{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_59045/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_59045","id":"gutenberg_59045","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/59045","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Adventure","Category: Humour","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Short Stories","Children's periodicals"],"text":"Produced by Annie R. McGuire\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: HARPER'S ROUND TABLE]\n\nCopyright, 1896, by HARPER & BROTHERS. All Rights Reserved.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nPUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, AUGUST 18, 1896. FIVE CENTS A COPY.\n\nVOL. XVII.--NO. 877. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nTHE \"FLYING DUTCHMAN\" UP TO DATE.\n\nONE OF THE OLD SAILOR'S YARNS.\n\nBY W. J. HENDERSON.\n\n\nIt was the day before a great storm. Any one familiar with the face of\nthe sea could have told that. The sky was a dead, dull sheet of cold\nleaden-gray cloud, and the color of it was reflected in a darker shade\nin the vast expanse of heaving waters. From the southward and eastward\nlong, broad, oily swells were rolling in a formidable procession. As\neach one swept into the shallow water close to the shore it reared\nitself in a curving pinnacle of gray shot with green. Then it whitened\nin a quivering, broken line along its crest, and rushing forward, hurled\nitself upon the beach in a crashing swirl of snowy foam. Not a breath\nof air was stirring. The atmosphere was damp and heavy, and it seemed to\nclog the lungs. Sounds along the shore were preternaturally clear in the\nintervals between the thunder-bursts of the surf, and the crowing of a\ncock at a farm-house half a mile away could be distinctly heard. Not a\nsail was to be seen except far away in the northeast, where the light\ncanvas of a schooner showed above the wavering line of the horizon.\nNearer at hand a south-bound steamer was ploughing her way seaward,\nrolling so perilously that the yawning throat of her fuming black\nsmokestack lay wide open toward the land at every starboard lurch of\nher. The Old Sailor was sitting in his accustomed place on the pier,\ngazing around the horizon and shaking his head. There was no doubt that\nthe day or the ship in sight had aroused in his mind some reminiscent\ntrain of thought. So Henry and George, who had caught sight of him,\ndetermined to join him. They walked quickly out on the pier, but before\nthey reached their friend, he turned his head and called out,\n\n\"Wot d'ye think of 't?\"\n\n\"Of what?\" asked Henry, as they paused beside him.\n\n\"O' the weather.\"\n\n\"It looks as if we were going to have a severe storm,\" said Henry.\n\n\"Werry good; werry good indeed,\" declared the Old Sailor, gazing around\nthe horizon once more and indulging in one of his silent laughs. \"An'\ns'posin',\" he continued, \"I was to go fur to ax you wot quarter would\nthe wind come in, wot'd ye say?\"\n\n\"Southeast,\" answered George, confidently.\n\n\"Not so werry good,\" commented the Old Sailor. \"Ye can't allus say that\nthe wind are a-goin' fur to come from the same quarter as the swells is\na-comin' from. I reckon we'll git this fust o' the no'theast, an' then\neast, an' then southeast, an' so on around to nor'west, w'ere it'll\nclear off. It are a-goin' to be one o' them there cycloons wot ye read\nabout. An' w'en it comes, w'y, gimme plenty o' sea-room an' a good stout\nmain-torps'l; that's wot.\"\n\nThe Old Sailor relapsed into a deep silence, and the boys waited\npatiently for several minutes, knowing that if there was any memory at\nwork within him it would surely work its way out. In about five minutes\nthe old man suddenly broke out thus:\n\n\"Ye may paral and sarve me with fish bones ef this ain't the werry\nidentical kind o' day wot it happened on, 'ceptin' as how it didn't\nreally happen till night, an' it are now not more'n five bells in the\narternoon watch. I were a-takin' the brig _Banana Peel_ out from St.\nPaul de Loanda to Delagoa Bay with a cargo of frankfurter sausages,\ncondensed milk, leather shoelaces, an' beeswax. The Cap'n, Jerubabel\nMoxon, were took sick o' coast-fever in St. Paul, an' had to be left\nthere. So bein' I were the fust mate an' it were my dooty fur to take\ncommand an' perceed with the woyidge aroun' the Cape an' into Delagoa\nBay, I called at Cape Town fur some fresh purwisions an' water, and we\nlaid at anchor in Table Bay fur two days. W'en I were a-gittin' ready\nfur to git under way a old boatman sez to me, sez he, 'Ef I was you, I'd\nwait a day or two longer. It are a-goin' to blow putty fresh from the\neast'rd, an' ye won't be able fur to double the Cape.' But seein' as how\nthere weren't no other signs o' weather 'ceptin' his talk, I reckoned\nI'd go ahead, an' I did.\n\n\"Waal, boys, we hadn't no more'n got clean out to sea nor she come on in\nstiff puffs onto the east'rd, an' in about three hours it were blowing\nhalf a gale. I laid the brig close-hauled on the port tack, but she made\nleeway by the rood, and I knowed I were a-headin' a good deal nigher fur\nthe antarctic continent than fur the Cape o' Good Hope. Fur three days\nan' nights that easter blowed. It warn't never a whole gale, but it kep'\nus under short canvas, an' riz enough sea fur to keep us way down to\nleeward all the time, an' when it bruk we was two hundred miles sou'west\no' the Cape. Now we got a southerly wind, an' in twenty-four hours we\ndoubled the Cape o' Good Hope, and I laid the course to weather Cape\nAgulhas. Blow me fur pickles, ef it didn't fall a flat calm w'en we was\noff that cape, jess like this one to-day, with a mos' disorganizin'\nswell a-runnin' in from the southeast. I seed that it were a-goin fur to\ncome on to blow, but wot could I do? We was about ten miles off the\nland, an' them swells a-settin' us in toward it all the time at a mos'\namazin' pace. I wished as how I were back on the other side o' Good\nHope, w'ere them same swells would 'a' bin a-settin' us off shore.\nHowsumever, it warn't no use wishin'; 'cos w'y, wishes ain't\nsteam-engines or perpellers, an' won't make ships go w'en there ain't no\nwind.\n\n\"Waal, there we was, a-buggaluggin' aroun' in the mos' permiskous\nfashion, like a fly in a plate o' butter. Night come on darker'n the\ninside o' an empty mess-chest with the lid shut down. We was a-rollin'\nan' a-rollin' so that I were more'n half afeard as how we'd roll the\nmasts out o' the bloomin' hooker, an' most o' the men was on deck\nhangin' on fur dear life, an' waitin' to hear the wind begin fur to\nhowl. But I kinder b'lieved myself that we wouldn't get it afore\nmornin'. Waal, all on a suddent down to the south'ard an' west'ard, on\nour stabboard quarter, there comes one o' the mos' awful ear-splittin'\nscreeches I ever heerd in all my life. We all held our breath, an' I\nreckon most on us turned white. 'Cos w'y, none on us ever heerd any sich\nsound afore. In about three minutes we heerd it ag'in. Then the whole\nsky down there lit up with a big green flash, as ef all the green\nfireworks on 'arth'd gone off at oncet.\n\n\"'Wot in bloomin' Africa are it?' sez I to Hiram Sink, my mate, sez I.\n\n\"'Ghosts, sure,' sez he to me, sez he.\n\n\"I were jess a-goin' to tell him that ghosts didn't walk aroun' at sea\nan' set off fireworks, w'en a shout from the hands forrad stopped me.\nThere, broad off our stabboard quarter, about a mile away, were a brig\nlined out against the sky in a reg'lar skellington o' waverin' fire. It\nwere the palest greenest sort o' fire, an' she looked like the ghost o'\na brig.\n\n\"'The _Flyin' Dutchman_!' sez Hiram Sink, sez he.\n\n\"'By the great anchor flukes, them's it!' sez I.\n\n\"An' at that werry identical minute there were another one o' them awful\nscreeches, an', pst! that there brig jess went out, like as ef ye'd\nturned off the gas.\n\n\"'We 'ain't got no show to git out o' this,' sez Hiram Sink, sez he.\n\n\"'Nary show. We got to go on them rocks sure,' sez I to he, sez I.\n\n\"A werry few minutes arter that a hand forrard yells, 'Steamer on the\nstabboard bow!'\n\n\"An', sure 'nuff, we could see the lights in her cabin. Nex' thing I\nknowed, there were a launch off our quarter, an' a voice hailed us,\n\n\"'Aboard the brig there!'\n\n\"'Hello!' sez I. 'Who on 'arth are you?'\n\n\"'I'm the owner o' that steam-yacht up there, an' I want to come aboard\nyou,' sez he.\n\n\"'Come on, then,' sez I.\n\n\"So the launch come alongside, an' the man comes aboard. He sartinly\nwere a pikooliar pusson. His face were so full o' wrinkles it looked\nlike it were made o' rope, an' he had a stiff mustache as white as\nchalk. His eyes was little an' black an' piercin'. But he were dressed\nin the swellest kind o' yachtin' toggery ye ever seed, an' spite o' his\nlookin' a hundred years old, he skipped over the side like a midshipman.\nHe come up to me with a jolly laugh, slapped me on the back, an' sez he\nto me, sez he,\n\n\"'How'd ye like the show?'\n\n\"'Wot show?' sez I to he, sez I.\n\n\"'W'y, my show down yonder--shrieks, lightnin', ghost ship, an' all\nthem--eh?'\n\n\"'W'y,' sez I to he, sez I, 'we thort it were the _Flyin' Dutchman_.'\n\n\"'So it were,' sez he to me, sez he, jess like that, me bein' Cap'n o'\nthe brig, an' him a grinnin' Methuselah in yachtin' togs.\n\n\"'Wot d'ye mean?' sez I.\n\n\"'I'm the Flyin' Dutchman, the only one in the business, Cap'n G. W.\nVanderdecken,' sez he.\n\n\"'But it ain't reg'lar at all,' sez I. 'Wot are you a-doin' of with a\nsteam-yacht an' them clothes?'\n\n\"'Wot did ye expect? W'y, I'm up to date, I am,' sez he, laffin' like\nhe'd bust hisself. 'I ain't no old moth-eaten barnacle-covered, worn-out\nspook. I'm a real, live, wide-awake Flyin' Dutchman, right down here in\nmy own partikler latitoods, an' out an' 'tendin' to business w'en\nthere's thick weather a-brewin'. It'll blow a livin' gale by mornin'.'\n\n\"An' with that he went into sech a fit o' laffin' I thort he'd putty\nwell choke hisself to death, an' I 'mos' wished he would, him a-comin'\naroun' scarin' sailor-men, an' makin' fun o' 'em w'en they was in danger\no' shipwrack an' death.\n\n\"'Waal,' sez I to he, sez I, 'ef you be the Flyin' Dutchman, you'd\nbetter go back to wherever you come from, an' let us get wracked in\npeace. We ain't in no humor to be laffed at,' sez I to he, sez I, jess\nlike that.\n\n\"'W'y,' sez he, 'ye might jess as well laff as cry, 'cos w'y, arter\nye're all dead ye can't do nothin'.'\n\n\"'Waal,' sez I, gittin' putty mad, 'there's one thing I can do afore I\ngoes to Davy Jones's locker; I can throw you overboard.'\n\n\"I made a move toward him, an' he jumped back an' pulled a whistle out\no' his pocket an' blowed it. The nex' second the air jess shook with\nthem awful screams ag'in, an' the yacht blazed up in streaks o' fire. I\nstopped like I were shot.\n\n\"'Good show, ain't it?' sez he. 'There ain't nothin' like it a-scourin'\nthe high seas.'\n\n\"With that he dances aroun' on one leg an' laffs ag'in like a crazy\nhyena.\n\n\"'Look here,' sez I to he, sez I, 'I don't see wot business you got with\na steam-yacht, anyhow.'\n\n\"'W'y,' sez he to me, sez he, 'you made one kick about that already. Wot\nd'ye s'pose? D'ye think I'm goin' to be behind the times? 'Ain't I got\nas good a right to have all the modern improvements as any other man\nafloat?'\n\n\"'But the last time I seed you,' sez I, 'were about ten year ago, an'\nyou had a old-fashioned sailin'-vessel then.'\n\n\"'An' wot good were she?' sez he, speakin' kind o' mad like. 'I couldn't\ngit to wind'ard in her in any sort o' weather at all.'\n\n\"'O' course not,' sez I to he, sez I. 'Ye ain't expected to git to\nwind'ard. You're expected to be down here a-tryin' to double this 'ere\ncape in a gale o' wind an' gittin' blowed back.'\n\n\"'Waal, my son,' sez he to me, sez he, 'we got all that old story\nchanged now. That's wot used to happen to me, but it don't happen no\nmore. I got a steamer now, an' I can git to wind'ard in putty poor\nweather. An' as for doublin' this 'ere cape, I jess do that two or three\ntimes a year fur my health, an' to keep up my repitation. It wouldn't do\nfur me never to be seed down here at all; 'cos w'y, a lot o' you\nignerent sailor-men'd git so ye wouldn't b'lieve in me, an' then my\noccupation'd be gone. I jess showed up fur you as a matter o' business,\nan' I'm sure I give you a mighty good show, too. An' now here you are\na-grumblin' an' a-kickin' an' a-talkin' about throwin' me overboard. Not\nas I'd mind bein' in the sea werry much, 'cos ye can't drown me, ye\nknow. But I got feelin's, I have, an' I don't like to be treated bad by\nnobody at all, I don't.'\n\n\"An' blow me fur pickles ef the old willain didn't pull out his\nhankercher an' wipe his eyes jess like he were a-cryin'.\n\n\"'Ef you don't want to hear hard words from sailor-men,' sez I to he,\nsez I, 'don't go fur to come fur to appear to 'em off this 'ere cape an'\nbring on foul weather an' shipwrack.'\n\n\"'Ah, say,' sez he, takin' the hankercher from his eyes and commencin'\nfur to laff ag'in, 'd' you b'lieve that tommy-rot?'\n\n\"'Wot!' sez I, 'ain't you the cause o' this 'ere weather?'\n\n\"'Naw-w-w,' sez he, disgusted like.\n\n\"'Waal,' sez I, 'you're the sign o' 't.'\n\n\"'Not edzackly,' sez he. 'I allers turn on my show w'en there's bad\nweather comin'. I got to. I got to keep up my repitation. W'y, wot'd\nHerne the Hunter, the Erl-King, the Headless Horseman, an' old Mother\nErda think o' me ef I didn't attend to business? I'd git kicked out o'\nrespectable spook society, an' w'ere in goodness'd I go then?'\n\n\"There not seemin' to be no fittin' answer to that there inquiry, I\ndidn't make none. No more did Hiram Sink, him havin' lost his breath\nw'en Vanderdecken first came aboard, an' not bein' able to speak.\n\n\"'But I want to tell you one thing,' sez the Flyin' Dutchman, sez he;\n'ef it's the weather an' the lee shore you're a-worrin' about, I can\nprove to ye that I 'ain't got no sort o' interest in it.'\n\n\"'How can ye do that?' sez I to he, sez I.\n\n\"'I'll tow ye round the cape,' sez he.\n\n\"Waal, my sons, ye could 'a' knocked me down with a compass-card. Who\never heard o' the Flyin' Dutchman doin' sich a thing?\n\n\"'All right,' sez I to he, sez I. 'Will you give us a line?'\n\n\"'Sure,' sez he; 'look out there forrad.'\n\n\"He blowed that whistle o' his a couple o' times, an' the end o' a\nheavin'-line lit onto my fo'k's'le deck. The hands was 'mos' afraid to\ntouch it, but bime-by Hiram Sink got the hawser aboard an' made fast.\nThe Flyin' Dutchman's launch were dropped astern, an' his bloomin'\nsteam-yacht went ahead, towin' us along at about seven knots an hour. As\nfur him he walked up an' down the deck mumblin' to hisself like he were\npuffickly disgusted with the entire perceedin's. Arter he'd towed us\nputty well past the cape, an' I commenced fur to feel a leetle easier in\nmy mind, I walked up to him, an' sez I to he, sez I,\n\n\"'Look here, Mr. Flyin' Dutchman.'\n\n\"'Waal, Mr. Sailin' American, wot are it?'\n\n\"'I'd like fur to have the privilege o' axin' you a fair question.'\n\n\"'Heave ahead,' sez he, 'an' I'll answer 't ef I likes.'\n\n\"'What brought ye aboard o' my vessel, anyhow?'\n\n\"'Waal,' sez he, 'I'm out o' baccy, an' I thort as how ye might let me\nhave a little.'\n\n\"'Oho!' sez I to he, sez I, 'I s'pose ye can't lay in a cargo 'cos ye\nkin only land once in seven years.'\n\n\"'Aw, gammon!' sez he, 'I can land w'enever I wants to.'\n\n\"'But how about keepin' up yer repitation?' sez I.\n\n\"'That's all right,' sez he. 'Who's goin' to know me in broad daylight\nwith a steam-yacht an' in these togs? W'y, I'm goin' up to Calcutta as\nquick as I can get there.'\n\n\"I told him to wait a minute, an' I went an' got him a box o' smokin'\nbaccy, an' he were werry grateful fur 't, too.\n\n\"'Now,' sez I to he, sez I, 'I got to tell ye somethin' afore ye go.'\n\n\"'Waal,' sez he, 'wot are it?'\n\n\"'I can't jess edzackly b'lieve,' sez I, 'that you're ginuwine.'\n\n\"'Ginuwine wot?' sez he.\n\n\"'Genuwine Flyin' Dutchman.'\n\n\"'Wot!' sez he. 'Waal, jess you wait a few minutes an' I'll show ye.'\n\n\"With that he jumped over the rail. I thort he were in the sea, but I\nseed him in his launch goin' out ahead o' us. At the same time the\ntow-line gave a jerk an' parted right under our fore-stay. The nex'\nminute them awful screams bruk out ag'in, an' then the Flyin' Dutchman's\nyacht came down past us at a twenty-knot gait. She were red hot all\nover, an' steam hissed from the sea as she passed. Her masts and spars\nlooked to be all afire, an' on the bridge in a cloud o' smoke stood the\nFlyin' Dutchman hisself, smokin' a pipe o' the baccy I give him. An' he\nlooked like he were a sheet o' white fire.\n\n\"'Ha, ha, ha, ha!' he yelled. 'Ye don't believe I'm genuwine, eh? I'll\nshow ye!'\n\n\"An', pst! him an' the yacht an' the fire an' the steam was gone, jess\nlike that, leaving the sea blacker'n ink. An' the nex' minute whee-oop\ncome the gale, not out o' the southeast, but out o' the no'theast. An'\nit blowed us back two hundred mile, dismasted us, an' generally used us\nup. An' I don't want to be towed by the Flyin' Dutchman ag'in.\"\n\n\n\n\nA DAY WITH SAND-PIPER SNIPE, ESQ.\n\nBY DUDLEY D. F. PARKER\n\n\nThere is no pleasanter way of spending a day than snipe-shooting, and\nthere are many reasons why it is so popular. The birds are to be found\nalmost anywhere where water and sedge-grass abound, though the best\nshooting-grounds are the salt-meadow-bordered bays on the coast. When a\nbird is shot there is small danger of losing it as compared to that in\nupland or thicket shooting, and a dog is not a necessity, as all\nwing-shots are generally made over water or short grass, where the bird\ncan easily be recovered. Most boys are not so fortunate as to possess a\ngood dog, and as very fine snipe-shooting can be had without one, it is\nespecially fitted for them. The bird when \"flushed\" anywhere near the\nwater will fly out over it.\n\n[Illustration: THE BEACH SNIPE.]\n\nThe bird that will be especially referred to in this paper will be the\nordinary little beach snipe that is so common everywhere, though what\nremarks apply to him will, with very slight exceptions, apply to all of\nthe snipe family.\n\nThe sand-piper always flies on a dead level, about a foot above the\nwater, unless the flock is flying high to escape some obstruction. He\npropels himself with a jerky motion of the wings, a stroke, and then an\ninstant's soaring, at a pretty fair rate of speed. The \"yellow leg,\" a\nlarger variety, on the contrary, flies quite high, and sometimes in the\nformations adopted by the wild-duck. They can always be recognized by\ntheir peculiar whistling call. The predominating colors of the snipe\nfamily are gray and white, though some few have a touch of brown on the\nback plumage. There is also a slight variation in the length and shape\nof the bill, though the character is about the same in all. The legs of\nthe snipe are long and a greenish-yellow in color; those of the \"yellow\nleg\" being almost a bright yellow. The sand-piper is a very rapid\nwalker, or perhaps, more properly, runner, and this remarkable facility\nshould always be borne in mind when a bird is only \"winged.