CHAPTER XXIV.

REAPPEARANCE OF THE FUR-SEAL'S TOOTH.

"What do you know about this thing?" asked the Judge of Jalap Coombs, taking the fur-seal's tooth from him and examining it curiously.

"I know that there were an old Eskimo at St. Michaels what were shipped by Goldollar to go with us to Nulato as dog-driver. He wore this bit of ivory hung about his neck, and seemed to set a heap by it. One time when he were looking at it I heerd Goldollar say that by rights it belonged to him, seeing as he got it from some natyve, and it were afterwards stole from him. He didn't say nothing to the Husky about it, but when we got to Nulato he give him so much liquor that in the morning the old chap couldn't be woke up. Goldollar fooled round him a while, and then saying he'd have to give up the job of waking him, left him, and ordered the teams to pull out. I afterwards seen Goldollar take that very identical tooth outen his pocket several times and look at it like it were a diamond or some sich, and heerd him tell Strengel that any man as owned it would surely have luck. It didn't seem to bring him none, though. Leastways no good luck, for he hain't had nothing but bad luck sence."

"Was it your impression that you could win good luck by stealing this tooth?" inquired the Judge of Strengel.

"I didn't steal it," answered the prisoner, sullenly.

"How did you get it, then?"

"Goldollar give it to me."

"Where did you leave Goldollar?"

"At Fort Yukon."

"Was he in good health when you last saw him?"

"I refuse to answer any more questions," replied the prisoner, realizing how deeply he was committing himself.

"Very well," said the Judge. "I think you have already told enough to give us a pretty fair idea of the particular kind of a scoundrel you are. So, if you have nothing more to say, I declare this case closed and in the hands of the jury. Gentlemen, the court awaits your verdict."

As there was no room to which the jury could retire they put their heads together and consulted in whispers, during which time Phil told the Judge what he knew about the fur-seal's tooth, together with the legend of good and bad luck supposed to accompany its possession. The spectators of the trial buzzed like a swarm of angry hornets.

In a few minutes the jury ended their conference and resumed their places. Then, as order was restored, the foreman, standing up, announced that they were unanimous in finding the prisoner guilty on all three of the charges preferred against him, and recommended that he be so punished as to afford a warning to others of his kind who might be contemplating a visit to the Yukon diggings.

"Hang him!" cried some one in the crowd.

"Shoot him!" shouted another.

"Drive him out of camp, and set him adrift like he done to Jalap Coombs," suggested a third.

"Silence!" roared Judge Platt Riley, standing in his place and gazing sternly about him. "You forget, gentlemen, that this is a court of law, and though, maybe, it isn't run with all the frills of some, it's bound to be respected. Likewise, it proposes to pronounce its own decisions. In regard to the prisoner now awaiting sentence, he has been proved by the testimony of reputable witnesses, and by his own admissions, to be a liar, a traitor, a dog-stealer, which in this country is the same as a boss-thief in the States, and a robber of his travelling companion under circumstances that make him at the same time come pretty near to being a murderer. For such as he hanging would be none too severe. But we have never yet hanged a man in Forty Mile, and we don't want to begin, if we can help it. The prisoner has expressed a desire to learn something of our methods of working these diggings, and we promised to teach him. He has also remarked that moss-stripping was a job well suited to convicts. So be it. Prisoner at the bar, stand up and receive your sentence."

When the wretched man, who had fancied himself in a country where he could commit any crime without fear of punishment, had been assisted to his feet by Marshal Bettens and a volunteer deputy, the Judge said:

"By a fair trial, according to Yukon law, you are convicted of crimes such as this community does not allow to go unpunished. On account of them you are hereby sentenced to strip moss from the several claims of this camp during every working hour of every working day from now until such time as the first steamer reaches here from the lower river and is ready to return. Then you will be allowed to work your way on her to St. Michaels, where may the Agent have mercy upon you.

"In the mean time, when not at work, you will be closely confined in the camp lock-up, under guard of the Marshal, who shall be entitled to your services for two days in every week for his trouble. On other days he will hire you out to any miner who has moss to be stripped, and who will pay for your keep during such time as you may work for him."

