as I now knew him to be--was almost upon me, and, making a desperate effort, I succeeded in reaching the top of the wall. For a moment I fancied myself secure: but my pursuer darted behind the shrubbery, and pulled out a small ladder, evidently used by the gardeners. Seeing him thus prepared to follow me, I hurriedly dropped to the ground outside, and scrambled to my feet just as the lunatic's head appeared above the top of the wall. Again I had only a short start before he was once more on my track.

And now began an exciting race "over brush, brake, and brier"; sometimes I stumbled over a protruding root and fell headlong, but was up again in a twinkling; sometimes my pursuer was so close upon me that I could easily hear his panting breath. At the end of the first mile and a quarter I thought myself done for, but my college training, which, luckily, I had not forgotten, stood me in good stead, and I desperately ran on.

"Oh," thought I, wildly, "where are the villagers? Isn't anybody near? But there was no road leading out of the village in that direction, and few people passed that way. At last, after years, it seemed to me, we entered the village, and tore at full speed down the main street. If I had longed before for some human soul to help me, I now as earnestly prayed that I might unobserved gain my own door, and so be safe. But no; some small boy, busily engaged doing nothing, soon raised the cry,

"Say, here comes the fresh young doctor a-tearing down the street like a steam-engine!"

Then, almost tired out, and seeing the door of a small house standing open, I dashed in, passed through the hall and dining-room, where the astonished family were sitting at dinner, and out into the back yard, where, completely exhausted, and utterly unable to run a step further, I dropped behind a barrel.

My hope had been that the people of the house would have understood my predicament and stopped the madman, but they evidently had not taken in the situation, or else he had been too quick for them, for from behind the barrel where I had concealed myself I could hear him come through the open doorway and search the yard for me.

And now I feared that my panting breath would betray me--and it did, for I heard his stealthy steps approach the spot where I lay quaking, and his ugly, leering face peered round at me, and he sprang forward and touched me, calling out, as I fell back almost fainting with terror: "_Tag! You're it!_"

In an instant the meaning of his words flashed over me, and I cursed myself for my foolish nervousness. The confounded fool had taken it for a game of tag!

By this time quite a little crowd of villagers had gathered around me, and the escaped lunatic was secured to wait for the arrival of his keeper, and I managed to reach my home, after being fortified by a glass of wine.

It was several days before my nerves recovered their usual steadiness, and it is perhaps needless to add that I did not accept the situation.

The Helping Hand.

The Lancelot Chapter, of Newtonville, Mass., has nine members, and each earned twenty-five cents. Then the Chapter added a little, and the secretary forwarded $3 with the best of Lancelot wishes Names of the contributors are Ella A. Gould, Marion Drew Bassett, Adella J. Saunderson, Ethel T. Gammons, Alice L. Harrison, Esther H. Dyson, Lulu Ulmer, Mabel Glazier, and Hazel L. Bobbins.

The Edison Chapter, of Bangor, Me., send $2 for the Fund. This Fund is, you know, to help build the Round Table Industrial School-house at Good Will Farm, where poor boys are educated. The Table is raising this Fund, and it asks contributions from all who want, first, to help chivalrous young persons who are trying to help others, and second, to help in the best possible way boys who need help.

Any sums, sent by anybody, will be thankfully received and acknowledged in the Table. Members of the Edison Chapter, which sent the $2 the other day, earned the money folding and carrying papers, getting out ashes, and washing dishes--truly practical methods of being truly generous.

Founders of the Order of the Round Table want $1000 to complete this School Fund. Who will help them?

From Some Far-Away Members.

The Table loves to hear from far-distant places, and to have members tell us how their country looks, and what the people do. Here is news from three friends:

SPRING CREEK, MARLBOROUGH, NEW ZEALAND.

New Zealand is a far-away country to you, yet I have seen some letters from here. The town I live near is not very large. It is subject to floods, and last year the water came thirteen times into some of the shops. I have not travelled about much, so I cannot describe to you my journeys as many other girls do. The North Island of New Zealand is very volcanic, especially near the centre. There are many hot springs there, some just warm, and others boiling. The Maories, as the natives are called, boil their potatoes in them, by letting them down into the springs in baskets.

Out of one of the volcanic mountains the lava that streamed down the sides was a pale pink. It was formed into terraces all down the mountainside. On another mountain it was much the same, only the terraces were white. A few years ago a great eruption caused them to entirely disappear. Since then some brown ones have begun to form, but they are very inferior to the former ones. When the eruption took place there were loud noises heard almost all over New Zealand. Many people who lived near were wellnigh smothered with mud, and for miles the country was covered with ashes and mud, in many places several feet thick. Most of the deposit was of a steel-gray color, and just like knife-polish in texture. My younger sister and I collect stamps. As yet we have very few. I have seen letters asking for girls to write and exchange stamps. I would much like some girls to write to me, and send the stamps of their countries. In return I will send them New Zealand ones.