\" When not\nfrightened they usually travel in a very irregular course along a beach,\nbut when frightened they will make as straight a line as the best\nsprinter. These little birds are very good swimmers and divers,\nremaining under water for a long time, propelling themselves with great\nrapidity by the use of their wings.\n\nSand-piper Snipe is a very sociable little fellow, and travels with lots\nof company, though the snipe are split up into small flocks during the\nlatter part of June, July, and the first part of August, when they are\nbreeding, usually beginning to flock again about the middle of August.\nNo true sportsman will shoot during this season. Aside from that, it is\nagainst the game laws; the old birds are not fit to eat, and there are\nin the latter part of the breeding season large numbers of small flocks\nof young birds who are too small to be of any use, and are so tame that\nit is possible to decimate a whole flock by a single barrel as they are\nbunched on the beach. This is not the aim of the sportsman.\n\nA word about the game laws. You should always respect them. They were\nmade for your and all sportsmen's benefit, and not as a means of\nannoyance. If you kill the birds whilst breeding, or destroy the young,\nthere will soon be little left in the country to shoot.\n\nThere are three times to find the snipe at rest: in the early morning,\nshortly after sunrise; at low tide, when the ground usually under water\nis exposed, so they can pick up the sand insects and feed on the\nsea-grasses that the high-water has brought up; and in the evening, when\nthe flocks are coming to rest for the night. The early morning and\nlow-water are the best times, as the birds will be found along the\nwater's edge feeding, whilst in the evening they usually retire some\ndistance inland on the meadows, and after they are settled in the grass\nfor the night it is pretty hard to get them up again. There is sometimes\na pretty fair show of finding the birds on the beach feeding just before\nsundown. It must be remembered, however, that the strength and direction\nof the wind have much to do with the number of snipe. The above is in\nfair weather, and now for the ideal \"snipe weather.\"\n\nIf you live on the Jersey coast, or any of the neighboring ones, and\nwake up one September morning with a good southeaster, which has been\nblowing since the previous evening, rattling around your windows,\naccompanied by drizzle, get up and put on your shooting \"togs,\" oil your\ngun well, and prepare for a good day's sport. The birds do not like to\nfly in a high wind, and will almost always come up into the coast bays\nand rivers to feed on the overflowed meadows that such storms produce.\n\nIt is a rather difficult thing to determine on what kind of ground you\nwill find snipe; some days they will be found in great abundance in one\nlocality, and the day after hardly a bird will be seen. The weather has\nsomething to do with this, and by a careful study of it some idea may be\ngained as to where to find the birds, though this will not always prove\nreliable.\n\nWhen the wind in a storm is not too high, the birds usually remain on\nthe sea-beach, but when it is violent you will run a pretty fair chance\nof finding them inland. During the southeaster mentioned, if the wind is\nrather high and there is a heavy tide, Sand-piper likes nothing better\nthan to spend the day paddling around on the flooded salt-meadows,\npicking up the little worms and bugs that have been soaked out of their\nhomes in the grass and soil. Here you will find him in large flocks,\ntravelling by short flights from one end of the meadow to the other,\nshowing very little disposition to move on. But above all his happiness\nseems wholly complete if he can find a meadow on which the grass has\nbeen cut and not collected in mows at the time of the overflow. The\nfloating grass affords a refuge for all the washed-out bug inhabitants\nof the meadow, and the snipe make the most of the rare treat offered.\nThis kind of meadow-shooting is very pleasant, as the birds will not fly\nfar when \"flushed,\" and it is possible to follow a flock all around the\nmeadow, securing several shots before it takes flight for good. The\nsedge islands at the mouths of rivers and bays are great feeding-grounds\nwhen the wind is not so high, and tide not sufficient to flood the\nfields.\n\nSometimes on the day after a storm pretty good shooting can be had on\nthe meadows that have been overflowed. The soil is usually of a clayey\ncharacter, and the water does not drain off in the lower places very\nrapidly, forming puddles and patches of slimy mud around which the birds\nlike to feed. They are usually found on the sea-beach just before or\nafter a storm.\n\nThe favorite haunts of snipe in fine weather, at low water, are the\nlittle sand or mud beaches bordering the sedge islands and meadows, and\nin the inlets along the water-front.\n\nThere are three methods of shooting snipe: tramping the beach, crawling\nup on them by boat, and by using decoys.\n\n[Illustration: TRAMPING FOR SNIPE.]\n\nTramping the beach or following up on land requires the smallest outfit\nof any, all that is necessary being the gun and your equipments. It is\nbest to wear rubber boots, unless you intend to shoot along hard beaches\nor dry meadows. This tramping of the meadows will afford rather good\nsport when they are flooded, and although you may not get as many birds\nas by decoying, the action it necessitates adds much to the pleasure.\nHowever, if the birds are plentiful and inclined to move about, I should\nadvise the use of a blind and decoys.\n\nLet us suppose we are going out at low water to look out for the birds\non the beaches. You have arrived at the scene of action and loaded your\ngun. Put it in the hollow of either arm; if there are two shooting,\ncarry the guns in opposite arms. In walking along the water you should\nnot walk on the beach, if there is one, but about fifteen or twenty feet\nback, going up to the beach at frequent intervals to study it for a\ndistance ahead. By this means the birds behind the sedge-grass will not\nbe able to see you until you are quite near. If when studying the beach\nahead you do not see any birds, you should make a careful note of the\nlikely places behind which snipe may be, and use corresponding care when\napproaching them. The snipe do not take to wing until you get quite\nnear, and there is little danger of frightening your birds by these\nshort examinations. You have been walking along the shore in the\ndescribed manner for some time, and in one of the above examinations you\nlocate some birds, let us say two hundred feet off. Crouch down in the\ngrass and make a study of the lay of the beach where the snipe are,\nnoting with care the positions of any high tufts of grass, bushes, or\nanything by which you can locate the place without seeing the beach, and\nit is best to select two between which the game is. Now strike inland\nsome fifty feet, more if level meadow, and move up parallel to the beach\nuntil opposite the marks noticed. When directly in back of where you\nthink the birds ought to be, work up to the beach, cocking your gun, and\nholding it in a position for instant use. You will probably get within\ntwenty or thirty feet of the edge of the grass, when the shrill whistles\nof the snipe will let you know the birds are off. It is then only a\nquestion of your skill as to whether you bag some. In approaching this\nway, the birds will usually fly directly off-shore and away from you for\na distance, thus affording the best kind of a shot. Taking the birds by\nsurprise, you can afford to let them get steadied in flight before\nshooting. Do not shoot as the bird first starts off, as his twisting\nwill destroy the aim; but let him get settled, cover him with the muzzle\nof your gun, following him with it for an instant until your hand is\nsteady, and then pull the trigger.\n\nPerhaps it should be mentioned here that if the wind is at all heavy you\nwill never find the birds on a lee shore; always look for them on the\nwindward. If the snipe is \"flushed\" on the meadow, or any other place\nwhere he has the choice of direction, he will always rise against the\nwind; so if you approach up wind you will get mostly driving shots, but\nif down wind good shots will be presented.\n\n[Illustration: SHOOTING FROM A SNEAK-BOAT.]\n\nFollowing the birds by boat is sometimes very effective. Perhaps before\ncoming to the shooting proper we should consider the boat. The best kind\nof boat for this work, where there is a great deal of running up on\nbeaches, is a sneak-box (description of shooting-boat in HARPER'S ROUND\nTABLE No. 818). The long bow overhang makes it easy to land without\nrunning the boat hard aground. We will consider the sailing first. No\nspecial equipment is required, but if you are going out alone a\nyoke-line attachment will be necessary for steering (see sketch). By\nthis device you can steer the boat from any part of the cockpit by\nsimply catching hold of the line at the nearest place, and pulling\neither way you wish.\n\nIf alone, it is best to sit pretty well aft, as you are less liable to\nbe bothered by the sail, but if there are two in the boat, one shooting\nand the other sailing, the man with the gun should sit as far forward as\nconvenient, and on the side next to the shore. If the sail happens to be\non the shore side, if possible sit on the forward deck so as to be able\nto shoot ahead of the mast; if not, you will have to shoot under the\nsail or in whatever manner a shot offers.\n\n[Illustration: ROWING AFTER SNIPE.]\n\nThe pleasure of the expedition may be greatly marred by mismanagement of\nthe boat. There are no particularly new problems in sailing presented,\nbut there are several points that must be borne in mind. Above all, the\nboat must not race alongshore, but should only drift along about thirty\nor forty feet off, because, when going at only a fair speed, objects on\nshore pass so rapidly as to make all accurate shooting impossible; and,\nalso, a boat travelling even slowly in shallow water will kick up such\nlarge waves, that these, breaking on the beach, will frighten all the\nbirds within hearing.\n\nThere is one peculiarity of snipe that perhaps ought to be mentioned.\nWhen the flock is feeding on small beaches broken up by patches of grass\nextending down to the waters edge, the birds, if approached on the water\nin a direction parallel to the beach, will run along it until they are\nall bunched at the grass before taking wing. This affords a good shot,\nand you can usually bag several. If you prefer to row after the birds,\nselect a two-oared light flat-bottomed boat, and sit in the front row\nseat, the person pulling occupying the rear. Sometimes the boat is\npropelled with a pole used over the stern. There is one indispensable\narticle in shooting snipe from a boat--a crab-net. By this, the dead and\nwounded birds can easily be picked up.\n\n[Illustration: DECOYING SNIPE.]\n\nDecoying, though requiring quite an extensive outfit, under proper\nconditions, will yield fine results. The blind is of first\nconsideration, much depending on its location. Before building it you\nshould try to determine where the birds are flying the day in question,\nthough the following general locations may be of help in the selection:\na neck of land separating two streams or arms of a river; a sedge\nisland; or a flooded meadow. In choosing the site try to find a spot\nwhere natural conditions give as much cover as possible, as behind weeds\nor tall grass, and try not to alter the appearance in the construction.\nIf you intend to shoot on a meadow, place the blind at a convenient\ndistance from some spot where you notice the birds feed. If on a beach,\ntry and place it so as to get a raking shot. In the meadow-blind, if you\nhave been able to find a convenient clump of weeds, cut down the extra\nones so as you will have a thin circle around you, or as near so as\npossible, and line the inside with hay or anything procurable, filling\nup the thin places in the barrier of live weeds with those you cut down.\nIf no clump can be found, look over the meadow until you find some\nstiff-stemmed weeds, and cut them quite near the roots. Carry these to\nthe selected spot, and construct the blind by sticking the ends in the\nground, and finish as before. The beach-blind may be constructed like\nthis, or a hiding-place can be made in the sedge-grass.\n\n[Illustration: DIAGRAMS OF SHELLS, DECOYS, AND STEERING-GEAR.]\n\nThe decoys are an essential part of the outfit. They can be made at\nhome, and should be at least twice life size. Their construction may be\nunderstood from the sketch. In painting them, try to lay the colors in\nthe same relations as in the live bird.\n\nSuppose we have constructed our blind near a beach, and set our decoys,\nsome twelve or fifteen, fairly bunched. A flock is seen approaching.\nThey see our decoys, and head in, apparently just skimming the water.\nLet them land, if they will; if not, fire as they wheel off. They will\nmost likely land, and if clear of the decoys use the right barrel,\nreserving the left (usually choked) for when they fly off. You have most\nlikely bagged some birds, but do not attempt to recover them now, for a\nflock will often return if any birds are lost. If there are any dead\nbirds on the water, you had better keep an eye on them, as the crabs are\nfond of dead snipe.\n\nA few words here about the gun. The dangers of mishandling have been\ngone over so often that it is unnecessary to repeat them. A boy is\nperfectly safe with a gun if he will bear in mind the old and perhaps\nrather ambiguous saying, \"A gun is always loaded.\" A gun should not be\nallowed to stand for anytime with the remains of previous discharges in\nthe barrels, as the acid contained in the powder will pit them. It is\nbest to follow the rule of swabbing it clean after a day's sport; first,\nperhaps, if very dirty, with the wire burr, and polishing with soft\nrags. Sometimes the barrels become so much coated that they cannot be\ncleansed by these means, and it will be necessary to wash them out with\nwater. If this is the case, be sure to remove every trace of moisture\nafterwards. Always keep every part of the gun well coated with oil, and\nnever forget to oil the barrels after swabbing them clean, bearing in\nmind also that the heat of the discharge will dry the oil off the\noutside.\n\nA great deal might be said about shells, but it is not essential here.\nMachine-loaded shells with suitable charges for snipe can be bought for\nabout $1.40 a hundred, and will answer all purposes very well. There is\nroom for discussion as to the proper charge. I should say 2-3/4 or 3\ndrams of powder and 1 ounce of either No. 8 or No. 9 shot is a good load\nfor a 12-bore gun. The smaller shot is best for flock shooting. In the\nsketch is represented a section of a shell showing the position and kind\nof wads, and there is also shown a light home-loaded shell to kill\ncrippled birds. Many sportsmen load their own shells, but this takes\nmuch time and trouble, and the saving is not as great as would be\nsupposed, unless expensive powders are used. The boy learning to shoot\nshould by all means buy his ammunition, at least for such a time, until\nhe will know exactly what he is doing when loading his own shells.\n\n\n\n\nTHE VOYAGE OF THE \"RATTLETRAP.\"\n\nBY HAYDEN CARRUTH.\n\nII.\n\n\nThe port of Prairie Flower was in the eastern part of the then Territory\nof Dakota. It stood out on an open plain a half-dozen miles wide, which\nseemed to be the prairie itself, though it was really the valley of the\nSioux River, that funny stream which could run either way, and usually\nstood still in the night and rested. To the east and west the edges of\nthis valley were faintly marked by a range of very low bluffs, so low\nthat they were mere wrinkles in the surface of the earth, and made the\nvalley but very little lower than the great plain, which rolled away for\nmiles to the east and for leagues to the west.\n\nIt was a beautiful morning a little after the middle of September that\nthe Rattletrap got away and left Prairie Flower behind. The sun had been\nup only half an hour or so, and the shadow of our craft stretched away\nacross the dry gray plain like a long black streak without end. The air\nwas fresh and dewy. The morning breeze was just beginning to stir, and\ndown by the river the acres of wild sunflowers were nodding the dew off\ntheir heads, and beginning to roll in the first long waves which would\nkeep up all day like the rolling of the ocean. We shouted \"Good-by\" to\nGrandpa Oldberry and Squire Poinsett, but they only shook their heads\nvery seriously. The cows and horses picketed on the prairie all about\nthe little clump of houses which made up the town looked at us with\ntheir eyes open extremely wide, and no doubt said in their own\nlanguages, like Grandpa Oldberry, that they had no recollection of\nseeing any such capers as this for many years.\n\n\"See here,\" I said, suddenly, to Jack, \"where's that dog you said was\ngoing to follow us?\"\n\n\"You just hold on,\" answered Jack.\n\n\"Oh, are we going to have a dog too?\" asked Ollie.\n\n\"You wait a minute,\" insisted Jack.\n\n[Illustration: SNOOZER.]\n\nJust then we passed the railroad station. Jack craned his head out of\nthe front end of the wagon. Ollie and I did the same. Lying asleep on\nthe corner of the station platform we saw a dog. He was about the size\nof a rather small collie, or, to put it another way, perhaps he was half\nas big as the largest-size dog--if dogs were numbered like shoes, from\none to thirteen, this would have been about a No. 7 dog. He was yellow,\nwith short hair, except that his tail was very bushy. One ear stood up\nstraight, and the other lopped over, very much wilted. Jack whistled\nsharply. The dog tossed up his head, straightened up his lopped ear, let\nfall his other ear, and looked at us. Jack whistled again, and the dog\ncame. He ran around the wagon, barked once or twice, sniffed at the\npony's heels and got kicked at for his familiarity, yelped sharply, and\ncame and looked up at us, and wagged his bushy tail with a great\nflourish.\n\n\"He wants to get in. Give him a boost, Ollie,\" said Jack.\n\nOllie clambered over the dash-board and jumped to the ground. He pushed\nthe dog forward, and he leaped up and scrambled into the wagon, jumped\nover on the bed, where he folded his head and tail on his left side,\nturned around rapidly three times, and lay down and went to sleep, one\near up and one ear down.\n\n\"He's just the dog for the Rattletrap,\" said Jack. \"We'll call him\nSnoozer.\"\n\n\"That looks a good deal like stealing to me, Uncle Jack,\" said Ollie.\n\"Doesn't he belong to somebody?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Jack, \"he doesn't belong to anybody but us. He came here a\nweek ago with a tramp. The tramp deserted him, and rode away on the\ntrucks of a freight train, but Snoozer didn't like that way of\ntravelling, because there wasn't any place to sleep, so he staid behind.\nSince then he has tried to follow every man in town, but none of them\nwould have him. He's a regular tramp dog, not good for anything, and\ntherefore just the dog for us.