This unique but just sentence was greeted with a murmur of approval from the spectators; but this was quickly silenced by a frown from the Judge, who continued:

"All the property that you brought into this camp, including money and outfit, excepting your personal clothing, is hereby confiscated, to be disposed of as follows: One team of dogs, one sledge, and half the cash found in your possession shall be restored to Mr. Jalap Coombs, from whom you helped to steal them. The remainder of the money, after the Indian drivers who came with you have been paid, and one dog team shall be devoted to the relief of Simon Goldollar, who, though he seems to be a pretty bad lot, is still a white man, and so must not be allowed to perish if it can be helped. The third dog team shall become the property of Marshal Bettens in place of a fee for his services. The remainder of the property, provisions, and so forth shall be devoted to the support of the prisoner during such times as he is working for the Marshal. Mr. Bettens will now remove his prisoner, and I hereby declare this court adjourned." This ended Mr. Strengel's prospects in Forty Mile, and when, some months later, a boat arrived from the lower river, he thankfully departed from Camp Forty Mile mentally vowing never to return.

After consulting with Phil, Serge, and Jalap Coombs, Mr. Platt Riley, who objected to being called "Judge" outside of court, decided to entrust Simon Goldollar's rescue from the Indian village in which he had been left to Kurilla and Chitsah, who were persuaded by a liberal payment to return home that way. Another Indian was hired to accompany them as far as Fort Yukon, and bring back word to Forty Mile of their success.

Phil wrote and sent him a letter, in which he apologized for having accused him of stealing his money or the fur-seal's tooth, Jalap Coombs having told him the facts concerning these things, and hoped he would return to St. Michaels in safety. Long afterwards he learned that Simon Goldollar did make his way down the river, aided by Kurilla and Chitsah, and was sent on by Gerald Hamer from Anvik to St. Michaels. There he was discharged from the company's employ on account of the failure of his expedition, and finally left Alaska in the same ship that bore ex-convict Strengel from its shores. An amusing feature of it all was that both these rascals attributed the ill success of their undertakings to the unlucky influence of the fur-seal's tooth.

This industrious bit of ivory which exhibited such a fondness for interfering with the affairs of men and boys, as well as such activity in rapid travel and change of ownership reposed for several days in Mr. Platt Riley's vest pocket, where it had been unconsciously thrust and forgotten. Finally, tired of being thus neglected it worked a hole through the pocket and fell to the floor. From there it was snapped up by Mr. Riley's favorite dog, who lay at his feet, and doubtless imagined it to be a choice morsel provided for him by his indulgent master. A moment later the Judge was aroused from a reverie by the frantic struggles of his dog, who seemed on the point of strangulation. When he succeeded, by prompt effort, in removing the obstruction from the animal's throat, and, with a feeling of superstitious amazement, discovered its nature, he started at once for the store of the Yukon Trading Company, determined to be rid of the uncanny object as quickly as possible.

It so happened that none of the three occupants of the premises was at home, nor were they to be seen in any direction. They had been preparing for departure, and many articles ready for packing on the sledges lay scattered about the room. Among these was a fur sleeping-bag, on which Mr. Riley's eye no sooner rested than he thrust the magic tooth into it, and shook it to the very bottom.

"There!" he exclaimed, "they are sure to take it with them; one of them will find it sooner or later, and maybe it will bring him good luck. At any rate I hope it will."

So on the morning of the 5th of February, although the thermometer registered 48° below zero, the little party set forth from Forty Mile with three sledges and seventeen dogs. Above the first sledge fluttered a small flag on which appeared the magic letters "U.S.M.," signifying that Phil had undertaken to deliver a large packet of letters, the first mail ever sent out from Forty Mile in winter.

The entire population of the camp was assembled to see them off; and amid a round of hearty cheers the sledges dashed away up the Yukon.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

STORIES OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.

WASHINGTON IRVING.

BY HENRIETTA CHRISTIAN WRIGHT.

"Left his lodging some time ago, and has not been heard of since--a small elderly gentleman, dressed in an old black coat and cocked hat, by the name of Knickerbocker.... Any information concerning him will be thankfully received."

Such was the curious advertisement that appeared in the _Evening Post_ under the date of October 26, 1809, attracting the attention of all New York. People read it as they sat at supper, talked of it afterward around their wood fires, and thought of it again and again before they fell asleep at night. And yet not a soul knew the missing old gentleman, or had ever heard of him before. Still, he was no stranger to them, for he was a Knickerbocker, and every one was interested in the Knickerbockers, and every one felt almost as if a grandfather or great-grandfather had suddenly come back to life, and disappeared again still more suddenly, without a word of explanation.

