CHAPTER IV.

Mr. Franklin's announcement at first almost stunned his children. They

could not believe it. Jack and Cynthia were somewhat prepared for it, it

is true, but when they heard the news from their father's own lips it

was none the less startling.

To Edith it came like a thunderbolt. She had never had the smallest

suspicion that her father would marry again. She had always supposed

that she would be sufficient for him. She would never marry herself, she

thought, but would stay at home and be the comfort of his declining

years. It had never occurred to her that her father, still a young and

good-looking man of barely forty, would be exceedingly likely to marry a

second time.

And now what was to happen? A stranger was coming to rule over them.

Edith would never endure it, never! She would go away and live with Aunt

Betsey. Anything would be better than a step-mother.

When she spoke her voice was hard and unnatural.

"Haven't I done right, papa? Weren't you satisfied with me? I have

tried."

"My dear child, you have done your best, but you are too young. No one

can expect a girl of sixteen to take entire charge of a house and

family. And it is not only that. Hester is a charming woman. She reminds

me something of your mother, Edith. It was that which first attracted

me. She will be a companion to you--a sister."

"Thank you, but I don't need either. Cynthia is all the sister I want.

Oh, papa, papa, why are you going to do it!"

She went to her own room and shut the door. After this one outbreak she

said no more. Small things made Edith storm and even cry, dignified

though she was. This great shock stunned her. She did not shed a tear,

and she bore it in silence; but a hard feeling came into her heart, and

she determined that she would never forgive this Miss Gordon who had

entrapped her father (so she put it), and was coming to rule over them

and order them about. She, for one, would never submit to it.

Jack did not mind it in the least, and Cynthia, who idolized her father,

was sure from what he said that he was doing what he considered was for

his happiness. Of course it was terrible for them, but they must make

the best of it.

They passed a dreary Sunday, but Monday was expected to be an exciting

day, for on that date the chickens were to appear. But when the children

returned from school there were but small signs of the anticipated hatch

in the incubator; one shell only had a little crack on the end.

Cynthia took up her position in front of the machine with a book, and

waited patiently hour after hour. Nothing came. The next morning there

was another crack in the next egg, and the first had spread a little,

but that was all. The children all went to school but Edith, and she

felt too low-spirited to go down to the cellar to watch.

Janet and Willy were forbidden to go near the place. As punishment for

their conduct on Saturday, they were not to be present at the hatching.

It was thought that owing to what they had done the chickens were not

forth-coming, and indeed it had been most disastrous.

When Jack and Cynthia returned from school they found that two little

chicks--probably the only two which had escaped the cold bath--had

emerged from their shells, and were hopping dismally about in the gravel

beneath the trays. One hundred and ninety-eight hoped-for companions

failed to appear.

Jack's first hatch was anything but a success. He bore it bravely, but

it was a bitter disappointment. After waiting many hours in the vain

hope of seeing another shell crack, he removed the two little comrades

to the large brooder built to hold a hundred, and then, nothing daunted,

sent for more eggs. He still had some of Aunt Betsey's money left.

Jack was plucky, and his pride would not permit him to give up. He would

profit by his experience, and next time he would be victorious. He

feared that, besides the mischief done by the children, he had been

overfussy in his care of the eggs, and he determined to act more wisely

in every respect.

In after-years Cynthia looked back upon the first hatch as one of the

most depressing events in her life. The children in disgrace, Edith

silent and woe-begone in her own room, she and Jack watching hour after

hour in the big cellar for the chickens that never came, and, above all,

the impending arrival of the second Mrs. Franklin.

Aunt Betsey journeyed down from Wayborough as soon as she heard the

news. They did not know she was coming until they saw one of the station

carriages slowly approaching the house, with Miss Trinkett's well-known

bonnet inside of it. She waved her hand gayly, and opened the subject at

once.

"Well, well," she cried, "this is news indeed! I want to know! Nephew

John going to be married again! Just what I always thought he had best

do for the good of you children. Have you seen the bride, and what is

she like?"

It was a warm June day, and the Franklins were on the piazza when this

was shouted to them from the carriage in their aunt's shrill voice.

Edith writhed. Though the news was all over Brenton by now, this would

be a fine bit for the driver to take back.

Jack and Cynthia offered to help Aunt Betsey to alight, but she waved

them aside.

"Don't think you must help me, my dears. This good news has put new life

into me. How do you all do?" giving each one of her birdlike kisses, and

settling herself in a favorite rocking-chair.

The younger children ran to her, hoping for treasures from the

carpet-bag.

"I do declare," exclaimed she, "if I didn't forget all about you in the

news of the bride! Never mind; wait till next time, and I'll bring you

something extry nice when I come to see the bride."