\"\n\nSnoozer was the last thing we shipped, and after taking him aboard we\nwere soon out of the harbor of Prairie Flower, and bearing away across\nthe plain to the southwest. In twenty minutes we were among the\nbillowing sunflowers, standing five or six feet high on either side of\nthe road, which seemed like a narrow crack winding through them. Ollie\nreached out and gathered a handful of the drooping yellow blossoms. The\npony was tied behind, carrying her big saddle, and tossing her head\nabout, and showing that she was very suspicious of the whole\nproceedings, and especially of a small flag which Ollie had fastened to\nthe top of the wagon-cover, and which fluttered in the fresh morning\nbreeze. Snoozer slept on and never stirred. At last the road came to the\nriver, and then followed close along beside its bank, which was only a\nfoot or so high. Ollie was interested in watching the long grass which\ngrew in the bottom of the stream and was brushed all in one direction by\nthe sluggish current, like the silky fur of some animal. After a while\nwe came to a gravelly place which was a ford, and crossed the stream,\nstopping to let the horses drink. The water was only a foot deep. As we\ncame upon the higher ground beyond the river we met the south wind\nsquarely, and it came in at the front of the cover with a rush. We heard\na sharp flutter behind, and then the wagon gave a shiver and a lurch,\nand the horses stopped; then there was another shock and lurch, and it\nrolled back a few inches.\n\n\"There,\" exclaimed Jack, \"some of those wheels have begun to turn\nbackwards! I told you!\"\n\nI looked back. Our puckering-string had given way, and the rear of the\ncover had blown out loosely. This had been more than the pony could\nstand, and she had broken her rope and run back a dozen rods, and stood\nsnorting and looking at the wagon.\n\n[Illustration: THE FIRST ACCIDENT.]\n\n\"First accident,\" I cried. \"She'll run home, and we'll have to go back\nafter her.\"\n\n\"Perhaps we can get around her,\" said Jack. \"We'll try.\"\n\nWe left Ollie to hold the horses, and I went out around among the\nsunflowers, while Jack stood behind the wagon with his hat half full of\noats. I got beyond her at last, and drove her slowly toward the wagon.\nShe snorted and stamped the ground angrily with her forward feet; but at\nlast she ventured to taste of the oats, and finding more in the feed-box\non the rear of the wagon, she began eating them and forgot her fright.\n\n\"I guess we'd better not tie her, but let her follow,\" said Jack, \"As\nsoon as we have gone a little ways she'll come to think the wagon is\nhome and stick to it.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I said. \"I think she is really as great a tramp as Snoozer, and\njust the pony for us.\"\n\n\"Are we all tramps?\" asked Ollie.\n\n\"Well,\" said Jack, \"I'm afraid Grandpa Oldberry thinks we don't lack\nmuch of it. He says varmints will catch us.\"\n\n\"Do you think they will?\" went on Ollie, just a little bit anxiously.\n\n\"Oh, I guess not,\" said Jack. \"You see, we've got four guns. Then\nthere's Snoozer.\"\n\n\"But will they try to catch us?\"\n\n\"Well, I don't know. Grandpa Oldberry says the varmints are awfully\nthick this fall.\"\n\n\"But what are varmints?\"\n\n\"Oh, wolves, and b'ars, and painters, and--\"\n\n\"What are painters?\"\n\n\"Grandpa means panthers, I guess. Then there's Injuns, and boss-thieves,\nand--\"\n\n\"There's a prairie-chicken,\" I cried, as one rose up out of the long\ngrass.\n\n\"Perhaps we can get one for dinner,\" said Jack.\n\nHe took his gun and went slowly toward where the other had been. Another\nwhirred away like a shot. Jack fired, but missed it. We started on,\nleaving the pony tossing her head and stamping her feet in a great\npassion on account of the report of the gun; but when she saw that we\npaid no attention to her and were rapidly going out of sight she turned,\nafter taking a long look back at distant Prairie Flower, and came\ntrotting along the road, with her stirrups dangling at her sides, and\nsoon was following close behind.\n\n\"We can depend on the life-boat,\" said Jack.\n\nBefore we realized it the chronometer showed that it was almost noon. By\nthis time we had left the sea of sunflowers and crept over the wrinkle\nat the western edge of the valley, and were off across the rolling\nprairie itself. Still Snoozer never stirred.\n\n\"I wonder when he'll wake up?\" said Ollie.\n\n\"You'll see him awake enough at dinner-time,\" said Jack.\n\n\"Well, you'll see me awake enough then, too,\" answered Ollie. \"I'm\nhungry.\"\n\n\"We hardy pioneers plunging into the trackless waste of a new and\nunexplored country never eat but one meal a day,\" said Jack. \"And that's\nalways raw meat--b'ar-meat, generally.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Ollie, \"I don't see any b'ar-meat, or even\nprairie-chicken-meat. Why didn't you hit the prairie-chicken, Uncle\nJack?\"\n\n\"I'm not used to shooting at such small game,\" answered Jack, solemnly.\n\"My kind of game is b'ar--b'ar and other varmints.\"\n\nJust then we passed a house, and down a little way from it, close to the\nroad, was a well.\n\n\"Here's a good place to have dinner,\" said Jack; so we drove out by the\nside of the road and stopped.\n\n\"If I'm to be cook,\" said Jack to me, \"then you've got to take care of\nthe horses and do all the outside work. I'll be cook; you'll be rancher.\nThat's what we'll call you--rancher. Rancher, feed the horses and look\nout for hoss-thieves and sich like cut-throats.\"\n\nI unhitched the horses, tied them behind the wagon, and gave them some\noats and corn in the feed-box. The pony I fed in the big tin pail near\nby. The grass beside the road was so dry, and it was so windy, that we\ndecided that it was not safe to build a fire out-doors, so Jack cooked\npancakes over the oil-stove inside. These with some cold meat he handed\nout to Ollie and me as we sat on the wagon-tongue, while he sat on the\ndash-board. We were half-way through dinner when we heard a peculiar\nwhine, followed by a low bark, in the wagon, and then Snoozer leaped\nout, stretched himself, and began to wag his tail so fast that it looked\nexactly like a whirling feather duster. We fed him on pancakes, and he\nate so many that if Jack had not fried some more we'd have certainly\ngone hungry.\n\n\"I told you he was a true tramp,\" said Jack. \"Just see his appetite.\"\n\nAfter we had finished, and the horses had grazed about on the dry grass\nsome time, we started on. We hoped to reach a little lake which we saw\nmarked on the map, called Lake Lookout, for the night camp; so we\nhurried along, it being a good distance ahead. All the afternoon we were\npassing between either great fields where the wheat had been cut,\nleaving the stubble, or beside long stretches of prairie. There were a\nfew houses, many of them built of sod. Not much happened during the\nafternoon. Ollie followed the example of Snoozer, and curled up on the\nbed and had a long nap. We saw a few prairie-chickens, but did not try\nto shoot any of them. The pony trotted contentedly behind. Just before\nnight I rode her ahead looking for the lake. I found it to be a small\none, perhaps a half-mile wide, scarcely below the level of the prairie,\nand generally with marshy shores, though on one side the beach was sandy\nand stony, with a few stunted cottonwood-trees, and here I decided we\nwould camp. I went back and guided the Rattletrap to the spot. Soon Jack\nhad a roaring fire going from the dry wood which Ollie had collected. I\nfed the horses and turned them loose, and they began eagerly on the\ngreen grass which grew on the damp soil near the lake. The pony I\npicketed with a long rope and a strap around one of her forward ankles,\nbetween her hoof and fetlock, as we scarcely felt like trusting her all\nnight. Snoozer got up for his supper, and after that stretched himself\nby the fire and blinked at it sleepily. The rest of us did much the\nsame. After a while Ollie said:\n\n\"I think that bed in the wagon looks pretty narrow for two. How are\nthree going to sleep in it?\"\n\n\"I don't think three are going to sleep in it,\" said Jack.\n\n\"Where are you going to sleep, then, Uncle Jack?\"\n\nJack laughed. \"I think,\" he said, \"that the rancher and the cook will\nsleep in the wagon and let you sleep under the wagon. Nothing makes a\nboy grow like sleeping rolled up in a blanket under a wagon. You'll be\nsix inches taller if you do it every night till we get back.\"\n\n\"Well, I don't think so,\" said Ollie, just a little alarmed at the\nprospect. \"I'd prefer to sleep in the wagon. Maybe what Grandpa Oldberry\nsaid about wild animals is so. You say you like to shoot 'em, so you\nstay outside and do it--I don't.\"\n\nAt last it was arranged that Ollie and I should sleep inside and Jack\nunder the wagon. We were surprised to find how early we were ready for\nbed. The long ride and the fresh air had given us an appetite for sleep.\nSo we soon turned in, the dog staying outside with Jack.\n\n\"Good-night, Uncle Jack,\" called Ollie, as we put out the lantern and\ncovered up in the narrow bed. \"Look out for painters.\"\n\n[Illustration: \"WHAT'S THAT NOISE?\"]\n\nI was almost asleep when Ollie shook me, and whispered, \"What's that\nnoise?\"\n\nI listened, and heard a regular, hollow, booming sound, something like\nthe very distant discharge of cannon.\n\n\"It's the horses walking on the ground--always sounds that way in the\nnight,\" I answered.\n\nAgain I was almost asleep when Ollie took hold of my arm, and said,\n\"What's that?\"\n\nI once more listened, and recognized a peculiar creaking noise as that\nmade by the horses cropping off the grass. I explained to Ollie, and\nthen dropped off sound asleep. I don't know how long it was, but after\nsome time I was again roused up by a nervous shake.\n\n\"Listen to _that_,\" whispered Ollie. \"What can it be?\"\n\nI sat up cautiously and listened. It was a strange, rattling, unearthly\nsound which I could not account for any better than Ollie.\n\n\"It's a bear,\" he whispered. \"I heard them make that noise at the park\nback home.\"\n\nI was puzzled, and concluded that it must be some wild animal. I took\ndown one of the guns, crept softly to the front end of the wagon, raised\nthe flap, and looked out. The wind was still, and the night air met my\nface with a cool, damp feeling. The moon had just risen and the lake was\nlike silver. I could see the horses lying asleep like dark mounds. But\nthe mysterious noise kept up, and even grew louder. I grasped the gun\nfirmly, and let myself cautiously out of the front end of the wagon.\nThen I climbed back in less softly and hung up the gun.\n\n\"Wh-what is it?\" asked Ollie, in a faint whisper.\n\n\"It's your eloquent uncle Jack snoring,\" I said. \"He's one of Grandpa\nOldberry's sim'lar varmints.\"\n\n[TO BE CONTINUED.]\n\n\n\n\nA VIRGINIA CAVALIER.\n\nBY MOLLY ELLIOT SEAWELL.\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\n\nIt seemed to George that he had not been in bed an hour before he heard,\nin the gray glimmer of dawn, Billy's voice crying:\n\n\"Chris'mus, Marse George, Chris'mus! an' jes listen to dem niggers\nsingin' under de winder!\" Although a sound sleeper, George always waked\nquickly, and in an instant he recognized the Christmas melody that\nfloated upward from the ground outside. A dozen or so of the field hands\nwere marching around the house just as the first faint grayness of the\nChristmas day appeared, and singing, in their rich, sweet, untrained\nvoices, a song with the merry refrain,\n\n  \"White folks, black folks, Chris'mus am heah,\n  An' Chris'mus comes but oncet a year,\n        An' dis is Chris'mus mawnin'!\"\n\nSounds showed that the house was stirring. Laurence Washington, as the\nmaster, had to dress and go down stairs to give the singers the treat\nthey expected. Betty got up and dressed herself at the first sound, and,\ntapping at George's door, called softly, \"Merry Christmas, George!\"\nNobody could sleep much after that, and soon after sunrise everybody was\nup, and \"Merry Christmas\" resounded through the whole house. The negroes\nwere most vociferous, as this was their favorite holiday, and no work,\nexcept the feeding of the stock and the cutting of wood, was to be done\nfor several days--that is, as long as the backlog on the Christmas fire\nremained unconsumed. The putting of this log on the fire was an annual\nceremony, that George thought most amusing. The English officers thought\nso too, and watched it with the greatest interest. Before breakfast was\nserved, when all the guests were assembled in the hall, Uncle Manuel,\nthe butler, who was very tall and very black, and who wore, on great\noccasions, a pair of scarlet satin knee-breeches that had once belonged\nto Laurence Washington, appeared, and announced, with a condescending\nsmile, that \"de boys\" had come with the backlog.\n\nAmid much grinning and shoving and jostling and chuckling four stalwart\nnegro men walked in the house carrying a huge log, which was placed at\nthe back of the great fireplace, upon the tall iron fire-dogs. It was of\nunseasoned black gum, a wood hard to burn at all times, and this\nparticular log had been well soaked in a neighboring swamp. It was the\nprivilege of the negroes to select the backlog, and although the masters\nand mistresses knew perfectly well that everything was done to make it\nas noncombustible as possible, the plantation joke was to pretend that\nit was as dry as a bone and would burn like tinder.\n\n\"We fotch you a mighty fine backlorg dis time, mistis,\" grinned the head\nman. \"Hit gwi' bu'n same like light-wood.\" At which Mrs. Washington\nlooked grave, as she was expected to look, while a general guffaw went\naround among the negroes.\n\n\"I spect we ain' gwi' to have no holiday 'tall ef we has to go ter wuk\nas soon as dis heah lorg b'un up,\" chuckled another.\n\n\"'Tain' gwi' lars' mo'en fer Christmas day!\" chorussed the others\nstanding near by.\n\n\"I think I saw a black-gum log soaking in the swamp a few days ago,\"\nsaid Laurence, smiling at the grinning faces before him: but there was a\nchorus immediately:\n\n\"Naw, suh; dis lorg ain' never had a drap o' water on it, an' we-all's\nbeen dryin' it fer a whole mont'.\" The log was then steaming like a\ntea-kettle, and the negroes yah-yahed with delight at the ready\nacceptance of their _ruse_.\n\n\"Very well, then,\" cried Laurence Washington; \"you can all have holiday\nuntil this log is burned out, and if I am not mistaken it will last the\nweek through!\"\n\nImmediately after breakfast horses were brought out, and the great\ncoach, and several gigs and chaises, to take a party to old Pohick\nChurch. There was to be a service, however, on the _Bellona_, and the\n\"church flag\" was flying from her peak. Admiral Vernon invited George to\ngo with him on board the ship. They went to the landing, where the\ncaptain's gig awaited them. On board the _Bellona_ everything was as\nclean as hands could make it, the ship was dressed, and the men, being\nexcused from work that day, were in their Sunday clothes and prepared\nfor their holiday.\n\nThe service, performed by the chaplain, was held upon the gun-deck. Four\nhundred sailors, in spotless clothing, and each with a sprig of\nmistletoe in his glazed hat, were assembled, seated on capstan-bars,\nwhich made improvised benches. In front of them their officers were\nassembled, the captain at their head, while in front of the officers\nwere the Admiral and his guests. Never had George seen a more beautiful\nand reverent service. The sailors were reminded of their homes in green\nEngland, far away, and every heart was softened by the recollection. The\nofficers needed no reminder of their families and friends at home, and\nall felt drawn together in sympathy at their common separation from\nthose dearest to them.\n\nAfter the service the Admiral took George over the ship, showing him all\nthe beauty and strength of her. The boy gazed with wonder and delight at\nher trim yards, her immaculate decks, and at the rows of menacing guns\nin her batteries. Until then he had strongly inclined to the army, but\nin the first flush of his new enthusiasm he longed to be a naval\nofficer. There were several midshipmen of his own age on board, to whom\nthe Admiral introduced him, and George yearned, boy fashion, to wear a\nsmart uniform like theirs, and to carry a midshipman's dirk. He said\nlittle; his enthusiasms were all of that silent kind which burn the more\nfuriously because their blaze is concealed. But the moment he reached\nthe house, after leaving the ship, he went straight to his brother\nLaurence's study, and marched in with this bold announcement,\n\n\"Brother Laurence, I want to serve in the King's navy.\"\n\nLaurence looked up smiling at George's earnest face, in which a fixed\npurpose was plainly seen.\n\n\"I should have preferred the army for you,\" responded Laurence. \"But if\na youngster _will_ serve in the King's navy, in the King's navy he must\nserve.\"\n\n\"And will you get me my warrant?\" eagerly asked George.\n\n\"The fact is,\" cautioned Laurence, \"I have a midshipman's warrant\noffered me for you at this very time. Admiral Vernon has the privilege\nof nominating a midshipman on the _Bellona_, and some days ago, in\nspeaking of your arrival, he asked me, as my old friend, if it would be\nagreeable to my family to appoint you in his Majesty's naval service. I\ntold him I had not yet consulted with Madam Washington, but I had no\ndoubt whatever that it would be highly agreeable to her, and the Admiral\nassured me that it would be at my service at any time.\"\n\nGeorge stood perfectly breathless with surprise. His first thought was\nthat surely he was the most fortunate boy in the world. At that moment\nthere was a knock at the door and Admiral Vernon entered.\n\n\"Ah, Admiral!\" cried Laurence, \"you see before you a very happy lad. He\nis overjoyed at the notion of entering the naval service.\"\n\n\"It would be a thousand pities to lose so fine a fellow from the King's\nnavy,\" said the Admiral, smiling. George wished to thank him, but when\nhe tried to speak he felt a choking sensation, albeit he was so happy.\nIt was so exactly what he wanted at that very time; and how few there\nare who get what they want before the wish for it has departed!\n\n[Illustration: SHE WAS THE STATELIEST BEAUTY OF A SHIP HE HAD EVER\nSEEN.]\n\nAll the rest of that day George felt as if he were walking on air. He\nmade plans for his whole life ahead, and already saw himself an admiral.\nHe thought it would not be right to speak of this beautiful plan for him\nto any one until his mother knew it, and so he would give no hint to\nBetty, or even tell it, as he longed to do, to Billy. But when in his\nroom in the afternoon, before the Christmas dinner, Rattler jumped upon\nhim and licked his hands, George could not forbear whispering to him,\n\"Good dog, your master will soon be a midshipman!\" He had gone to his\nroom to carry out his intention of reading every day something out of a\nuseful book; but his heart was too full to read, and his book lay\nunopened while he sat before the fire in a happy dream, slowly passing\nRattler's silky ears through his hand. From his chair he could see\nthrough his window the handsome frigate lying motionless in the stream.\nSome of the men were dancing on the fok'sle to the sound of a fiddle and\ntambour played by two of the crew. In George's eyes, infatuated as he\nwas with the navy, she was the stateliest beauty of a ship he had ever\nseen, and he thought every man on her must be altogether happy.