For some time nothing more was heard of Diedrich Knickerbocker, and then another advertisement appeared in the _Post_, saying he had been seen twice on the road to Albany. Some time again elapsed, and finally the landlord of the inn at which he had been reported to have stopped gave up hope of ever seeing his guest again, and declared that he should sell the manuscript of a book that Mr. Knickerbocker had left behind, and take the proceeds in payment of his bill. People were really excited about the fate of the old gentleman, and one of the city officials was upon the point of offering a reward for his discovery, when a curious thing happened. It was found that there was no old gentleman by the name of Knickerbocker who had wandered away from his lodging; that there was no inn at which he had lived, and no manuscript he had left behind, and that, in fact, Mr. Knickerbocker was simply the hero of a book of which the author took this clever means of advertising. The book claimed to be the true history of the discovery and settlement of New York, and began with an account of the creation of the world, passing on to the manners, customs, and historical achievements of the old Hollanders who settled Manhattan Island. Here we read of the golden reign of the first Dutch Governor, Wouter Van Twiller, who was exactly five feet six inches in height and six feet five inches in circumference, and who ate four hours a day, smoked eight, and slept twelve, and so administered the affairs of the colony that it was a marvel of prosperity. Next we hear of Governor Keift, of lofty descent, since his father was an inspector of windmills, how his nose turned up and his mouth turned down, how his legs were the size of spindles, and how he grew tougher and tougher with age, so that before his death he looked a veritable mummy. And then we see the redoubtable Peter Stuyvesant stumping around on his wooden leg, which was adorned with silver reliefs, furious with rage, menacing the British fleet which has come to take possession of the town, threatening vengeance dire upon the English King, and still cherishing his wrath with fiery bravery when the enemy finally occupy the old Dutch town and proceed to transform it into an English city.

The book was read with amazement, admiration, or interest, as the case might be. Some said it appeared too light and amusing for real history; others claimed that it held stories of wisdom that only the wise could understand; others still complained that the author was no doubt making fun of their respectable ancestors, and had written the book merely to hold them up to ridicule. Only a few saw that it was the brightest, cleverest piece of humor that had yet appeared in America, and that its writer had probably a career of fame before him. The author was Washington Irving, then a young man in his twenty-seventh year, and already known as the writer of some clever newspaper letters, and of a series of humorous essays published in a semimonthly periodical called _Salmagundi_.

Irving was born in New York on the 3d of April, 1783, and was named after George Washington. New York was then a small town, beyond the limits of which were orchards, farms, country-houses, and the high-road leading to Albany, along which the stage-coach passed at regular times. There were no railroads, and Irving was fourteen years old before the first steamboat puffed its way up the Hudson River frightening the country people into the belief that it was an evil monster come to devour them. All travelling was done by means of sailing vessels, stage-coaches, or private conveyances; all letters were carried by the stage-coach, and every one cost the sender or receiver twenty-five cents for postage. The telegraph was undreamed of, and if any one had hinted the possibility of talking to some one else a thousand miles away over a telephone-wire, he would have been considered a lunatic or, possibly, a witch. In fact, New York was a quiet, unpretentious little town whose inhabitants were still divided into English or Dutch families, according to their descent, and in whose households were found the customs of England and Holland in full force. Irving's father was a Scotch Presbyterian, who considered life a discipline, who thought all amusement a waste of precious time, and who made the children devote one out of the two half-weekly holidays to the study of the Catechism.

Forbidden to attend the theatre, Irving would risk his neck nightly by climbing out of his window to visit the play for an hour or so, and then rush home in terror lest his absence had been noted and his future fun imperilled, and many a night when sent early to bed he would steal away across the adjacent roofs to send a handful of stones clattering down the wide old-fashioned chimney of some innocent neighbor, who would start from his dreams to imagine robbers, spooks, or other unpleasant visitors in his bed-chamber. He was not particularly brilliant in his studies, but he distinguished himself as an actor in the tragedies which the boys gave in the school-room; at ten years of age he was the star of the company, who did not even lose respect for him when once, being called suddenly upon the stage through a mistake, he appeared with his month full of honey-cake, which he was obliged to swallow painfully, while the audience roared at the situation. Afterward when he rushed around the stage flourishing a wooden sabre he was not a tragedian to be trifled with. His favorite books were _Robinson Crusoe_, the _Arabian Nights_, _Gulliver's Travels_, and all stories of adventure and travel. The world beyond the sea always seemed a fairy-land to him; a little print of London Bridge and another of Kensington Gardens that hung in his bedroom stirred his heart wistfully; and he fairly envied the odd-looking old gentlemen and ladies who appeared to be loitering around the arches of St. John's Gate, as shown in a cut on the cover of an old magazine. Later on his imagination was also kindled by short excursions to the then wild regions of the Hudson and Mohawk valleys. Years afterward we find the remembrance of these days gracing with loving touch the pages of some of his choicest work.