JEAN CHAYTOR.

* * * * *

BLENHEIM, MARLBOROUGH, NEW ZEALAND.

I am collecting stamps, and would be glad if any girls would write to me and send me some stamps of their country, and I will send them some of mine. There is a Maori pah about two miles from here. Some time ago the chief died, and they had a great tangi, which lasted for a fortnight. In old times Maoris used to bury their dead head down and all their goods with them, and then stick a canoe at the head of the grave.

CONSTANCE CHAYTOR.

* * * * *

BLENHEIM, MARLBOROUGH, NEW ZEALAND.

There was a chrysanthemum show here last Thursday, and there were some lovely flowers at it. I think the chrysanthemums are beautiful flowers, especially the Japanese ones. We have big floods in Blenheim. I think they are great fun, but they do great damage, especially to the farms. Once when we had a big flood my sister was sitting on the bed taking off her boots. She forgot about the water, and dropped her boots into it, and they floated about the house all night.

A month ago Rev. Mr. Brittain, a Melanesian missionary, and twenty-two Melanesian boys came to Blenheim; only a few of the boys could speak English. The others speak Mota. It was interesting hearing all about the islands. At Norfolk Island there is a large college. There is also a beautiful church. All the seats are inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Last summer all our family and several others went down to White's Bay, which is about ten miles from Blenheim, camping. We had three tents. We staid two weeks, and had a splendid time. I collect stamps, and would be very glad if any of the girls would write to me and send some, and I in return would send them some New Zealand ones.

MILLIE DOBSON.

Chin-Kiang, China.

I wrote a long letter which was accepted for publication in the Table, and every time I get a new number I look for it, but am always disappointed. In the last one there was a letter from Juliet Bredon, with whom I spent several weeks in Japan, which interested me very much, and made me wish all the more to see mine in print. It will be soon, won't it? I will write something more about Chin-Kiang by-and-by if it will interest other members of the Table.

MILDRED C. JONES.

Your letter shall appear in due time. Yes, tell us more about China and the Chinese. We are much interested--all of us.

When you pack for the sea shore or the mountains, fill a tray of your trunk with Ivory Soap and require your laundress to use it. Light summer garments should be washed only with a pure white soap.

THE PROCTER & GAMBLE CO., CIN'TI.

Not of the preparations of coloring matter and essential oils so often sold under the name of rootbeer, but of the purest, most delicious, health-giving beverage possible to produce. One gallon of Hires' is worth ten of the counterfeit kind. Suppose an imitation extract costs five cents less than the genuine Hires; the same amount of sugar and trouble is required; you save one cent a gallon, and--get an unhealthful imitation in the end. Ask for HIRES and _get_ it.

THE CHAS. E. HIRES CO., Philadelphia.

Carry in pocket. Takes 25 perfect pictures in one loading--re-loading costs 20c. Ask your dealer for it, or send for free booklet "All About the Kombi."

ALFRED C. KEMPER,

Branches: London, Berlin. 132-134 Lake Street, Chicago

CARD PRINTER =FREE=

Sets any name in one minute; prints 500 cards an hour. YOU can make money with it. A font of pretty type, also Indelible Ink, Type Holder, Pads and Tweezers. Best Linen Marker; worth $1.00. Sample mailed FREE for 10c. stamps for postage on outfit and large catalogue of 1000 Bargains.

R. H. Ingersoll & Bro. 65 Cortlandt St. N.Y. City

=DEAFNESS & HEAD NOISES CURED= by my =INVISIBLE= Tubular Cushions. Have helped more to good =HEAR=ing than all other devices combined. Whispers =HEAR=d. Help ears as glasses do eyes. =F. Hiscox=, 853 B'dway, N.Y. Book of proofs FREE

Harper's Catalogue,

Thoroughly revised, classified, and indexed, will be sent by mail to any address on receipt of ten cents.

By W. J. HENDERSON

* * * * *

Elements of Navigation

With Diagrams. 16mo, Cloth, $1.00.

Afloat with the Flag

Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental. $1.25.

Sea Yarns for Boys

SPUN BY AN OLD SALT. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25.

* * * * *

Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York

_For sale by all booksellers, or will be mailed by the publishers, postage prepaid, on receipt of the price._

A SAFE METHOD.