\n\nAt five o'clock there was a grand Christmas dinner. The ladies wore\ntheir gayest gowns, the officers were in full uniform, and the other\ngentlemen present were in all the splendor of velvet coats and breeches\nand ruffled shirts. There was much laughter and many toasts, and at the\nend of the dinner Uncle Manuel, gorgeous in his scarlet silk breeches,\nentered, bearing aloft, on a huge platter, a plum-pudding blazing with\nblue flumes, and with sprigs of mistletoe stuck in it. Afterwards, in\nthe hall, came off the ceremony of placing the branch of mistletoe on\nthe lantern that hung from the ceiling. Then there was great jollity and\na merry scramble, for, according to the hearty custom of the time, any\nlady caught under the mistletoe could be kissed by any gentleman who\ncaught her. George and William Fairfax secretly longed to act the\nmannish part and join in the sport, but both felt quite overcome with\nbashfulness at the idea, and only watched the gay doings from afar. Not\nso Betty, who quite assumed the young lady, and who not only treated\nWilliam Fairfax as if he had been an infant, but gave herself lofty airs\ntowards George, whom she had heretofore regarded with the greatest\nrespect. Then, soon after dark, the coaches of the neighboring gentry\ndrove up with the guests. In the hall the negro fiddlers were in great\nforce, and sawed the air from eight o'clock in the evening until\ndaylight next morning. Besides the minuet and rigadoon there were jigs\nand reels, and at last everybody, young and old, danced Sir Roger de\nCoverley, while the candles sputtered in their sockets and the chickens\ncrowed outside. George danced all night with the greatest enjoyment, not\nfinding any difficulty in obtaining partners, all of the ladies being\nwilling to dance with so handsome a stripling. Among the guests who came\nfrom a distance was a remarkably pretty young girl of about George's\nage, Miss Martha Dandridge. With her George danced Sir Roger de\nCoverley, going down the middle swinging partners, and making the grand\nmarch to the music of the crashing fiddles and dancing feet. When at\nlast it was over, and in the gray dawn the coaches and chaises rattled\noff, and the ball was over, George thought it was the finest ball he had\never seen in his life.\n\nFor a week gayety and jollity prevailed at Mount Vernon. There were\nfox-hunts, when the huntsmen assembled by daybreak, and the winding of\nthe horns, and the hounds with tongues tuned like bells, echoed across\nthe river and among the hills; and after a day's hard riding there would\nbe a jolly dinner and dancing afterwards. Then there was a great party\naboard of the _Bellona_, where the decorations were all of flags and\nwarlike emblems. George's enthusiasm for the navy did not decrease in\nthe least, but rather gained by being in company with so many officers,\nand feeling obliged to keep his delightful secret of a promised\ncommission to himself. He became friends with the midshipmen, and in his\nheart he enjoyed more his visits to the cockpit, with all its\ndiscomforts, than the luxury of the Admiral's cabin and the comfort of\nthe ward-room. He was never weary of listening to the officers telling\nof their adventures; and his expressive young face, with the blood\ncoming and going like a girl's, showed his overpowering interest in what\nhe heard. No real doubt of his mother's consent entered his mind; and if\nthe thought occasionally crossed him that her consent must be asked and\nmight not be given, he dismissed it, as all young and ardent natures\ndismiss unpleasant possibilities.\n\nAmong the quieter pleasures which he had at this time was that of making\nfriends with little Mildred, the two-year-old daughter to which his\nbrother and sister were so devoted. They had lost three other children;\nand in a time of the utmost sadness after their deaths, when Laurence\nWashington realized his own delicate constitution, and the chances that\nnone of his children might live, he had made his will, giving Mount\nVernon and all he had, if he should leave no children, to George. But\nthis little one bade fair to grow up into a healthy and happy child.\n\nBetty, who was by nature a little mother, was never more at home than\nwhen she had charge of the child, and could take as good care of her as\nany grown person. George, on the contrary, although his heart went out\nto the little girl, regarded her as a piece of china that might be\nbroken by touching her. But Mildred took a violent fancy to him, and was\nnever so happy as when carried about in his strong young arms, or\nsitting on his knee while he made rabbits out of his handkerchief and\npictures out of the shadows on the wall, and was ready to do anything\nand to give her anything that would amuse her. He had never been thrown\nwith a child of that age before, and regarded every instance of her baby\ncleverness as the most extraordinary thing in the world, to the\namusement of his brother and sister.\n\nThe year before George had found William Fairfax a delightful boyish\ncompanion, but this year, with his new experiences, and the company of\nthe young officers on the _Bellona_, George unconsciously neglected him.\nBut William, who had a sweet and forgiving nature, showed no ill-humor\nover it, and said to himself: \"Never mind; when the ship goes away, and\nall the visitors, George will again find me good company.\"\n\nAnd such was the case. On the morning that the _Bellona_ loosed her\ntopsail, as a sign that she was about to trip her anchor, George felt\nutterly forlorn. He wondered how he should get through the time until he\ncould go to Ferry Farm, and, securing his mother's consent, join the\nship before she sailed from the Chesapeake. So eager was he that\nLaurence, in the goodness of his heart, had ordered, at his own expense,\nGeorge's uniforms to be made in Alexandria, and he was given his\nside-arms from the stores on board the _Bellona_. George in fancy\nalready saw himself Midshipman Washington. Admiral Vernon, on parting,\nhad said some kind words to him which sank deep in his heart. \"I shall\nlook forward with pleasure to your joining, Mr. Washington,\" he said.\n\"It is just such youngsters as you that we want in the navy.\"\n\nOn a bleak January day the _Bellona_ went out. George watched from the\nshore as long as he could see her, and sighed as he turned back to the\nhouse. On his way back he was joined by William Fairfax.\n\n\"George,\" said William, diffidently, \"I am afraid we are not as good\nfriends as we were last year.\"\n\n\"Why?\" asked George, in surprise. He had almost forgotten William's\nexistence in the last few busy and exciting days, and he had felt so\nimmeasurably older than he that companionship seemed out of the\nquestion.\n\n\"Because you do not seem to care for me any longer.\"\n\nGeorge stopped, and his heart and his conscience smote him. William was\nhis sister's cousin and his brother's guest, and he had been neglected\nby both George and Betty; for Betty had grown about ten years, in her\nown estimation, since dancing with officers and being allowed to come to\nthe first table. George thought this rather ridiculous of Betty; but was\nit not equally ridiculous of him to lord it over William, as if there\nwere twenty years between them?\n\n\"I see how it is, William,\" said George, after a pause. \"I dare say I\nhave often made a fool of myself in this last week, talking to men as if\nI were their equal, and to boys of my own age as if I were a man. But,\nalthough you may laugh at me, I do feel a great deal older in the last\ntwo months--I suppose because I have been with men like Lord Fairfax and\nLance, and then Admiral Vernon and his officers. But if you will be\nfriends again with me I will promise not to treat you as I have done,\nand I acknowledge it was not very gentlemanly of me.\"\n\nThe house seemed strangely quiet after all the company had left, and\nthere were no more routs and balls and romping and hunting. Snow had\nfallen, and George and Betty were waiting for good weather before\nattempting the journey back to Ferry Farm. George spoke to Betty about\nWilliam, acknowledging that he had been as much to blame as she; and\nBetty, being of a generous nature, felt ashamed of herself, with the\nresult that William enjoyed the latter part of the time much more than\nthe first. But he was destined to have one more clash with George before\ntheir friendship became so firmly cemented that it lasted during the\nwhole of their lives.\n\n[TO BE CONTINUED.]\n\n\n\n\nBOBBY'S TOOL-CHEST.\n\n\n  They gave him a chest full of wonderful tools when he got to be six\n      years old,\n  And he made up his mind to go forth in the world and become a carpenter\n      bold.\n  \"I've gimlets and saws, and hammers and nails, I've jack-planes and\n      awls,\" said he;\n  \"I've rulers and screws. How can I refuse a carpenter-man for to be?\n\n  \"The first thing to learn is to hammer a nail.\" And he got out his\n      hammer and tacks,\n  And he hammered, and hammered, and hammered away till he'd used up a\n      half-dozen packs.\n  He nailed up the doors, and he nailed down the floors, and he nailed\n      'em again and again,\n  And he made no mistake till he hammered a tack through the nursery\n      window-pane.\n\n  Then he took up his saw, and he tried its teeth. \"I must now learn to\n      saw,\" he said;\n  And he sawed in two some bureau drawers, and he sawed off the legs of\n      his bed.\n  And he sawed on the lock of the nursery door till the teeth of the tool\n      grew rough,\n  And then he sat down and remarked to himself, \"Well, I guess I have\n      sawn enough.\n\n  \"I will now try the awl and the gimlet too, and learn what different\n      kinds\n  Of holes they make--for they're not alike\"--and he bored on the outside\n      blinds.\n  He bored six holes in the shutter slats, and then made a change again,\n  And tried his luck on the bureau top with the beautiful two-inch plane.\n\n  And then, poor boy! some one came in, and oh, what a fuss was raised!\n  They spanked that boy for trying to learn when he thought he'd be\n      surely praised;\n  And his father was mad and his mother was mad, and even his sister\n      cried,\n  Because he'd taken her desk apart to see what there was inside;\n\n  And the baby, too, was as wrathy as they, because for a little while\n  He'd used the ruler to find how wide was the dear little fellow's\n      smile.\n  And that's why Bob--the poor little chap!--has changed every future\n      plan,\n  And is going to be a policeman bold instead of a carpenter-man.\n\n  CARLYLE SMITH.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: THE RELIEF OF RIVERDALE.]\n\n\nThe C. and V. Railroad half encircles Riverdale on the south and west\nsides. For the most part it runs along a narrow shelf on the\nmountain-side many feet above the village, but toward the southwest is\nthe valley of the little Jewell River, and this is crossed by a long,\nnarrow embankment and a high bridge, where the track curves sharply\nnorthward.\n\nA few years ago an important part of the traffic over this line\nconsisted of long trains from the far West loaded entirely with hogs.\n\"Earle's excursions,\" the boys called them, in allusion to the famous\npork-packer to whom they were consigned. One afternoon--it was in\nmidsummer--a train of thirty-eight cars and a caboose started from the\nsummit, five miles above Riverdale. The grade is very steep, and the\ntrain soon attained a terrific speed as it thundered down the mountain.\n\nNo one can tell the cause of the accident, but just as the train struck\nthe embankment at Riverdale it doubled up in the middle like a startled\nsnake, and five cars were forced out of the train and went down the\nembankment, carrying rails, sleepers, and a foot or two of the road-bed.\nFortunately none of the trainmen was on these cars, so no one was\ninjured. But as the cars went crashing down they broke in pieces like\nkindling-wood. Many hogs were killed and injured, but it is certain that\nabout four hundred large, able-bodied, hungry, half-crazy hogs were let\nloose upon the outskirts of the lovely village of Riverdale.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nWithout a moment's hesitation the invaders began their work of\ndestruction. Near the foot of the embankment was the cozy parsonage, and\nthe Rev. Mark Sanders was at work in his garden when the accident\noccurred. Startled by the crash, he stood staring at the splintering\ncars until one of them brought up almost against his garden fence, and a\ndozen screeching hogs were trying to squeeze through the gate together.\nThen he struck out valiantly with his sharp hoe, and thought he drove\nall back, and locked the gate. But when he turned about, three hungry\nhogs were feasting on his early potatoes, and they led him such a chase\nthat he heartily wished that every hog in the world had been in that\nherd which in ancient times ran violently down a steep place into the\nsea and were choked.\n\nMeanwhile the main body of the army moved toward the centre of the\nvillage, sending out foraging excursions to every garden and lawn,\nunmindful of shrill threats or fluttering aprons. On the bank of the\nJewell River stood a little photograph saloon, and there Miss Sally\nGraham, for twenty years the village dressmaker, was having her picture\ntaken. It was a critical moment. The photographer's head was underneath\nthe green cloth behind the camera.\n\n\"Please turn your head just a trifle toward the left, and look a little\nmore cheerful, Miss Graham,\" said the artist.\n\nMiss Sally turned her head so that she looked toward the open door. She\nwas just saying \"besom\" for the last time when two large hogs, one of\nthem as black as Erebus, scrambled into the room and came directly\ntoward her.\n\n\"Oh, horrors!\" shrieked Miss Sally, jumping up and whirling wildly about\nin search of a way of escape. She rushed into the dark room and slammed\nthe door, overturning a bottle of some malodorous compound. There she\nstood amid the horrible smells till, after much squealing, shouting, and\ncrashing of glass, the artist bade her come forth again.\n\nBy this time the hogs began to arrive at the centre of the village.\nThose who saw them coming were first amused, and then amazed, and then\nalarmed. Several of them climbed up four steps to the piazza of\nBoynton's fruit-store, and began to eat a bunch of bananas and other\nfruit exposed for sale. Oscar Boynton's wrath was great, his arm was\nmighty, and his weapon was an iron poker; but all these produced no\neffect whatever until he hooked the end of the poker into the nostrils\nof the hogs, and so persuaded them to turn aside.\n\nThe situation was in truth growing serious. The hogs began to collect in\nlarge numbers on Main Street. They drove the people into the houses,\nespecially where the men were not at home. They spread across Depot\nStreet until they came to Prospect Street. This was known as \"Ladies'\nRow,\" because so many spinsters and widows lived there. It was the\nstreet of flower gardens, and all summer long it was a glorious rivalry\nof violets, pansies, daisies, roses, asters, and every sweet and\nbeautiful blossom. Into this paradise the hogs entered, and began to\nroot up and destroy.\n\nToward the lower part of Main Street stood the grocery-store of Mr.\nHeman Hemenway, Chairman of the Board of Village Trustees. Trade being\nvery dull, Mr. Hemenway sat dozing behind the counter dreaming of better\ntimes.\n\nSuddenly quick footsteps tapped along the knotty floor. Mr. Hemenway\nsprang up and put on the expectant smile with which he greeted every\ncustomer.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nIt was Miss Placentia Hannum, of Ladies' Row, who stood before him. Her\nface was flushed, her dark eyes blazed with indignation, and her voice\nwas pitched on a very high note as she exclaimed, \"Mr. Hemenway! aren't\nyou going to do _anything_?\"\n\n\"Do--do--anything? What--?\" stammered the chairman of the trustees.\n\n\"Don't you know?\" cried Miss Placentia, with an eloquent gesture of\ndisdain. \"A whole train of hogs has run off the embankment, and they are\njust pouring into the village, thousands and thousands of them, and now\nthey are on our street tearing up my beautiful flowers.\"\n\nMr. Hemenway was a man who intended to do his duty, and he went out to\nthe street at once. He was met by a deputation of hogs of such numbers\nthat he believed that Miss Hannum's statement was literally true. He\nalso began to feel that here was a condition of things not provided for\nin his _Manual for Village Officers_. He saw the hogs swarming down the\nstreet. He saw the people retreating into their houses after disastrous\nconflict with the enemy. Yet he kept bravely on up the street as far as\nthe hay-scales, and there he met his fate.\n\nTwo hogs saw Mr. Hemenway approaching, and they immediately gave him\ntheir entire attention. They were the humorists of the herd, and they\nplayed with Mr. Hemenway. When he went toward the right, they gently\nswayed in the same direction. He went toward the left, and they imitated\nhim, smiling very widely. He stopped, and the hogs stood patiently\nbefore him.\n\n\"Whey!\" cried Mr. Hemenway, waving his hand.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nApparently the hogs were startled by so harsh a word, and they fell back\na few paces. Then they darted forward so suddenly that Mr. Hemenway\nnearly fell over his own heels, and when he recovered himself he stood\nwith his feet far apart. This was an opportunity not to be lost. One hog\nran between Mr. Hemenway's feet and upset him. He came down just in time\nto take a short ride on the back of the other, and then rolled off into\nthe street. It seemed to him that a hundred hogs gathered around him in\na moment. With the energy of despair he sprang to his feet, ran hatless\nup the steps of the harness-shop, and mounted the very lifelike wooden\nhorse which the harness-maker kept there as a sign.\n\nAcross the street a door was cautiously opened, and the head and\nshoulders of Gran'sir Pease appeared.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\"Heman!\" he cried, in a shrill, quavering voice, \"go 'n' git the ol'\nFo'th o' July cahnern and shewt 'em. It used to be 'round thar under\nSimon Hyle's shed.\" But this did not seem to Hemenway a feasible plan,\nespecially as he knew that the \"cahnern\" had been at the bottom of the\nmill-pond for three years.\n\nA horse came rattling down the hill and across the mill bridge near the\nharness-shop. It was driven by Norris Wood, who had been out among the\nfarms buying cattle for his meat market. He drove up to the harness-shop\nand hitched his horse. Three or four hogs stood in the way, but it\nseemed a very easy thing for Norris to set his great boots against them\nand send them sprawling along the ground. He looked so big and strong\nthat Mr. Hemenway dismounted from the wooden horse.\n\n\"Well, Heman, what have you got here?\" said Norris, widening his bushy\nwhiskers with a beaming smile.\n\n\"Norris,\" said Mr. Hemenway, solemnly, \"the village is overrun with hogs\nfrom a wrecked train, and I rely on you to drive 'em out. I give you\nfull authority to do or take anything you want to.