At seventeen Irving left school and began to study for the bar. But his health, which had always been delicate, made it necessary for him to take a long rest from study, and he accordingly left America for two years of travel abroad. It was after his return home that he brought out his Knickerbocker history, a work which made him so famous that when he returned to England some time afterwards he found himself very well known in the best literary circles. The results of this second visit are found in the volumes comprising the _Tales of a Traveller_; _Bracebridge Hall_; _Geoffrey Crayon's Sketch-Book_, and other miscellany, in which occur charming descriptions of English country life, delightful ghost stories, the famous description of an English Christmas, and the immortal legend of _Rip Van Winkle_. One of Irving's most interesting chapters in this collection is that of his visit to the haunts of Robin Hood, whose exploits had so fascinated him as a boy that he spent his entire holiday money in obtaining a copy of his adventures. _Abbotsford_ is an account of a visit that Irving paid to Sir Walter Scott. It is a charming revelation of the social side of Scott's character, who welcomed Irving as a younger brother in art, became his guide in his visits to Yarrow and Melrose Abbey, and took long rambling walks with him all around the country made so famous by the great novelist. Irving recalled as among the most delightful hours of his life those walks over the Scottish hills with Scott, who was described by the peasantry as having "an awfu' knowledge of history," and whose talk was full of the folklore, poetry, and superstitions that made up the interest of the place.

In the evening they sat in the drawing-room, while Scott, with his great hound, Maida, at his feet, read to him a scrap of old poetry, or a chapter from King Arthur, or told some delightful bit of peasant fairy-lore like that of the black cat which, on hearing one shepherd tell another of having seen a number of cats dressed in mourning following a coffin, sprang up the chimney in haste exclaiming, "Then I am king of the cats!" and vanished to take possession of his vacant kingdom. From this time on Irving's life was one of constant literary labor for many years, all of which were spent abroad. His works on the history of Spain, the companions of _Columbus_ and the _Alhambra_, were compiled during his residence in Spain, where he had access to the national archives, and where he became as familiar with the life of the people as it was possible for a stranger to become. After seventeen years' absence Irving returned to America, where he was welcomed as one who won for his country great honors. He was the first writer to make American literature respected abroad, and his return was made the occasion of numerous fêtes given in his honor in New York and other cities.

He now built Sunnyside on the Hudson, the home that he loved so dearly, and which will ever be famous as the abode of America's first great writer.

His principal works following the Spanish histories were _Astoria_, the history of the fur-trading company in Oregon, founded by the head of the Astor family; _Captain Bonneville_, the adventures of a hunter in the far West; the _Life of Goldsmith_; and the lives of _Mohammed and his Successors_. He returned to Spain as ambassador in 1842, and remained four years.

In the _Legends of the Conquest of Spain_ Irving tells the story of the conquest of Spain by the Moors, as related in the old Spanish and Moorish chronicles. The whole story is a brilliant, living picture of that romantic age. The Spanish king goes to battle wearing robes of gold brocade, sandals embroidered with gold and diamonds, and a crown studded with the costliest jewels of Spain. He rides in a chariot of ivory, and a thousand cavaliers knighted by his own hand surround him, while tens of thousands of his brave soldiers follow him, guarding the sacred banners emblazoned with the cross. The Moorish vanguard, riding the famous horses of Arabia, advance to the sound of trumpet and cymbal, their gay robes and snowy turbans, and their arms of burnished gold and steel glittering in the sunshine which reflects in every direction the sacred crescent, the symbol of their faith. The surroundings are equally picturesque and romantic. The famous plain of Granada, adorned with groves and gardens and winding streams, and guarded by the famous Mountains of the Sun and Air, forms the foreground to the picture, while in the distance we see the gloomy mountain passes, the fortified rocks and castles, and the great walled cities, through which the Moors passed, always victorious, and never pausing until their banners floated from every cliff and tower.