"What's a bride?" asked Willy.

"La, child, don't you know? They haven't been kept in ignorance, I

hope?"

"Oh no, but they haven't heard her called that," explained Cynthia.

"Do you mean the lady that is coming here to live?" asked Janet. "Well,

we don't like her, me and Willy. She's made Edith cross and sobby, and

she's made you forget our presents, and she's made a lot of fuss. We

don't want her here at all."

Miss Trinkett looked shocked. "My dear children!" she exclaimed, too

much aghast to say more. Then she turned to Edith.

"But now tell me all about it. Have you seen her, and is she young?"

"I have not seen her, Aunt Betsey, and I don't wish to. I don't know

whether she is young or old, and I don't care. Won't you take me home

with you, Aunt Betsey? Can't I live with you now? I'm not needed here."

Miss Betsey stared at her in amazement.

"Edith Franklin," she said, folding her hands in her lap, "I _am_

astonished at the state of things I find in this household! Rebelling

against circumstances in this way, and wishing to run away from your

duties! No, indeed, my dear. Much as I'd admire to have you live with

me--and there's a nice little chamber over the living-room that would

suit you to a T--I'd never be the one to encourage your leaving your

family. You are setting them a bad example as it is, teaching these

young things to look with disfavor on their new mother that is to be.

No, indeed. Far be it from me to encourage you. And, indeed, I should

have no right, when my own mother was a second wife. Why, in the early

days of the colonies it was thought nothing at all for a man to marry

three or four times, as you'd know if you had read Judge Sewall's

_Diary_ as much as I have, or other valuable works."

Miss Trinkett rocked violently when she had finished this harangue.

Edith did not reply. She had looked for sympathy from Aunt Betsey; but

she, like all the rest of the world, seemed to think it the best thing

that could happen.

As for Miss Betsey, she too was somewhat disappointed. She had hoped for

some interesting items, and none seemed to be forth-coming.

"Where's your father?" she asked, presently.

Edith did not reply.

"He has gone to Albany," said Cynthia.

"Well, well! And when is the wedding to be?"

Edith rose and went into the house. Cynthia glanced after her

regretfully, and then answered her aunt's question.

"It is to be in a week. It is to be very quiet, because--because Miss

Gordon is in deep mourning."

"Do tell! I want to know!" ejaculated Miss Trinkett. "And are none of

you going?"

"No; papa did not think it was best. Hardly any one will be there. Only

her brother and one or two others."

"So she has a brother. Any other relatives?"

"I think not. She lost her father and mother when she was very young,

and her grandmother died rather lately."

"I want to know! And when are they coming home?"

"Very soon," said Cynthia, almost inaudibly.

"Do tell!"

Miss Betsey said no more at present, but her mind was busy.

"Where is Jackie?" she next asked.

"I don't know. Gone to see about the chickens, I suppose."

"Oh, those little orphans. Well, I haven't time to ask about them now,

for I think, Cynthia, I would like to call upon my friend, Mrs. Parker.

It is a long time since I was there."

"Oh, Aunt Betsey!" exclaimed Cynthia. It would never do for her aunt to

see Mrs. Parker. The secret of her escapade at that good lady's house

would surely be found out. "Why do you go there this afternoon?"

"Because, my dear, I am here only for a night, and I must see Mrs.

Parker."

Cynthia groaned inwardly.

"And hear all the village gossip about papa," she thought.

It must be prevented.

But Miss Trinkett was not to be turned from her purpose. Go she would.

Every available excuse in the world was brought up to deter her, but the

end of it was that Jack drove around in the buggy, and Miss Betsey

departed triumphantly.

Cynthia awaited her return in suspense. She wished that she could run

away. Her impersonation of her aunt did not seem such a joke as it had

at the time, and then she had heard the dreadful news there.

Miss Trinkett came back before very long in high dudgeon. Cynthia was

alone on the piazza, for Edith had not appeared again. She noticed that

Jack was apparently enjoying a huge joke, and instead of taking the

horse to the barn, he remained to hear what Aunt Betsey had to say.

Miss Trinkett sank into a chair and untied her bonnet strings with a

jerk.

"Maria Parker is losing her mind," she announced. "As for me, I shall

never go there again."

"Why not, Aunt Betsey?" murmured Cynthia, preparing herself for the

worst.

"She declares that I was there two weeks ago, and that she--_she_ told

me the news of my own nephew's engagement! She actually had the

effrontery to say, 'I told you so!' My own nephew! When his letter the

other day was the first I heard of it, and I said to Silas, said I,

'Silas, nephew John Franklin is going to marry again, and give a mother

to those children, and I'm glad of it, and I've just heard the news.'