\"\n\n\"They've got pretty well started,\" said Norris, \"but if I had a few good\nhelpers I guess we could master them. Hi!\" he continued, \"here come the\nacademy boys.\"\n\nThere were about twenty of them coming across the mill bridge. They were\nRiverdale Academy boys just out of school. They were on the\ndouble-quick, for they had seen the hogs, and felt sure there was fun\nahead.\n\n\"'Arma virumque cano!' Come here, every one of you!\" cried Norris, who\nwas an old academy boy himself.\n\nThe boys immediately gathered around him, some of them, and Harry Burton\nin particular, inventing a great terror of the sniffing hogs.\n\n\"Norris! Oh, Norris!\" he cried, \"protect us from these wild beasts of\nthe desert. Let me ride in safety upon your broad shoulders,\" and he\nmade as if he would suit the action to the word.\n\n\"Quit your fooling,\" said Norris, sternly. \"I want volunteers to drive\nthese hogs out of the village. Every one who is willing to help, step\nout.\"\n\nWith a hilarious cheer the whole company stepped forward.\n\n\"Now,\" said Norris, \"you see that pile of wood by the hay-scales? Every\none of you go and get a stick.\"\n\nIn less than a minute every boy was armed with a stout cudgel and\nwaiting for further orders.\n\nNorris quickly scanned the crowd. \"Julian Ross,\" he said, \"you take six\nboys and stay here. Don't let a single hog get by you up the hill. Harry\nBurton, you take seven with you down to the bridge. Don't you let a hog\npass over it into the lower village.\"\n\nJulian and Harry selected their followers. \"Friends, Romans,\ncountrymen,\" cried Harry, \"follow me!\n\n  \"'Still is the story told\n  How well Horatius kept the bridge\n  In the brave days of old.'\"\n\nAnd they went down the street on the double-quick.\n\n\"All the rest of you come with me to Prospect Street,\" commanded Norris.\n\nThey arrived at the scene of destruction none too soon. As they ran down\nthe street they were greeted with tearful pleadings by the ladies to\nsave their gardens from utter ruin.\n\nAt length they outran the hogs and faced around to drive them back. The\nboys formed a line across the road, and beat them unmercifully with\ntheir cudgels. \"Hit 'em on the snout every time,\" said Norris.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nAnd now began a high and piercing symphony which mingled and harmonized\nwith a blood-curdling melody from Main Street. Norris, like the great\nC\u00e6sar, was everywhere at one time. His methods were very interesting. He\nhad persuasive powers with his big boots which caused a hog to point to\nthe sky with four feet at a time. He was very dexterous in seizing a hog\nby a hind-leg and casting it out of a flower-bed into the road. And just\nas an enormous hog was about to root up Miss Placentia Hannum's\nrose-bush, Norris calmly took the animal by the ear, and led it\nsquealing to the street.\n\nAt last the hogs were beaten back and driven across to Main Street.\nThere they mingled with the others slowly retreating before Julian Ross\nand Harry Burton and their followers. The boys were nearly exhausted,\nbut Harry encouraged them by shouting, \"Charge, Chester, charge! On,\nStanley on!\" and like historic exhortations.\n\nThe hogs were now all brought together, filling the street in a solid\nmass. And there they stuck in spite of every effort to induce them to\nmove on. Gran'sir Pease advised Norris to \"slarter 'em\" where they\nstood. It was time for a stroke of Napoleonic genius or the day would be\nlost.\n\nNorris unhitched his horse and jumped into the wagon. \"Boys!\" he cried,\n\"hold 'em right where they are till you see me again. Go on, Bill.\" And\nhe galloped away up Depot Street, and disappeared under the small\nrailroad bridge.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nTen long minutes the boys waited and shouted and fought the obstinate\nhogs. Then Norris was seen coming far up Main Street. He drove down to\nthe hogs and turned his cart around. In the wagon was a box, and out of\nit Norris shovelled some yellow stuff into the road. The hogs nearest to\nhim saw, smelled, hustled, and gobbled. In an instant others followed,\npushing and upsetting each other. Norris drove on and cast out more\nmeal, and in a minute the whole rushing, squirming, squealing herd\nglided away like the mill-pond when the dam broke. They followed the\ntrail of corn meal up the street, and in a short time they were all\nsafely enclosed in Norris's cattle-yard.\n\nThen the boys carried their sticks right shoulder shift, and came down\nthe street singing, \"When Johnny comes marching home again.\"\n\n\n\n\nBILL'S BEAR-FIGHT.\n\n\nBroiled trout washed down with an ice-cold draught of spring water is\nnot the worst supper in the world, and when you are out in the woods\ncozily perched on a log near a roaring camp-fire of crackling birch,\nwith a ravenous appetite, it tastes as good as a dinner served at the\nWaldorf in New York. But your trout must be cooked by Bill to be\nenjoyed, for Bill owns no superior in that line. Bill is a hunter, not\nfor market, but a sportsman for sport, and his delight is to guide some\ngentleman through the forests of Maine, or, as he terms it, his\nterritory.\n\nOne fall he and I started up in the Moose-head Lake region, and slowly\nworked down over the trails, until one evening we found ourselves near\nthe head of the Cupsuptic River, on the Rangeleys. We had fairly good\nsport on our way, bagging more or less game, with many a long and weary\nchase on a deer trail. When we struck the river it was too late to make\nfor a large camp that lay some eleven miles below on the lake, so we put\nup a lean-to, and went into quarters for the night. Bill got out the\nlines, and in a short while he had some fine trout broiling, so that\nthough all our provisions were exhausted, we had made a fine supper of\nthe trout.\n\nAfter supper we lighted our pipes, and throwing an extra log or two on\nthe fire, we lounged around, recalling different adventures. It was but\na short time before Bill got off on to some of his own experiences, and\nit was then that I relapsed into silence, and puffed my pipe with that\npeaceful enjoyment that comes to a lover of nature and sport. I lay\nadmiring his magnificent physique, my admiration doubled by the\nknowledge of the wonderful strength that lay in his powerful muscles.\n\n\"Well, boy,\" said Bill at last, with a yawn, \"it's gettin' kind er cold;\nseems to me it's er bit more than frosty. Had to crack ice down on the\nstream to ketch them trout. Guess it'll freeze tight by to-morrow, and\nwith a little fall of snow we might sight a buck's tracks 'tween here\nand the camp below. I rather think we'd better turn in now. Wrap\nyourself good or you'll be stiff in the mornin'.\"\n\nRaking the ashes into the fire, and banking it a little with some damp\nlogs, we rolled up in our blankets and went to sleep.\n\nI do not know what time it was, but it seemed to me I had no more than\nclosed my eyes when I was suddenly awakened by the sounds of a fierce\nstruggle, with a great amount of low choking, growling, and subdued\nmuttering. I sprang up, forgetting my blanket, which tripped me, and\nnearly pitched me headlong into the fire. When I finally reached my feet\nand saw the cause of the row, I was more than amazed. There was Bill\nhugging and being hugged for dear life by a good-sized bear. It was nip\nand tuck, and seizing my rifle, I danced around trying to get a shot at\nthe bear. Bill caught sight of me, and cried out in jerks: \"Boy--I'll\nnever--forgive you if you kill him. It's the first,--chance I've had to\nstrangle--a bear, and, by gum, I'm er-goin' to strangle--this one!\"\n\nI could appreciate that sort of a desire on Bill's part well enough, but\nnevertheless it was dangerous work. The bear's claws had already played\nhavoc with his clothing, and his legs were bleeding in more than one\nplace. Back and forth they struggled, one of the bear's fore-paws around\nBill's neck and the other around his waist. Bill had the bear by the\nthroat with one hand, and with the other held his head away to stop him\nfrom biting.\n\nSuddenly they tripped on the edge of the slope that led in a gentle\ndescent to the stream below. I jumped forward this time, determined to\nput an end to it, but before I could reach them, down they went, rolling\nover and over the sloping ground, fighting away like mad, until, with a\ncrash, they struck the thin ice on the stream and plunged out of sight.\nIt was a bright moonlight night, and the hole they made in the ice\nlooked black and ugly. I jumped down the bank, and seeing the roots of\nan old tree running out near the spot, I made for it. Bill came up by\nthis time, and I was hoping that they had separated, but they were\nhugging and fighting as hard as ever. I crawled out on the roots and\nyelled to Bill to let me settle it.\n\n\"If yer tetch him, boy, I'll never forgive yer. I'm not done yet by a\nlong shot, and I'll down the critter if it takes all night.\"\n\nWhen Bill talked that way I know he was game to the finish and his blood\nwas up, so I ran up the bank and got my rifle, and sitting on a log near\nthe water, I watched the fun, altogether too serious for fun, I thought.\nTheir struggles were fearful, and I screamed, and would certainly have\nfired at the bear had it not been for the fear of hitting Bill. By this\ntime they had worked over to the roots, and then I realized what Bill\nwas up to. He got one arm around them to brace himself, and with the\nother clutching the bear's throat, he slowly and by main force pushed\nthose fearful red gaping jaws away from him. Slowly and with almost\nsuperhuman strength he pushed the head further away until finally he\nforced it under water. I could see the claws of the animal's fore-paw\ndig into Bill's shoulder. I could see his violent struggles as he strove\nto get his head above water, but Bill held him under. It was a frightful\nbut a grand sight. The moon lit up the scene, and through the steam\nrising from the struggling pair Bill's grim-set jaws and determined face\nshowed the true hunter in the height of his glory.\n\nThe fight grew weaker and weaker, and then all was still except the\nquick panting of Bill. At last with a deep sigh his chest relaxed, his\nhand gave up his prey, and a few bubbles showed where the bear sank.\nSlowly Bill made his way to where I was standing, and putting out his\nhand, said,\n\n\"Thank ye, boy; you had nerve to obey me, and that makes a good hunter.\"\n\nHe was pretty nigh exhausted and badly clawed. While I helped him to\npatch up his wounds temporarily I learned that the bear, evidently\nattracted by the trout, had sneaked into camp during the night and\nstumbled over Bill, who grabbed him. The next morning we fished him out\nof the water, and found him a large specimen and a foe well worth\nletting alone.\n\nHUBERT EARL.\n\n\n\n\nORIGIN OF THE AMERICAN NAVY.\n\nBY CAPTAIN HOWARD PATTERSON.\n\n\nEvery patriotic American is proud of our famous White Squadron,\nillustrating as it does to all the navies of the world the perfection of\nship-building, motive power, ordnance and _personnel_. Although two or\nthree other navies have a much longer list of men-of-war in their\nregisters, there is not a foreign power that can show, class for class,\nanything superior in battle-ships, cruisers, and coast-defense vessels\nto those which float under \"Old Glory,\" and it is not making a rash\nclaim when it is asserted that in a competitive exhibition the laurel\nwreaths would in all probability be hung upon the mast-heads of the\nships that belong to Uncle Sam.\n\nAnd yet how weak and lowly in comparison was the birth of our navy!--but\nstill a navy that even in its infancy humbled almost to degradation the\nstrength and vanity and hauteur of that of the British, that mistress of\nthe seas, against which for more than a century the most magnificently\nequipped and powerful fleets in Europe had hurled themselves, only to be\nbeaten back from its \"walls of oak,\" crushed and shattered.\n\nOn October 13, 1775, one hundred and twenty-one years ago, or nine\nmonths before the Declaration of Independence was signed, the\nrepresentatives from the thirteen colonies authorized the building of\ntwo vessels, one to be armed with 14 guns and the other with 10 guns.\nWhen completed it was designed that these ships should escape through\nthe English fleets blockading the coast, and then prey upon the commerce\nof the enemy. On October 30 Congress ordered the building of two\nadditional cruisers, one to carry 36 guns and the other 20 guns. These\nmeasures so aroused the patriotic fire and zeal of hundreds of American\nseamen whose vessels were locked up in idleness in our seaports, owing\nto the embargo, that they petitioned Congress to provide ships and put\nthem on board, so that they might go out against the enemy's vessels\nthat tantalizingly kept watch before the approaches to our harbors.\nAppreciating the spirit of the petitioners, and realizing that a\npossible opportunity was offered them to deal a serious blow to the\nsupremacy of the English along our line of coast, Congress ordered, on\nDecember 13 (or just two months, to the day, following the first\nauthorization, for ship construction), the building of thirteen vessels\nof war, of which five were to carry 32 guns, five 28 guns, and three 24\nguns.\n\nWork was immediately commenced on this fleet; but as the builders\ndemanded six months' time to complete them, Congress passed a law to\npurchase and arm suitable merchant-ships for immediate service. It\ncannot fail to interest the reader to give the names of the first\nvessels of the American navy. Among the many merchant-ships lying idle\nin the Eastern and Southern ports the following fourteen were selected\nby a committee, and, after being purchased, were armed with the number\nof guns set opposite their respective names: Ships--_Alfred_, 24;\n_Columbus_, 24. Brigs--_Lexington_, 16; _Cabot_, 16, _Reprisal_, 16;\n_Andrea Doria_, 14; _Hampden_, 14; _Providence_, 12. Schooners--_Wasp_,\n8; _Fly_, 8. Sloops--_Hornet_, 10; _Independence_, 10; _Sachem_, 10, and\n_Mosquito_, 4.\n\nHad the guns with which these vessels were armed been of uniform and\nsuitable calibre, the odds in favor of the English men-of-war would\nstill have been enormous; but when it is considered that the batteries\nof the ships were made up of every description of ordnance, from the\nantiquated Dutch cannon brought over by Peter Stuyvesant, to the\nridiculously small and obsolete saluting-guns that had been preserved as\nrelics on the public greens in Boston, New York, Philadelphia, and other\ncities, the wonder grows that with such implements, served by men green\nto naval warfare, and mounted within lumbering merchant-ships, the\nstateliest frigates of the enemy were again and again beaten and\ncaptured, and the proud white ensign of old England lowered repeatedly\nto the flag whose motto was \"Don't tread on me!\"\n\nThe difficulty encountered by Congress in equipping, officering, and\nmanning the little American fleet in the absence of arsenals and\ndock-yards, and when men trained to the service were not obtainable,\nfinds only one parallel in history, when Alfred the Sailor King fitted\nout and conducted a fleet against the Danes one thousand years and more\nago. But if system and order were at first lacking, patriotism\ncompensated, and the old guns were served by men whose love of liberty\nbreathed in the shot they hurled against their foes.\n\nOn December 22, 1775, Congress appointed Ezekiel Hopkins as commodore\nand commander-in-chief of the navy, and the following officers, all\ndrawn from the merchant marine of the colonies, to serve as captains:\nDudley Saltonstall, Abraham Whipple, Nicholas Biddle, and J. B. Hopkins.\nLeading the list of first lieutenants appointed on the same day, we find\nthe immortal name of John Paul Jones, and in succession those of Rhodes\nArnold, James Stanbury, Haysted Hacker, and Jonathan Pitcher. Next,\nunder the head of second lieutenants, the records preserved in the Navy\nDepartment in Washington show the names of Benjamin Seabury, Joseph\nOlney, Elisha Warner, Thomas Weaver, and James McDougal, while the three\nthird lieutenants appointed were John Fanning, Ezekiel Burroughs, and\nDaniel Vaughn.\n\nImmediately after assuming command, Commodore Hopkins sailed, with the\n_Alfred_ as his flag-ship, for a descent upon the English possession\nknown as New Providence, and was accompanied to the West Indies by the\n_Columbus_, _Cabot_, _Andrea Doria_, _Providence_, _Wasp_, _Fly_, and\n_Hornet_. The expedition was successful, and the ships of the little\nflying squadron were loaded with captured stores and one hundred cannon,\nwhich latter were afterwards mounted on the American men-of-war under\nconstruction at the time. The commodore returned north, carrying back\nwith him the English Governor of New Providence, and several other high\nofficials of that colony. When within view of the Long Island shore\nthree of the leading American vessels sighted and later on engaged the\nEnglish frigate _Glasgow_ and two brigs-of-war. After a spirited contest\nthe latter surrendered, but the former escaped by a great display of\nseamanship.\n\nThe entire fleet with its prizes arrived safely at New London on\nApril-fool day, 1776. This was the first and last naval command that\nCommodore Hopkins enjoyed; for, not acting with sufficient energy in\nrefitting his fleet, Congress dropped him from the naval service.\n\nIn June, 1776, a marine corps was established, and Samuel Nichols was\nappointed to command it, with the rank of major. The junior officers\nconsisted of nine captains, ten first and seven second lieutenants.\n\nAt the time that the Declaration of Independence was signed the thirteen\nvessels ordered to be constructed during the previous year were reported\nfinished, and Congress assigned officers to them, as well as to other\nships that had been captured from the enemy. The standing of the\nAmerican navy when the Liberty Bell in the City of Brotherly Love pealed\nout the anthem of the free on July 4, 1776, is shown in the following,\nand the numerals attached to the names signify the number of guns with\nwhich they were armed: _Washington_, 32; _Virginia_, 28; _Boston_, 24;\n_Warren_, 32; _Trumbull_, 28; _Randolph_, 32; _Raleigh_, 32; _Congress_,\n28; _Effingham_, 28; _Delaware_, 24; _Reprisal_, 16; _Montgomery_, 24;\n_Lexington_, 16; _Hampden_, 14; _Andrea Doria_, 14; _Providence_, 28;\n_Providence_ (2d), 12; _Alfred_, 24; _Cabot_, 14; _Sachem_, 10;\n_Independence_, 10, and _Fly_, 8.\n\nTo the command of some of these vessels were ordered men who proved\nthemselves heroes in many a notable encounter, and whose names will\nendure as long as this great republic lasts; but the two most prominent\nfigures in the historical group are those of John Paul Jones, promoted\nto the rank of captain for bravery in battle and for services rendered\nto his country, and Nicholas Biddle, the brave old sea-lion, who\nrecognized no odds, but who would engage a vastly superior enemy with\nthe same readiness and confidence that he laid his vessel alongside of a\nsure prize.\n\nA few words concerning four of these vessels will be found not to be\ndevoid of unusual interest.