Irving remained some months in the Alhambra, living over again the scenes of Moorish story, and so catching the spirit of the lost grandeur of the old palace that his descriptions read like a bit of genuine Arabian chronicle, which had been kept safe until then in the grim guardianship of the past.

The chapters of the _Alhambra_ are also full of delightful legends, the fairy tales which time had woven around the beautiful ruin, and which the custodians of the place related gravely to Irving as genuine history. It calls up a pleasant picture to think of Irving sitting in the stately hall or on his balcony, listening to one of these old tales from the lips of his tattered but devoted domestic while the twilight was gathering, and the nightingale singing in the groves and gardens beneath. He himself said that it was the realization of a daydream which he had cherished since the time when, in earliest boyhood on the banks of the Hudson, he had pored over the story of the Granada.

In his work, _The Conquest of Granada_, Irving relates the story of the retaking of Granada by Ferdinand and Isabella. So sympathetically and graphically does Irving describe the fortunes of this war that he must ever remain the historian of the Moors of Spain, whose spirit seemed to inspire the beautiful words in which he celebrated their conquests, their achievements and their defeats.

In the _Chronicle of Wolfert's Roost_ Irving follows in imagination old Diedrich Knickerbocker into the famous region of Sleepy Hollow, where much of the material for the celebrated Knickerbocker History was said to have been collected. This chronicle, it was claimed, was written upon the identical old Dutch writing-desk that Diedrich used, the elbow chair was the same that he sat in, the clock was the very one he consulted so often during his long hours of composition. In these pages old Diedrich walks as a real person, and Irving follows him with faithful step through the region that he loved so fondly all his life.

Everything here is dwelt upon with lingering touch. The brooks and streams, the meadows and cornfields, the orchards and the gardens, and the groves of beech and chestnut have their tribute from the pen of one who found their charms ever fresh, who sought in them rest and happiness, and who came back to them lovingly to spend the last days of his life in their familiar companionship.

Irving died in 1859, and was buried at Sunnyside; in sight of the Hudson whose legends he had immortalized, and whose beauty never ceased to charm him from the moment it first captivated his heart in his boyhood days.

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

PAPERS FOR BEGINNERS, NO. 1.

THE ACTION OF LIGHT ON THE SENSITIVE PLATE.

The process of making photographs has been made so simple by modern science that the most of us make our picture by intuition--that sort of sixth sense by which we know just how long to expose a plate, when to take it from the developer, when it is fixed sufficiently, etc., etc.--though we can give no scientific explanation of our methods, and know little or nothing how the chemical changes are produced which result in the finished photograph.

It is not at all necessary to know the process of making a sensitive plate, but it is quite necessary to know something of the action of light on the plate in order to make a good picture. A photographic negative is formed by the chemical action of light admitted through a lens or even a tiny hole, into an otherwise light tight box, and striking a glass plate, film, paper, or celluloid, coated with sensitive silver salts. The part of the light that affects this coating is the blue rays.

The rays of light may be separated by the prism into a band of five different colors--red, yellow, green, blue, and violet. Three of these colors--the red, yellow, and blue--are called the primary colors, for any color or shade desired may be obtained by blending and mixing them in different proportions. These three primary colors have each a separate power. The red rays possess heating power, the yellow rays possess illuminating power, and the blue rays chemical power. The blue rays are called actinic, and when we speak of actinic light we mean the blue rays which produce the chemical change in the sensitive plate. The effect of these actinic rays may be seen in other things besides the sensitive plates. The fading of carpets, draperies, and clothing, the tanning or browning of the skin, etc., are due to their action.

After the sensitive plate has been exposed in the camera to the chemical action of the blue rays, the change which has taken place is invisible to the eye, and in this state is called the latent image, because it is dormant or hidden. In order to preserve this chemical change in the silver salts the sensitive plate must be washed or soaked in a solution which will form an opaque compound with the part of the salt which has been acted upon by the light. As it is necessary to have a light to watch the process and stop it when it has been carried far enough, we must have a light free from actinic or blue rays. We therefore darken the room and use a red light, for the red rays have little or no actinic power.