The treasures of the Bank of France are said to be better guarded than those of any other bank in the world. At the close of business hours every day, when the money is put into the vaults in the cellar, masons at once wall up the doors with hydraulic mortar. Water is then turned on and kept running until the cellar is flooded. A burglar would have to work in a diving suit and break down a cement wall before he could even start to loot the vaults. When the officers arrive the next morning, the water is drawn off, the masonry is torn down, and the vaults opened.

AN INDIAN TRADITION.

Here is an Indian version of the story of the flood, as it was taken by a writer connected with an Australian journal. Says he: "All of the northern coast Indians have a tradition of a flood which destroyed all mankind except a pair from which the earth was peopled. Each tribe gives the story a local coloring, but the plot of the story is much the same. The Bella Coola tradition is as follows: The Creator of the universe, Mes-mes-sa-la-nik, had great difficulty in the arrangement of the land and water. The earth persisted in sinking out of sight. At last he hit upon a plan which worked very well. Taking a long line of twisted walrus hide, he tied it around the dry land, and fastened the other end to the corner of the moon. Everything worked well for a long time; but at last the Spirit became very much offended at the action of mankind, and in a fit of anger one day seized his great stone knife, and with a mighty hack severed the rope of twisted skin. Immediately the land began to sink into the sea. The angry waves rushed in torrents up the valleys, and in a short time nothing was visible except the peak of a very high mountain. All mankind perished in the whelming waters, with the exception of two, a man and his wife, who were out fishing in a great canoe. These two succeeded in reaching the top of the mountain, and proceeded to make themselves at home. Here they remained for some time, until the anger of Mes-mes-sa-la-nik had cooled, which resulted in his fishing up the severed thong and again fastening it to the moon. From this pair thus saved the earth was again populated."

WHERE IT WENT.

Lunatics often assume a superiority of intellect to others which is quite amusing. A gentleman travelling in England some years ago, while walking along the road not far from the side of which there ran a railway, encountered a number of insane people out for exercise in charge of a keeper. With a nod toward the railway tracks, he said to one of the lunatics,

"Where does this railway go to?"

The lunatic looked at him scornfully a moment, and then replied:

"It don't go anywhere. We keep it here to run trains on."

A HUGE PIE.

The largest pie ever known was that described in the Newcastle _Chronicle_ for the 6th January, 1770. It was shipped to Sir Henry Gray, Baronet, London, Mrs. Dorothy Patterson, housekeeper at Hawic, being the maker. Into the composition of this great pie entered two bushels of flour, twenty pounds of butter, four geese, two turkeys, two rabbits, four wild ducks, two woodcocks, six snipe, four partridges, two neats' tongues, two curlews, seven black-birds, and six pigeons. It weighed twelve stone, and was nine feet in circumference at the bottom. It was furnished with a case on wheels, for convenience in passing it round to the guests.

The receipt for this pie is given here as a hint to those of our readers who may be thinking of getting up a picnic within the next two or three weeks. A half dozen pies of this size ought to be enough for at least one picnic.

A STRANGE SUIT.

According to the Pittsburg _Journal_, Peter Gruber, the Rattlesnake King of Venango County, has made the most unique costume any man ever wore. It consists of coat, vest, trousers, hat, shoes, and shirt, and is made entirely of the skins of rattlesnakes. Seven hundred snakes, all caught and skinned by Gruber during the past five years, provided the material for this novel costume. To preserve the brilliancy and the flexibility of the skins in the greatest possible degree, the snakes were skinned alive, first being made unconscious by chloroform. They were then tanned by a method peculiar to Gruber, and are as soft and elastic as woollen goods. The different articles for this outfit were made by Oil City tailors, shoemakers and hatters, and the costume is valued at $1000.

A FEW NOTES ABOUT COINS.

The rei of Brazil, like the mill of our own money table, is an imaginary coin, no piece of that denomination being coined. Ten thousand reis equal $5.45.

Vermont was the first State to issue a coinage on its own authority. Copper coins were issued in 1785.

The first woman's face represented on a coin was that of Pulcheria, the Empress of the Eastern Empire.

The Chinese stamp bars or ingots of gold or silver with their weight and fineness, and pass them from hand to hand as coin.

The first Maryland coins were minted in 1662, and were put in circulation by act of Council ordering every householder to bring in sixty pounds of tobacco and receive ten shillings of the new money in exchange for it.

In 1634 the Massachusetts General Assembly made bullets a legal tender by the following enactment: "It is likewise ordered that muskett bulletts of a full boare shall pass currently for a farthing apiece. Provided that noe man be compelled to take above XIId att a tyme in them."

End of Project Gutenberg's Harper's Round Table, July 9, 1895, by Various