\n\nThe _Reprisal_ audaciously sailed across the Atlantic, being the first\nAmerican vessel to visit Europe, and commenced a wild work of capture\nand destruction among the British merchant-ships in the Channel, right\nunder the noses of their great fleets of war. Being joined a little\nlater on by the _Lexington_, these two vessels, assisted by several\nprizes that they had armed, caused such havoc that rates of insurance on\nall English vessels were advanced twenty-five per cent. In the year 1778\nthe _Reprisal_ foundered in a gale, and only the ship's cook was saved.\n\nThe _Andrea Doria_ received the first foreign salute ever paid to an\nAmerican man-of-war. Upon visiting St. Eustatins, the Dutch Governor\ngreeted the vessel with a grand salvo from the fort; and this courtesy\nproved a very costly one for him, as his nation had not recognized the\nUnited States, and he therefore paid the penalty of his politeness by\nbeing dismissed from his high office.\n\nThe _Randolph_, on the night of March 7, 1778, engaged the British\nline-of-battle-ship _Yarmouth_, and while the fight was being gallantly\nconducted by Captain Biddle against a vastly superior foe, the\n_Randolph_, blew up. Out of 310 souls on board only four seamen were\nleft alive, and these were picked up, four days later clinging to a\npiece of the wreck of their old ship.\n\nOne other vessel was ordered to be built by Congress during the year\n1776, and that was a line-of-battle-ship of 74 guns, the name of which\nwas to be _America_. This fine vessel was constructed at Portsmouth, New\nHampshire, but was not completed until the end of the Revolutionary\nstruggle. She was then fitted out and presented, in the name of the\nUnited States, to Louis XVI. of France, as a mark of appreciation and\ngratitude by this republic, in whose cause he had so nobly and\ngenerously assisted.\n\nIt does not come within the scope of this story to tell of the gallant\nactions that took place between our modest vessels and the towering\nships of England, but some measure of the great honors that we fought\nfor and gained may be appreciated when it is known that American\nmen-of-war made over 800 prizes at sea during the struggle for\nindependence.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nJIM LANGAN, HERO.\n\nBY MARGARET E. SANGSTER.\n\n\n  Do not dream it was only in olden romance\n  That the knight and the hero were given their chance.\n  Nor think for a moment that history's page\n  Will be blank when it tells of our own passing age.\n  The deed waits the doer, the hour the man,\n  And he is the hero who does what he can.\n  Jim Langan was up there at Pittston the week\n  When the mine walls gave way. Then with fast-blanching cheek\n  To that black-yawning grave's mouth rushed women and men.\n  Their dearest were buried there. Sheep in a pen\n  Not so helpless, if any yet breathing were kept\n  To face death in the dark, as on surely it crept.\n  Men stood there, wives sobbed there, naught was there to do,\n  Till Langan stepped boldly the huddling crowd through.\n  \"If the boys are alive, we must reach them. I'll see!\n  If I find a path, you can then follow me.\"\n  Over rough rocks and ruins, o'er falling d\u00e9bris,\n  He crawled and he pushed, with the blood dripping free\n  From torn hands and knees. In the dark, in the dole,\n  Jim Langan fought on to the desperate goal.\n  Above him the dusky roof shuddered and shook,\n  A menace each inch of the black way he took;\n  The foul air was stifling, the night wrapped him round\n  As he wormed his slow progress deep under the ground.\n  The great pillars sagging, his thick gasping breath--\n  A strife of the heart against threatening death--\n  Jim Langan fought on--there were men pent up there\n  In that tomb of the mine shaft, a prey to despair--\n  Fought on, and fought back, for the help that must save\n  Those poor prisoned men from a horrible grave.\n  The red line of valor is still on the earth;\n  The true and the fearless we prize at their worth.\n  And, lads, never dream that the heroes are gone,\n  That they only loomed up in the world's early dawn,\n  For Homer to sing, lest the world should forget.\n  The valiant man leads us, is king of us yet,\n  Redeeming our time from its strife after pelf\n  With the sacrifice laid on God's altar--himself.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: INTERSCHOLASTIC SPORT]\n\n\n[Illustration: 1.--FORWARD BREAST STROKE.]\n\n[Illustration: 2.--FLOATING.]\n\n[Illustration: 3.--SCULLING BACKWARDS.]\n\n[Illustration: 4.--SCULLING FORWARDS.]\n\n[Illustration: 5.--OVERHAND STROKE--THE REACH.]\n\n[Illustration: 6.--OVERHAND STROKE--THE START.]\n\nFrom instantaneous Photographs of Professor Gus Sundstrom, Champion\nAll-round Swimmer of the United States.\n\nAlthough it is preferable to have some one to teach you how to swim, it\nis not absolutely necessary, and any one who has failed to learn as a\nyoungster may, by following out the instructions here given, learn how\nto swim and float and dive by practising in the water all by himself.\n\nOne of the most important things for the beginner to have, of course, is\nconfidence. He must not fear the water any more than a rider should fear\nhis horse; on the other hand, he should not be overbold or reckless and\nattempt too many risks. The beginner should not go to a stream where\nthere is a current, or in sea-water where there might be an undertow. He\nshould choose a lake or a pond or, if at the sea-side, a bay; and he\nshould stick at first pretty closely to shallow water. Salt water being\nso much more buoyant than fresh water, it is much easier to learn how to\nswim in the sea; in fact, if a man who has absolutely no knowledge of\nswimming will only keep control of his head, and retain his hands\n_under_ water, he need never fear of drowning should he fall overboard\ninto salt water. It is advisable, however, when first attempting to\nswim, to have some one on the bank near by who could come to your\nassistance should anything happen.\n\nAnd now for the preliminary steps. First drive a stake into the bottom\nof the pond where the water is from three to four feet deep. Then take\nhold of the stake with both hands and stretch the body straight out on\nthe surface of the water, with the back upward, of course. I might just\nas well say here as anywhere that the first thing to do when going into\nthe water is to submerge the entire body, head included. In fact, it is\na very good thing for timid people to go into shallow water and put\ntheir heads under the water and open their eyes, for this very soon\ngives them confidence in themselves. The head should always be wet, too,\nbecause otherwise, with all the body under water and only the head in\nthe sunlight, the blood is apt to rush upwards and eventually cause a\nhead-ache.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 7.--DETAIL OF BREAST STROKE.]\n\nTo return to the stake. The first motions to be learned are those of the\nlegs, and they may be divided into three parts. The first motion of the\nlegs is to draw them up, with the knees bending outward, and the feet\nkept as closely together as possible. The second motion is to extend the\nfeet outward and move the legs backward, and the third motion is to draw\nthe feet quickly together, extended as far out from the body as\npossible. These motions are clearly shown in Fig. 7, and they are also\ndisplayed in illustration No. 1. This photograph was taken while the\narms were going back and the legs were starting to come up.\n\nIt will take the novice some time before he can master these motions\nabsolutely, and unless he is careful he will never master them at all;\nand although he will learn to know how to swim, he will not swim\ncorrectly, nor will he be able to get the greatest advantage out of the\nlabor expended. To acquire this leg motion correctly a beginner should\ngo through this kicking action twenty or thirty times, counting one,\ntwo, three, as he does so, and keeping his mind all the time on the\ntheory of the thing. Then he should come out of the water and rest a few\nminutes, and then go back again to the stake and go through the\nexercises again.\n\nAfter the leg motion has been thoroughly mastered, the proper use of the\narms must be learned. It is a common fallacy that the beginning of the\nstroke in swimming consists of holding the hands in front of the face\npalm to palm. This is the wrong way. The hands should be held flat out,\nthumb knuckle to thumb knuckle and forefinger to forefinger, under the\nchin and almost touching the breast (see Fig. 7.). As soon as the stroke\nis begun the palms should be turned a little outward so as to assist in\nmoving the body forward. The hands should not be separated to any great\nextent until they have been pushed out almost to arm's length, and when\nthey are brought backwards in the stroke they should not be allowed to\npass much behind the line of the shoulders.\n\nA good way to learn the arm stroke is to kneel in shallow water, or to\nlie across a plank in the water, and practise it. The most difficult\npart of the early stages of swimming is to learn how to combine the\nstroke of the arms with the stroke of the legs. It is absolutely\nnecessary that the arms and legs should work in harmony, and therefore\nthe following rules should be strictly observed:\n\n1. When the hands are being thrust out forward, the legs should be\ncoming together, as in the third part of the leg motion described above.\n\n2. When the arms are straight out in front the legs should be straight\nout behind.\n\n3. When the arms are passing back in the act of performing the stroke,\nthe legs are being drawn up.\n\nThe beginner should not try to swim any long distance at first. As soon\nas he finds that he can keep his body floating easily on the water by\nmeans of the strokes he has learned, he should aim to perfect his form\nrather than aim to cover long distances. The stroke which has just been\ndescribed is technically called the forward breast stroke, and although\nthere are a great many other kinds of strokes in swimming, this is the\neasiest of all strokes to learn, and the one that is most generally\nused, except, perhaps, for racing.\n\nOne of the most common of the fancy strokes is the overhand stroke. This\nis performed by placing the body on the right side, with the legs held\nout behind perfectly straight. One leg is then brought up in front and\nthe other is lifted up behind, and the next motion is to bring them\ntogether with a swift, scissorlike motion, exerting as much force as\npossible. In the mean time the right hand is moved out in front and\nbrought down through the water as far as the left thigh, while the left\nhand passes out of the water from the rear forward, and is drawn back\nsimilarly through the water, thus pulling the body ahead, just as one\nmight pull one's self along by means of a rope. The start and finish of\nthe arm-work in this stroke are well shown in illustrations Nos. 5 and\n6. It is a stroke which requires considerable practice.\n\nBut perhaps before trying to learn fancy strokes, it might be well for\nthe beginner to learn how to float. It is, of course, much easier to\nfloat in salt water than in fresh water, and it is therefore advisable\nwhen possible to learn in sea-water. The method is simple, and any one\nwho has perfect confidence in himself ought to be able to float the\nfirst time he tries. The first thing to do is to fill the lungs well,\nand then cut off the air at the curve of the larynx instead of up in the\nnostrils. This is done by holding the muscles of the throat as they are\nwhen performing the act of swallowing. This keeps the bulk of the air in\nthe lungs, and consequently under water; any air held in the mouth does\nnot give buoyancy to the body.\n\nFat people, of course, float much more easily than thin people, just the\nsame as a piece of fat will float on the water, whereas a piece of lean\nmeat will in all probability sink. In the same way men with greater\nlung-power will float more easily than others with a lesser lung\ncapacity. To float, a beginner should not thrust himself backward\nviolently. He should take a long breath, and then fall backwards in the\nwater gently, making a sort of sculling movement with his hands, at the\nsame time raising his arms upwards until they are stretched as far out\nfrom the shoulders as he can and slightly above the lines of the\nshoulder-blades. The arms (which, of course, must never be lifted out of\nthe water) should be raised no higher than this above the head,\notherwise they diminish the capacity of the lungs by pressing them in.\nThe feet should be worked up slowly from the bottom, and the legs should\nbe spread out. (The correct position is shown in illustration No. 2.)\n\nThe first attempts will naturally result in the beginner's head going\nunder water for a moment at a time, every now and then; but this should\nnot alarm or discourage him, for if he holds the air in his lungs and\nfollows the instructions just given, the head will soon come above the\nsurface again. Then, after the body has settled into the proper\nposition, the floater may breathe naturally, but he should take long\nbreaths, and when driving the air out of the lungs he should do it\nrapidly, and likewise inhale rapidly, holding the air in the body as\nlong as possible.\n\nAfter one has learned to float, a pleasant diversion is to learn the\nforward sculling stroke. This is a fancy stroke, and is of no particular\nservice, except perhaps that it is restful. The hands should be held in\nthe same position as in floating, but the feet should be brought\ntogether. (Illustration No. 4.) Then both hands should be worked at the\nwrists in a sort of semicircle--this is called the sculling motion.\nAfter a few turns of the wrist the body will take a slow forward\nmovement, which gradually increases, and this aids materially in keeping\nthe swimmer afloat. Nevertheless he should keep his lungs full of air,\nas he does when floating.\n\nThere is also a backward sculling stroke, but this is performed by lying\nface downward on the water. (Illustration No. 3.) The body is held\nrigid, the feet are pointed forward, and kept moving up and down at the\nankle to keep the legs from sinking, the legs are held stiff, and the\nhands spread out as before, and moved in the same manner.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 8.--SWIMMING ON THE BACK.]\n\nThe stroke which should perhaps first be learned after one has mastered\nthe art of floating is that which enables one to swim on the back. The\nfastest and easiest way of swimming on the back is called the double\nover-arm, and the method is well illustrated in Fig. 8. In order to\npractise this the swimmer must, of course, first come to the floating\nposition, and then he should bring his feet together and keep them\nmoving up and down, so as to hold them near the surface of the water.\nThe movement of the arms is a sort of windmill motion, and as they pass\nthrough the water the palms and forearms propel the body onward. This is\nan easy stroke to learn when one knows how to float.\n\nThese are perhaps the most important points about swimming that can be\ngiven in so brief a paper. It will take the beginner some time to master\nthese, and after he has learned them and has become familiar with the\nwater, he should practise diving. At an early date this Department will\nbe devoted, in text and illustration, to the interesting subject of\ndiving.\n\nThe Hon. Alfred Lyttelton, M.P., made a speech on the subject of\nathletics recently when he delivered prizes to the boys of the King's\nSchool at Warwick, England, and the London _Sporting Life_ quotes a few\nof his remarks, which, I believe, are just as true concerning American\nsport as they are of English sport, and must consequently be of interest\nto our American school-boys. Mr. Lyttelton said that nobody could accuse\nhim of saying anything against athletic games, for he is a great lover\nof sports; but he added that he feared there was a tendency to overdo\nmatters, and to allow athletics to occupy a more important place in the\nworld than they should--to make a business of them, in fact, instead of\nkeeping them as a recreation which should make us more fitted to do our\nwork in this world.\n\nThe speech created a good deal of comment among sportsmen abroad; and\n_Sporting Life_, a week later, devoted considerable space to editorial\nremarks on what Mr. Lyttelton had said. I quote a few sentences: \"Few\nwill deny the 'growing professional spirit in most of our games' decried\nby that famous sportsman [Mr. Lyttelton], or venture to contradict his\nstatement that the majority of them are being reduced to a mere matter\nof _\u00a3 s. d._ by exponents galore nowadays.... But above and beyond this\nlamentable endeavor to reduce all things to pounds, shillings, and pence\nthere is an excess of enthusiasm in sport equally to be decried by\nall.... The fact is that many devotees of sport make far too much of it\nby having allowed themselves to be taught that ordinary success in any\nbranch thereof is not worth having. They do so in the spirit of the old\nsaying that whatever you do you should do well, which, like many other\nold sayings, is very untrue, and very dangerous in its lack of truth.\nAnd nowhere is this more untrue than in reference to our amusements.\"\n\nThe editorial then goes on to give some examples, saying that to play\nbilliards, for instance, is the amusement of a gentleman, but to play\nbilliards pre-eminently well is hardly that. The writer argues that a\nman who makes it his life's work to become a successful billiard-player\ncan hardly, in the mean time, have continued to be a gentleman in the\nbest use of the word. As another example, the writer states that chess\nis perhaps, of all recreations, the one most adapted to intellectual\npersons, but to be pre-eminent at chess, he argues, is generally to be\nthat and nothing else.\n\nThere is a good deal of truth in this, and it may well be said that the\nathletes who go in purely for record-breaking, even if they stick\nstrictly to the amateur spirit so far as the letter of the law is\nconcerned, devote themselves so fully to their endeavors that they have\nlittle time to cultivate the gentler arts and amenities of social life.\nThey consort so constantly with trainers and rubbers and professional\nsports that they grow more or less to be like these; they talk like\nthem, they act like them, and they begin to shun more elegant society;\nand while still remaining amateurs, they are unquestionably amateurs of\na lower social caste. This degradation is due solely to their own\nconduct. There is a wide difference between a healthy and keen\nindulgence in sport and a passion for breaking records, putting aside\nany mention of the money-making feature of the question.