As we watch the chemical change which takes place in the sensitive plate when covered with what we call the developer, we notice black patches appear here and there on the plate. These are the places which have been exposed to the strongest actinic rays. All bodies radiate or reflect light, some more than others. A piece of yellow silk may appear to the eye lighter in color than a piece of blue silk, but when the two pieces are photographed it will be found that the yellow photographs much darker than the blue silk. This is because the yellow silk does not reflect actinic rays, while the blue does, and therefore the sensitive plate is more strongly affected by the light reflected from the blue than from the yellow silk. The yellow-colored silk possesses the illuminating power which causes it to make a room look bright and sunny, while the blue silk possesses the chemical power which affects the sensitive salts.

If the sensitive plate has been exposed to a landscape, the strongest actinic rays come from the blue sky, and as the chemical used to develop or bring out the image affects the part which has been exposed to the strongest light most quickly, the result in the negative is the opaque deposit which covers all that part of the plate exposed to the light from the sky. After the image has appeared on the plate it must undergo another process to make it permanent. It must be placed in a chemical solution which shall dissolve the silver salts from the parts unaffected by the actinic rays. Where the actinic light has been the strongest the glass will be covered with a black deposit, and where the light has not reached the plate with sufficient force the salts will be dissolved and the glass will be clear, while the high lights, the shadows, and the half-tones will show just how much each object reflected actinic rays.

We manage our cameras, but the sun is the real work-man. What he does is well worth learning, for it enables us to tell beforehand just what kind of a negative we shall have after we have exposed a sensitive plate to his influence.

ROUND TABLE PHOTOGRAPHIC EXCHANGE CLUB.

Our suggestion of forming a photographic exchange club, or travelling photographic exhibit, meets with the warm approval of many of our members. Next week we shall give directions for beginning and carrying on our club. We give the names and addresses of members who will act as representatives. Ernest P. Fredericks, Arlington, New Jersey; Samuel J. Castner, 3729 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania; Walter G. Sill, 511 Central Avenue, East Orange, New Jersey; Andrew Phillips, Nunda, New York; C. Roy Baker, 315 W. Dry Street, Salem, Ohio; William J. Tobey, Washington, Kansas; William C. Davids, Rutherford, New Jersey.

CONSTANT READER asks: "1. Is it possible to photograph from a moving vessel, and how? 2. Can I take photographs of microscopic specimens with an ordinary camera, and will you please describe the method? 3. How can I photograph monuments so that they will not show black in the picture? 4. What make of plates is the quickest? 5. How can I photograph a mantel-piece in a hall without using a flash-light? The hall is rather dark." 1. One can easily photograph objects from a moving vessel by using quick plates and making the exposure instantaneous. Successful snap-shots, but not artistic pictures, have been and can be made from moving trains. 2. An article will soon be published on microphotography for amateurs. The process requires too long a description for the space devoted to queries. 3. A cloudy day--not heavy clouds--is the better time for photographing monuments. A rather slow plate and a short time exposure will give better detail, and render the monument or figure with correct color value. Use orthochromatic or nonhalation plates. 4. The rapidity of the plate is marked on the box. Some brands of plates are marked with the sensitometer number, like the Stanley, Carbutt, Seed, etc., and others are marked with a letter like the Cramer. The sensitiveness of the Stanley, which is marked "Sens. 50," and the Cramer "C" plate is about equal as to rapidity. 5. If you cannot use a flash-light for the mantel, try a long exposure by lamp-light. Place the lamp, which should give a clear, brilliant light, so as to illuminate the wood-work without giving strong shadows. If one lamp is not sufficient to light the whole surface, take two, but place them so that the light from each comes from the same direction. A reflector back of the lamp helps the lighting. A shallow tin pan, if bright, makes a good reflector if the genuine article cannot be obtained.

LADY GRACE S., Vails Gate, N. Y., asks for the name of a book giving full instructions in photography for beginners. "Every camera maker furnishes with each camera sent out a book giving simple instruction for using the camera, and directions for developing plates. This would be a sufficient guide for the beginner, and if rules are followed one can obtain very good negatives. There are many books published on photography which would be helpful after a while, but the beginner will find the directions which come with the camera all that are needful at first. With this number we begin publishing what will be a series of papers for beginners in photography. Technical terms will be explained, formulas for work will be given with explanations of what each chemical is expected to do. Prices of chemicals for each formula will also be added. It is intended to make these instructions as simple as possible, and if Lady Grace will watch this column she will find in it we hope just the help she needs."

OFF WITH THE MERBOY.

BY JOHN KENDRICK BANGS.