\n\nIt would seem that Mr. Lyttelton is not the only man in England whose\nattention has been called to this weakness among their amateurs; for the\nHon. A. J. Balfour, M.P., who was present at Stamford Bridge on the\noccasion of the athletic meeting of the Association of Conservative\nClubs, made remarks in a similar vein when he distributed the prizes to\nthe winners. He said that there were critics of athletics who watched\nthe rapid growth of interest in sport with something like suspicion, not\nto say dislike. He asserted, however, that he did not share their views,\nfor he had always held that the healthy interest in athletic sports was\none of the most distinguishing and characteristic marks of our age, and\nhe considered it an admirable sign of the times. Nevertheless he warned\nthe young men who were listening to him to beware of the danger of\ncarrying their sports too far, and he said that that point was reached\nwhen training or indulgence in sports ceased to be a pastime and became\nan occupation. There is fruit for considerable thought in the remarks of\nthese two prominent English gentlemen.\n\nThe Interscholastic Tennis Tournament at Newport has been postponed\nuntil August 19, and will therefore not be treated in this Department\nuntil the issue of August 25.\n\n     R. W. NEAL, Salem, Mass.--1. The price of _Track Athletics in\n     Detail_ has been printed conspicuously at the bottom of the second\n     page of this Department for the past six weeks. 2. I do not know\n     the book you mention. 3. _Track Athletics in Detail_ is the only\n     volume so far published in the HARPER'S ROUND TABLE Library. 4.\n     Other good books on athletics are Walter Camp's _Book of College\n     Sports_ (Century Company), and Blaikie's _How to Get Strong_.\n\n     F. F. SMITH, Cumberland, Md.--The articles on canoe-building\n     appeared in the ROUND TABLE, August 13 and 20, 1895.\n\n     F. E. D., New York.--You will find the advice you seek in Blaikie's\n     _How to Get Strong_ (Harper and Brothers, $1); and _Sound Bodies\n     for Boys and Girls_ (Harper and Brothers, 40c.).\n\n     V. W. HALL, Portland, Me.--See answer to F. E. D.\n\n     C. W. GILLESPIE, Terre Haute, Ind.--It was assumed, in writing the\n     article on \"Hammer-throwing,\" that the athlete was more or less\n     familiar with the various track-athletic events now practised, and\n     consequently it was thought unnecessary to go into various specific\n     details concerning the \"turn\" which puzzles you. In throwing the\n     hammer you only turn once. The act is merely that of jumping about\n     and facing the other direction. If you are confused at the start,\n     practise this turn without a hammer. The shoes should have spikes\n     both in the toes and the heels.\n\n\"TRACK ATHLETICS IN DETAIL.\"--ILLUSTRATED.--8VO, CLOTH, ORNAMENTAL,\n$1.25.\n\n  THE GRADUATE.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nRECALLED STORMY TIMES.\n\n\"Well, that looks natural,\" said the old soldier, looking at a can of\ncondensed milk on the breakfast-table in place of ordinary milk that\nfailed on account of the storm. \"It's the Gail Borden Eagle Brand we\nused during the war.\"--[_Adv._]\n\n\n\n\nADVERTISEMENTS.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: ROYAL BAKING POWDER]\n\nA cream-of-tartar baking powder. Highest of all in leavening\nstrength.--_Latest United States Government Food Report._\n\nROYAL BAKING POWDER CO., NEW YORK.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: THOMPSON'S EYE WATER]\n\n\n\n\nBICYCLING.\n\n     This Department is conducted in the interest of Bicyclers, and the\n     Editor will be pleased to answer any question on the subject. Our\n     maps and tours contain many valuable data kindly supplied from the\n     official maps and road-books of the League of American Wheelmen.\n     Recognizing the value of the work being done by the L.A.W., the\n     Editor will be pleased to furnish subscribers with membership\n     blanks and information as far as possible.\n\n\n[Illustration: Copyright, 1896, by Harper & Brothers.]\n\nContinuing the trip from Chicago to Waukesha, we give this week the\nsecond stage of the journey, which is divided into three parts. As was\nstated last week, it is probably well for the rider to stop at Wheeling\nfor dinner, rather than stay there for the night. The ride is a short\none, and can be done by any one who had ridden for a season with\ncomparative ease in the early morning hours before it grows too warm. If\nthis is done, the rider may stop at Wheeling for dinner and for three or\nfour hours' rest, and then in the cool of the early evening continue on\nas far as Lippencott's on Fox Lake, about 23 or 24 miles from Wheeling.\nHere is a good place to stop for the night, and the run from\nLippencott's to Waukesha will not be too great for the second day. For\nconvenience in making maps, however, we have divided this journey into\nthree.\n\nLeaving Wheeling, still on the Old Milwaukee Toll Road, run a little\nwest of north four and a half miles to Halfday. At Halfday turn\nwestward, taking the left fork, cross the railroad about two miles out\nof the town, and run on to Diamond Lake, four and a half miles from\nHalfday. Keeping straight on the main road, continue to Dean's Corners,\nthree and a half miles from Diamond Lake. Again keep straight ahead,\nrunning into Fremont Center, keeping to the left about a mile before\nentering the town, and then by turning sharp to the right half a mile\nfurther on, run into the village itself. On running out of Fremont\nCenter keep to the left at the fork across the stream, and then bear to\nthe right up towards Fort Hill. Instead of running to Fort Hill,\nhowever, you should keep to the left about half a mile before reaching\nthe town, and keep to the main road running up to Lippencott's between\nFish Pond on the left and Wooster Lake on the right. The road is easily\nfound, with the exception of one or two turns just before reaching\nLippencott's, and these can be more easily found by making inquiries\nthan by attempting to describe them here. Lippencott's is a pleasant\nplace with a good hotel on Fox Lake, where it is moderately certain that\nyou will pass a cool night and feel refreshed for your ride to Waukesha\nthe next day.\n\n     NOTE.--Map of New York city asphalted streets in No. 809. Map of\n     route from New York to Tarrytown in No. 810. New York to Stamford,\n     Connecticut, in No. 811. New York to Staten Island in No. 812. New\n     Jersey from Hoboken to Pine Brook in No. 813. Brooklyn in No. 814.\n     Brooklyn to Babylon in No. 815. Brooklyn to Northport in No. 816.\n     Tarrytown to Poughkeepsie in No. 817. Poughkeepsie to Hudson in No.\n     818. Hudson to Albany in No. 819, Tottenville to Trenton in No.\n     820. Trenton to Philadelphia in No. 821. Philadelphia in No. 822.\n     Philadelphia-Wissahickon Route in No. 823. Philadelphia to West\n     Chester in No. 824. Philadelphia to Atlantic City--First Stage in\n     No. 825; Second Stage in No. 826. Philadelphia to Vineland--First\n     Stage in No. 827; Second Stage in No. 828. New York to\n     Boston--Second Stage in No. 829; Third Stage in No. 830; Fourth\n     Stage in No. 831; Fifth Stage in No. 832; Sixth Stage in No. 833.\n     Boston to Concord in No. 834. Boston in No. 835. Boston to\n     Gloucester in No. 836. Boston to Newburyport in No. 837. Boston to\n     New Bedford in No. 838. Boston to South Framingham in No. 839.\n     Boston to Nahant in No. 840. Boston to Lowell in No. 841. Boston to\n     Nantasket Beach in No. 842. Boston Circuit Ride in No. 843.\n     Philadelphia to Washington--First Stage in No. 844; Second Stage in\n     No. 845; Third Stage in No. 846; Fourth Stage in No. 847; Fifth\n     Stage in No. 848. City of Washington in No. 849. City of Albany in\n     No, 854; Albany to Fonda in No. 855; Fonda in Utica in No. 856;\n     Utica to Syracuse in No. 857; Syracuse to Lyons in No. 858; Lyons\n     to Rochester in No. 859; Rochester to Batavia in No. 860; Batavia\n     to Buffalo in No. 861; Poughkeepsie to Newtown in No. 864; Newtown\n     to Hartford in No. 865; New Haven to Hartford in No. 866; Hartford\n     to Springfield in No. 867; Hartford to Canaan in No. 868; Canaan to\n     Pittsfield in No. 869; Hudson to Pittsfield in No. 870. City of\n     Chicago in No. 874. Waukesha to Oconomowoc in 875. Chicago to\n     Wheeling in 876.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIf one is a collector of antiquities, he has doubtless in his possession\none of those beautifully chased and ornamented timepieces that at one\nperiod at the court of France were so much in vogue, it being the\nfashion to wear several of them at one time. Invariably set with jewels,\nthey were very costly, but for usefulness in keeping time they were\npractically worthless. A good story is told of a nobleman who was\nshowing two or three of his beautiful watches to a friend. Being jostled\nby a passer-by the friend accidentally dropped two of them on the floor.\nHe was very profuse with his apologies for his awkwardness, to which the\nnobleman replied,\n\n\"Oh, pray don't mention it, my dear friend. It's the first time I ever\nsaw them go together.\"\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: STAMPS]\n\n     This Department is conducted in the interest of stamp and coin\n     collectors, and the Editor will be pleased to answer any question\n     on these subjects so far as possible. Correspondents should address\n     Editor Stamp Department.\n\n\nThe new Spanish Congressional stamp has been received on letters. It is\na very handsome stamp, printed in carmine, bearing the Spanish coat of\narms, with the words \"Congreso de los Diputados.\" The cancellation is a\ncrown with ornament attached bearing the words \"Congreso de los\nDiputados.\" The cancellation is the same as that hitherto used on the\nordinary Spanish envelopes bearing the regular issues of stamps when\nmailed by a member of the Spanish legislature.\n\nThis is the time for the annual conventions of all kinds, even of\nstamp-collectors. The Southern Philatelic Association has already\nadjourned. The Sons of Philately met August 5, at Gettysburg, Pa. The\nAmerican Philatelic Association will meet at Minnetonka.\n\nThe two new Japanese stamps are to be issued September 12, 1896, the\nsecond anniversary of the Emperor's leaving Tokyo to go to Hiroshima, so\nas to be near the seat of war between Japan and China.\n\nThe inhabitants of the small group of islands situated on the south of\nIceland possess a very curious method of communication in their\nso-called \"bottle post.\" When the wind blows from the south, and one of\nthe islanders wishes to communicate with the mainland, he puts his\nletters into a well-corked bottle, and to insure their delivery he\nincloses at the same time a plug or twist of tobacco, or a cigar. The\nwind speedily impels the bottle to the shores of the main island, where\npeople are usually on the lookout, who are willing to deliver the\nletters in return for the inclosed remuneration.\n\nAfrica is coming to the front with a multiplication of new stamps. The\nFrench in Madagascar have issued three different sets, two provisional\nand one regular. The British East Africa new series of fifteen\ndenominations, and Zanzibar with fourteen denominations, have been\nissued. In the near future specialists in African stamps will grow\ncommon.\n\nThis reminds me of a prophecy by one of the old dealers that soon there\nwould be albums made for each country and for each hemisphere for the\nadvanced collector with money, and one simplified album for the use of\nthe general collector, who with less money, but with equal enthusiasm,\nwould get just as much enjoyment out of his modest general collection as\nthe millionaire specialists out of their marvellous collection of\nvarieties, etc., of one country.\n\n     W. W. WOOD.--The two coins are sold by dealers at a slight increase\n     over face.\n\n     J. M. F.--There were five varieties of the $5 red Internal Revenue,\n     first issue, viz.: Charier Party, Conveyance, worth 15c. each;\n     Mortgage and Probate of Will, worth 50c. each; and Manifest, worth\n     $1.50. These prices are for perforated copies; unperforated copies\n     are worth from $1.25 to $10. The second issue, blue and black, and\n     the third issue, vermilion, are worth 50c. or 60c. each. Cuban\n     stamps are not much collected, and any one can buy them in\n     quantities, therefore there is little prospect of an advance.\n\n     W. R. WHEELER.--The $10 Charter Party, perforated, is worth 60c.;\n     unperforated, $8; the $3 Charter, 15c., and $1.50 respectively; a\n     pair of $2 Mortgage, unperforated, is worth $4; the $2 and $5\n     Probate, worth $1 and 50c. respectively.\n\n     W. R. C.--The 3c. U.S. red, 1851, is worth 35c. per hundred; the\n     1857, about 25c. per hundred; the 1861, about 10c. per hundred. The\n     1c. blue, from 1851 to 1860, are worth much more, depending on\n     condition of the plate, etc. The U.S. Internal Revenue 2c. are not\n     worth anything, the other 2c. Revenues are worth various prices.\n\n     F. E. COWAN.--I do not know the value of Mexican Revenue stamps.\n     Probably some St. Louis dealer could quote prices. Hitherto they\n     have not been collected generally, but I believe they will soon be\n     more popular. When that time comes prices will become more stable.\n\n     G. LEONARD.--I cannot repeat the long list of coins previously\n     published in the ROUND TABLE for December 17, 1895, and January 14,\n     1896.\n\n     A. A. HALL.--English Revenue stamps, or rather stamped papers, have\n     been used for several hundred years. You will doubtless recall\n     England's attempt to force the American Colonists to use stamped\n     paper in 1765. The law was repealed in 1766 in consequence of the\n     disaffection and riots.\n\n     J. SCHWANMAN.--\"Gumpaps\" is a nickname or term of contempt applied\n     to stamps issued primarily to sell to collectors, especially those\n     condemned by the Society for the Suppression of Speculative Stamps,\n     usually called the S.S.S.S.\n\n     W. T. WILLIAMS.--No. Never paste your stamps down. Always use\n     hinges, and buy the best hinges, as it will pay you in the end. I\n     frequently see old collections containing stamps pasted down, with\n     the result that almost every stamp has been damaged. Blues, greens,\n     and some reds disappear altogether. I am told it comes from using\n     dextrine from which the acid has not been thoroughly removed.\n\n     J. J. SINGER.--In perforating postage-stamps a die plate is placed\n     before the needles of a machine carrying hundreds of needles. As\n     about 180,000,000 holes are punched per day, the wear on the die\n     plate is excessive. Brass plates wear out in a day, and even steel\n     plates are rapidly destroyed. The use of aluminium bronze has\n     caused the die plates to last for months without renewal. Usually\n     the parallel horizontal rows are perforated first, and the vertical\n     rows next. Both rows have been perforated at one time, but this\n     method has proved impracticable.\n\n     FAITHFUL READER.--The 1850 dime can be bought of the dealers for\n     20c. They are still in circulation.\n\n     M. C. HALDEMAN, Thompsontown, Pa., wishes to exchange stamps and\n     philatelic literature. Also wants samples of amateur papers.\n\n     V. M.--The 1851 1c. U.S. is worth $2 unused, 25c. used. But there\n     are two varieties (from the early impressions) which are worth much\n     more. Do not cut any pairs or strips of any unperforated stamps.\n\n  PHILATUS.\n\n\n\n\nADVERTISEMENTS.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: COLUMBIA BICYCLES.]\n\n\n\n\nWALTER BAKER & CO., LIMITED.\n\nEstablished Dorchester, Mass., 1780.\n\nBreakfast Cocoa\n\n[Illustration]\n\nAlways ask for Walter Baker & Co.'s\n\nBreakfast Cocoa\n\nMade at\n\nDORCHESTER, MASS.\n\nIt bears their Trade Mark\n\n\"La Belle Chocolatiere\" on every can.\n\nBeware of Imitations.\n\n\n\n\nPostage Stamps, &c.\n\n\n\n\n$117.50 WORTH OF STAMPS FREE\n\nto agents selling stamps from my 50% approval sheets. Send at once for\ncircular and price-list giving full information.\n\nC. W. Grevning, Morristown, N. J.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: STAMPS]\n\n100 all dif. Venezuela, Bolivia, etc., only 10c., 200 all dif. Hayti,\nHawaii, etc., only 50c. Ag'ts w't'd at 50% com. List FREE! =C. A.\nStegmann=, 5941 Cote Brilliante Ave., St. Louis, Mo\n\n\n\n\nSTAMPS\n\n=10= stamps and large list =FREE!=\n\nL. DOVER & CO., 1469 Hodiamont, St. Louis, Mo.\n\n\n\n\nSTAMPS on Approval! 50% disct. _List free._\n\nW. C. Shields, 30 Sorauren Ave., Toronto, Canada.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: THOMPSON'S EYE WATER]\n\n\n\n\nReader: Have you seen the\n\n[Illustration: Franklin]\n\nIt is a Collection which no one who loves music should fail to own; it\nshould find a place in every home. Never before, it may truthfully be\nsaid, has a song book been published at once so cheap, so good, and so\ncomplete.--_Colorado Springs Gazette._\n\n[Illustration: Square]\n\nThis Song Collection is one of the most notable enterprises of the kind\nattempted by any publisher. The brief sketches and histories of the\nleading productions in the work add greatly to the value of the\nseries.--_Troy Times._\n\n[Illustration: Collection?]\n\nSold Everywhere. Price, 50 cents; Cloth, $1.00. Full contents, with\nSpecimen Pages mailed, without cost, on application to\n\nHarper & Brothers, New York.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe Theban Chariot.\n\n     When in Florence we started for the Egyptian Museum one morning at\n     ten, and got there in about twenty minutes. I was disappointed when\n     I first looked at the chariot. As I examined it I saw how\n     wonderfully it was made. There was no metal in it, and the only\n     substances besides wood were leather and fossil bone. There are\n     very few pieces of wood in the chariot, as you will see in the\n     picture. The collar is like a wishbone with the point down. The tip\n     is round instead of flat, and is of fossil bone. The ends of the\n     yoke are finished with the same bone, and also the heads of the\n     wooden spikes that hold the wheels on the axles.\n\n     [Illustration: THE THEBAN CHARIOT.]\n\n     The pole is about the same length as an average carriage-pole. The\n     yoke is about four feet long, and the wheels the same height. The\n     place where the driver and warrior stood is made of leather,\n     plaited like a split-bottomed chair, and this platform is\n     semicircular. The yoke and pole are held together by a bone-headed\n     spike. The spokes, pole, and hubs were originally covered with\n     birch bark. The authorities say that from the quality of the wood\n     and the absence of metal, it may be presumed that this chariot,\n     formerly belonging to some warrior of the north, had been taken to\n     Egypt as one of the spoils of war over 3300 years ago.\n\n     I have seen a photograph of a Roman chariot. It was the same as\n     this, but filled in with bronze, and thirty times as heavy. The\n     pieces of leather which go from the breast-work of the platform to\n     the pole have been put there recently. There is a bow, that was\n     found with the chariot, leaning against it. It used to be covered\n     with leather, and is about five feet long.\n\n  JOHN B. CANTLEY.\n  WOODBURN SANDS, BLETCHLY, ENGLAND.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nA Man-eating Russian.\n\nIn the church of St. Alexander, St. Petersburg, are the remains of a\nRussian general, Hannibal. A guide once said to a traveller, \"There lies\na Cannibal.\" This startling remark was all due to the fact that the\nRussian alphabet is H-less.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAn Infallible Guesser.\n\nWhen Thomas was compiling one of his first almanacs his clerk asked him\nwhat forecast he should enter opposite a certain week in July.\n\n\"_Thunder, hail, and snow_,\" promptly replied Thomas--and, lo! the\nprediction proved to be true! Thomas's almanac was thereafter considered\nwell-nigh infallible.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIn Order Now for \"S.Z.B.\" to Explain.\n\nSome weeks ago a letter reached us, signed by what appeared a\nresponsible name, and dated at Kingman, Arizona, telling us of the death\nof Lady Florence E. Cowan. As Miss Cowan lives at Kingman, we believed\nthe statement, and as she had contributed to the Table many delightful\nmorsels, which thousands had enjoyed, we made a minute of the news. A\nletter from Miss Cowan expresses her natural surprise, and gives us and\nthe Table the glad tidings that the information of \"S.Z.B.\" was\nincorrect.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nSome Odd Pastimes.\n\n     Spinosa, after studying assiduously for hours, would amuse himself\n     by setting spiders to fighting. His laughter was said to have been\n     positively alarming on the occasion of especially exciting combats.\n     Socrates loved to play with children, and Tycho Brah\u00e9 to polish\n     spectacle glasses. D'Andilly, a translator of _Josephus_, spent his\n     leisure in cultivating trees, while Barclay, author of the\n     _Argenis_, was as devoted to his flowers as Celia Thaxter. Balzac\n     collected crayon portraits, and the Abb\u00e9 de Maroles, prints.\n     Politian was never so happy as with his lute. The learned monk\n     Petavius would gravely whirl his chair for five minutes at the end\n     of every second hour of theological research, while Dr. Samuel\n     Clarke was an expert chair and table jumper. Swift was often seen\n     running up and down the steps of the deanery. Shelley's fondness\n     for sailing paper boats is well known, but few know that he once\n     folded a fifty-pound bank-note and sent it bobbing down the current\n     of the Serpentine. But all will be glad to know that the shallop\n     was finally moored in safety lower down the river. This launching\n     somehow reminds us of the first stanza of Lear's _Owl and Pussy\n     Cat_.\n\n  GEOFFREY CARTWRIGHT.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTwo Apt Anagrams.\n\nA person once wrote this anagram of the name \"Napoleon Bonaparte\": \"No,\nappear not on Elba.\"\n\nWhen it was rumored that the Duke of Wellington intended marrying a rich\nheiress, Angelina Burdett Coutts, this anagram appeared:\n\n  \"The Duke must in his second childhood be,\n  Since in his doting age he turns to A B C.\"\n\n  ORION BELTON.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nKinks.\n\nNo. 19.--A JINGLE OF JACKS.\n\n  Pray find, without much tribulation,\n  Full many a neat e_jac_ulation:\n  The Jack^1 that flies at vessel's prow;\n  Before it all good Jack Tars bow;\n  The Jack^2 that on a darksome night\n  May well inspire one's soul with fright;\n  The Jack^3 that rears its massive trunk\n  O'er flowers that of the brook have drunk;\n  The Jack^4 whom ev'ry butcher greets\n  With offers of all lean-fleshed meats;\n  The Jack^5 whom sober-minded people shun,\n  So great his size he fills a tun!\n  The Jack^6 who makes the strong and hale\n  Before its very name turn pale;\n  And now I'll tell you of _one_ Jack--\n  The Jack who has the happy knack\n  Of making sunshine out of shade--\n  The dearest Jack that e'er was made!\n\n  PROTE A. JAY.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNo. 20.--A QUARTUS.\n\n  First is a state that is surely in debt;\n    Second, a stone that in truth is _a door_;\n  Third, an odd gem which dilates in a pet;\n    Fourth is a stone that may mean _a horse poor_.\n\n  PLESIOSAURUS.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNo. 21.--A SESTINE OF STONES.\n\n  The stone (1) that will capture the \"mackerel-guide\";\n  The stone (2) which might have the term \"measures\" applied;\n  The stone (3) that \"O, Partner!\" cries out with _esprit_;\n  The stone (4) that may grow 'mid the tall _fleurs-de-lis_;\n  The stone (5) that means \"steward\" in Persian, 'tis said;\n  And, lastly, the stone (6) in which gas burns o'erhead.\n\n  EASON C. ARLINGTON.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNo. 23.--A MYTHOLOGICAL M\u00c9LANGE.\n\nIn the following jumble find these mythological personages, Greek and\nRoman: nine female and five male divinities, two giants, two heroes, a\nlegendary king, a monster, a Greek maiden metamorphosed into a white\nheifer, the most beautiful of all mortals, and the mother of a\nwell-known god and goddess:\n\nThe miner vacantly began to leer--ostentation at last! He cater to a\nmaniac? Hill escaped; an oven used to mar Smith's arbor. Eastwardly the\ncoach ironically accompanied Jan. \"Usually _I_ owe; _he_ bears genuine\ngrief amid astounding trials, surpassing any Medes.\" The ice restored\nher; attentive Lucas tore the vest at the hem; the shy mender let oats\nfly, while the poacher messed his porridge--the color I only conjectured\nto be bice.\n\n  SOUTHE ARLINGTON.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nQuestions and Answers.\n\nAre you interested in music and natural history? Inez M. Brush, Chelsea,\nIowa, wants to correspond with you if you are. If you live in Baltimore,\nP. Dettelbach, 1905 Druid Hill Avenue, wants you to join the Monumental\nCity Chapter. Corresponding members are also received. William J.\nSmith,--No badges are now in stock. When more are prepared, notice will\nbe given in these columns. We know of no active Chapter in Detroit near\nyou. It is better to form one among your own friends than to join one\nwhose members you have no acquaintance with.\n\n\"Disputants,\"--Austria is on a gold and Russia on a silver monetary\nbasis. \"Amateur Newspaper,\"--There are several methods by which writing\nis cheaply duplicated. None are perfect--that is, as perfect as\ntype-printing, and none can, unless done far better than the average\namateur is able to do, deceive the recipient to the extent of making him\nthink it an original letter. For HARPER'S MAGAZINE, and for prices apply\nto your bookseller. Directions go with the apparatus.\n\nHenry F. Brown, a Massachusetts Knight, who won a Round Table\nIllustration prize, asks if the late Horace Bradley is the same person\nwho judged his picture: \"for,\" he writes, \"I find 'H. B.' on the back of\nit.\" We cannot say with absolute certainty, but it is probable that it\nis. Mr. Bradley, who was one of the most obliging of men, passed\njudgment upon much work sent in by Round Table members. Pressed with\nresponsibilities, he often took time to look through a pile of members'\ndrawings, giving a word of criticism here or of commendation there. In\nhalf a dozen instances he wrote letters to members of artistic promise,\ngiving them helpful advice. You should prize your drawing with its\ninitials \"H. B.\" highly.\n\nEugene B. Benton, who says he hopes one day to enter the navy, asks what\nbecame of the old vessels of the Revolutionary navy. There were about\nforty of them, and they had different fates. Two, the _America_ and the\n_Ariel_, were presented to France. The famous _Bonhomme Richard_ was\nsunk in 1779, and the _Washington_, _Independence_, and _Montgomery_ in\n1778. The _Saratoga_ was lost at sea, and the _Lexington_ was captured\nby the British in the English Channel, in 1778. You are in error in\nthinking the _Constitution_ was in the war of the Revolution. It was not\nlaunched until 1797. It was in service, with some lapses, until\nDecember, 1881, when it was consigned to \"Rotten Row,\" in the Brooklyn\nNavy-yard. The earliest built of our new navy, or White Squadron, was\nthe _Chicago_, in 1886. Previous to 1862 enlisted men in the navy were\ngranted a \"spirit ration.\" In July of that year Congress passed a law\nabolishing it, and enacted that \"hereafter no distilled spirituous\nliquors shall be admitted on board of vessels of war, except as medical\nstores.\" Read Admiral Gherardi's article on the navy, in HARPER'S ROUND\nTABLE for June 30 last. It can be had for five cents from the\npublishers, and it authoritatively answers all of your questions about\nentering the navy, the pay, etc.\n\n\n\n\nCAMERA CLUB.\n\n\nCHOOSING A CAMERA.\n\nMany letters come to the editor of this column asking advice in regard\nto the purchase of a camera, style, price, etc., and a short talk on the\nsubject may not come amiss to the members of the club.\n\nThere are so many makes of cameras, each with a seemingly equal claim to\nmerit, that the would-be purchaser--unless he has had some experience in\nphotography--is often at a loss what sort of an instrument to select. To\nsimplify the description we will divide the cameras into four classes:\n1. The tiny snap-shot. 2. The hand camera. 3. The hand and view camera\ncombined. 4. The view camera.\n\nIf one has had no previous experience in taking pictures, and simply\nwishes to make pictorial reminders of his summer outings, the tiny\nsnap-shot-camera, which makes pictures about the size of a silver\ndollar, is a most satisfactory investment. This camera carries a spool\nof film long enough for twelve pictures, which is easily and quickly\nchanged for fresh film. The lens has what is called a universal focus,\nso that there is no focussing. All that one has to do to make a picture\nis to point the camera at the object and press the shutter spring. The\nresult is sometimes very good and sometimes very amusing, according to\nthe skill with which the instrument is managed. Some of these miniature\npictures are perfect in detail, and such pictures may be enlarged four\nor five times their diameter with slight expense. Even if one owns a\nlarger camera one of these pocket-cameras is a desirable addition to\none's outfit. This snap-shot camera costs from $3 to $5.\n\nNo. 2. The hand camera may be bought anywhere from $8 to $50. The size\nof the picture made varies from the small 3-1/4 by 4-1/4 to the 5 by 7.\nThe camera which takes a 4 by 5 picture is the most convenient and the\nmost satisfactory size. These cameras are made with an interchangeable\narrangement, so that one may use either plates or films. For general\nwork the plates are less trouble to handle, and the fact that one can\ncarry only eight to ten plates in the camera leads one to be more\ncareful in making pictures. Films are more convenient to carry on a\njourney, for the weight of film enough for one hundred pictures is not\nequal to eight plates. A good 4 by 5 hand camera may be bought for $12.\n\nNo. 3. The hand and view camera combined is one of the best cameras for\nall-round work. A 4 by 5 camera fitted with double swing-back, rising\nand falling front, and a rapid rectilinear lens may be bought for $20.\nThe object of the swing-back is to adjust the plate so that it may be\nparallel with the object to be photographed.\n\nNo. 4. The view camera is one made specially for out-of-door work, and\nis the style used by professionals who make a specialty of landscape\nviews. The camera and lens are bought separately, and one may have\nseveral lenses for the same camera. Most of the view cameras fold up\ncompactly, so that a 5 by 8 camera, three double plate-holders, two or\nthree lenses, and a focussing-cloth may be carried in a case about\ntwelve inches square and five and a half inches wide.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: IVORY SOAP]\n\n  A wise young woman understands\n  That Ivory Soap is best to use\n  For outing flannels, sunburned hands,\n  Light summer gowns and tennis shoes.\n\nCopyright, 1896, by The Procter & Gamble Co., Cin'ti.\n\n\n\n\nTHE\n\nBALTIMOREAN PRINTING-PRESS\n\n[Illustration]\n\nhas earned more money for boys than all other presses in the market.\nBoys, don't idle away your time when you can buy a self-inking\nprinting-press, type, and complete outfit for $5.00. Write for\nparticulars, there is money in it for you.\n\nTHE J. F. W. DORMAN CO.,\n\nBaltimore, Md., U.S.A.\n\n\n\n\nFREE.\n\nSample cards and circulars describing the latest and greatest\neducational game. Fascinating, entertaining, and highly instructive.\n\nH. J. WEIHE,\n\n602 25th Street, Milwaukee, Wis.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nEARN A TRICYCLE.\n\nWe wish to introduce our Teas. Sell 30 lbs. and we will give you a Fairy\nTricycle; sell 25 lbs. for a Solid Silver Watch and Chain; 50 lbs. for a\nGold Watch and Chain; 75 lbs. for a Bicycle; 10 lbs. for a Gold Ring.\nWrite for catalog and order sheet Dept. I\n\nW. G. BAKER,\n\nSpringfield, Mass.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: THOMPSON'S EYE WATER]\n\n\n\n\nSOME GOOD BOOKS\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTRACK ATHLETICS IN DETAIL.\n\nCompiled by the Editor of \"Interscholastic Sport\" in HARPER'S ROUND\nTABLE. Illustrated from Instantaneous Photographs. 8vo, Cloth,\nOrnamental, $1.25. In \"HARPER'S ROUND TABLE Library.\"\n\n     A good book to put into the hands of the athletically inclined. It\n     is capitally illustrated with instantaneous photographs, and is\n     full of expert and sound advice and instruction.--_Outlook_, N. Y.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBy CAPTAIN KING\n\n     Captain King has in large degree the rare faculty of placing in the\n     mental vision of the reader a clearly limned picture of the scenes\n     described.--_Newark Advertiser._\n\nCADET DAYS.\n\nIllustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25.\n\nCAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK,\n\nAnd Stories of Army Life. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, $1.25.\n\nA WAR-TIME WOOING.\n\nIllustrated by R. F. ZOGBAUM. Post 8vo, Cloth. $1.00.\n\nBETWEEN THE LINES.\n\nA Story of the War. Illustrated by GILBERT GAUL. Post 8vo, Cloth, $1.25.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHARPER & BROTHERS, Publishers, New York\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n[Illustration]\n\n  Said Tommy Tadpole to his Ma,\n    \"I wish I were a frog!\n  Then I could make a great big noise,\n    And sit upon a log!\"\n\n  \"You'll find, my dear,\" his mother said,\n    \"More things than noise and log\n  Complete the sum of daily life\n    When you've become a frog.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nA GOOD PLAN.\n\n\"Bobbie,\" said Tom, \"let you and I go into business.\"\n\n\"What business?\" asked Bobbie.\n\n\"Oh, I don't care,\" said Tom. \"I'll be senior partner, and you be head\nclerk and attend the business.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nA GOOD TERM.\n\n\"Hoh,\" said Wilbur, when Wallie wanted to swap an American two-cent\nstamp for a silver shilling, \"you're pretty mumpy, I think.\"\n\n\"Mumpy?\" asked Wallie. \"What's mumpy?\"\n\n\"When your cheek gets big,\" said Wilbur.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nA HARD QUESTION TO ANSWER.\n\n\"Papa,\" said Arthur, \"I read somewhere that people became what they\nate.\"\n\n\"So it is said, my son.\"\n\n\"Then why don't cannibals become missionaries, papa?\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nA DISPUTE.\n\n\"Did you see how that bull tossed his head?\" asked Mollie.\n\n\"No,\" said Allie. \"I saw him shake it. He didn't toss it.\"\n\n\"Yes, he did,\" said Mollie.\n\n\"Where did he toss it to?\" asked Allie. \"I didn't see it land anywhere.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHARD TO RESIST.\n\n\"Billie,\" said little Tommie, \"won't you come and play with me?\"\n\n\"You're too little, Tommie,\" said Billie. \"I couldn't play anything with\nyou.\"\n\n\"I'll be anything, Billie,\" pleaded Tommie. \"I'll roll myself up into a\nball, and maybe you'll have a splendid time bouncing me about.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWHERE THE WINDOWS GOT THEIR NAMES.\n\nIt was a very blustery day. The breeze from the sea was so strong that\nit blew in one or two panes of glass, and brought down the curtains with\na clatter to the floor.\n\n\"I see now,\" said little Harry, \"why they call windies windies.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nA BOUNCER.\n\n\"What a splendid jumper your little dog is, Sammie,\" said Mr. Hicks.\n\n\"Well, he ought to be,\" said Sammie. \"He swallowed a rubber ball last\nweek.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nFloods in lowland countries have their humorous side as well as their\ntragic ones. A gentleman recently returned from the West relates a\nlittle experience he had with a swollen river in Missouri. The country\nhad been a veritable swamp for some days, and after travelling through\nit on horseback for a week doing business here and there, he says he\narrived at the bank of the river. There was no way to cross it except by\nswimming, so, dismounting, he tied his clothes to the horse, and drove\nhim into the river, swimming after him. Reaching the other side, he\ndressed and continued on his way. Before going twenty feet, however, he\ncame to the forks of the road, and not knowing the correct direction he\nwanted to go, he looked around for a sign. There was none, but just\nacross the river, near the spot he had entered to swim across, he saw a\nboard nailed on a tree. Well, there was nothing to do but to get in and\nswim across again, as undoubtedly that was the sign containing the\ndirections. He swam across, and after climbing up the bank he read the\nfollowing notice:\n\n\"Five dollars fine for crossing this bridge faster than a walk.\"\n\nHe says that under the circumstances the sarcasm of that sign put him in\nbad humor for the rest of the day.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIn the rush and crush of business in the general post-office the other\nday an Irishman's answer was heard that is worth repeating. It was at\nthe general-delivery window, and the Irishman was poor, and a typical\nson of the sod. He had applied for a letter.\n\n\"Letter? All right, sir. What name?\"\n\nThe Irishman gave his name, but the clerk, not catching it, asked,\n\n\"How do you spell it?\"\n\n\"Spell it!\" answered the Irishman. \"Shure, if a foine smart clerk loike\nyou can't spell it, how d'ye think a poor man loike me can?\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTHE TERRIBLE PLIGHT OF THE WISE MAN.\n\n  There was a man in our town\n    Who was so wondrous wise\n  That nobody dared speak to him;\n    And so he winked his eyes,\n\n  And said, \"I don't know anything,\n    But all these people here\n  Are so afraid, they dare not speak,\n    And call me sage and seer;\n\n  \"But, oh, if some one should forget,\n    And speak to me some day,\n  I really haven't an idea\n    Of what I then should say!\"\n\n  And so this sage pretended that\n    His temper was most vile,\n  And people, when they met him,\n    Turned and ran away a mile.\n\n  And so it is unto this day--\n    He's magnified in size,\n  So that though he knows nothing,\n    All the town folks think him wise.\n\n  J. K. B.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTHE BEST OF ALL.\n\n\"What are you going to be when you are a man, Jack?\" asked Uncle George.\n\n\"A man,\" said Jack.","title":"Harper's Round Table, August 18, 1896","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":26818}