And now for Maria Parker to tell me that she told me, and that I was

there two weeks ago! Is the woman crazy, or am I the one that has lost

my mind? Why don't you say something, Cynthy? Is it possible you agree

with Mrs. Parker? Come, now, answer a question. Was I here two weeks

ago, and did I go and see Maria Parker?"

"No," murmured Cynthia, her face crimson, her voice almost inaudible.

But Aunt Betsey was too much excited to notice.

"Jackie," she said, turning to him, "will you answer me a question? Did

I visit you two weeks ago, and did I call upon Mrs. Parker?"

Jack gave one look at Cynthia, and then, dropping on the grass, rolled

over and over in an ecstasy of mirth.

"You're in for it now, Miss Cynthia!" he chuckled.

Miss Betsey drew herself up.

"You have not answered my questions. Was I here two weeks ago, and did I

call upon Mrs. Parker?"

"No, no, Aunt Betsey!" shouted Jack. "You weren't! You didn't! Go ahead,

Cynth! Out with it! My eye, I'm glad I'm here and nowhere else! I've

been waiting for this happy day. Now you'll get paid up for fooling me."

And again he rolled, his long legs beating the air.

"I think you are mean, Jack, when you were the one that made me go!"

exclaimed Cynthia, indignantly. Then she relapsed into silence. How

could she ever confess to Aunt Betsey?

Miss Trinkett hastened the climax.

"I don't know why Jack finds this so amusing. It is not so to my mind;

but if you are quite sure that I was not here, and that I did not call

upon Mrs. Parker, I must ask you to drive down with me at once and state

the facts to her. I cannot have it insinuated that I am no longer

capable of judging for myself, and of knowing what I do and what I don't

do. She actually told me to my face that I was getting childish. What

_would_ Silas say? But I'll never tell him that. I would like to go at

once."

Alas, there was no help for it. Cynthia must confess. If only Jack had

not been there!

She rose from the step where she had been sitting, and standing in front

of her little grandaunt she spoke very rapidly.

"You are right, and so is Mrs. Parker. You weren't here, but I dressed

up and went to see her. I pretended I was you. I found your other

false--I mean your new hair. You left it in the drawer. I looked just

like you, and we thought it would be such fun. I'm awfully sorry, Aunt

Betsey, indeed I am. It wasn't such great fun, after all."

At first Miss Betsey was speechless. Then she rose in extreme wrath.

[Illustration: "CYNTHY FRANKLIN, IT IS MORE THAN TIME YOU HAD A

MOTHER."]

"Cynthy Franklin, it is more than time you had a mother. I never

supposed you could be so--impertinent; yes, impertinent! Made yourself

look like me, indeed, and going to my most intimate friend! Poor Mrs.

Parker. There's no knowing what she might have said, thinking it was I.

And I telling her to-day she was out of her mind, and various other

things I'm distressed to think of. Why, _Cynthy_!"

"Oh, I'm _so_ sorry," cried Cynthia, bursting into tears. "Do forgive

me, Aunt Betsey."

"I am not ready to forgive you just yet, and whether I ever will or not

remains to be proved. I am disappointed in you all. Edith going and

shutting herself up when I come, because she doesn't want a step-mother,

and you making fun of an aged aunt--not so very aged either. Why, when

Silas hears this I just dread to think what he'll say. I am going home

at once, Jack. You are the only well-behaved one among them. You may

drive me to the train."

"Oh, Aunt Betsey, not to-day! Please don't go."

"I couldn't answer for my tongue if I staid here to-night. I had best go

home and think it out. When I remember all I said to Maria Parker, and

all she said to me, I'm about crazy, just as she said I was."

And presently she drove away, sitting very stiff and very erect in the

old buggy that had held her prototype two weeks before, and Cynthia was

left in tears, with one more calamity added to her already burdened

soul.

Why had she ever played a practical joke? If she lived a hundred years

she never would again.

Edith heard the news of Aunt Betsey's sudden departure in silence, and

Cynthia received no sympathy from her. And very soon it was temporarily

forgotten in preparations for the advent of the bride.

The day came at last, a beautiful one in June. The house was filled with

lovely flowers which Cynthia had arranged--Edith would have nothing to

do with it--and the supper-table was decked with the finest China and

the old silver service and candelabra of their great-grandmother.

The servants, who had lived with them so long, could scarcely do their

work. They peered from the kitchen windows for a first sight of their

new mistress, and wondered what she would be like.

"These are sorry times," said Mary Ann, the old cook, as she wiped her

eyes with the corner of her apron.

Outside the place had never looked so peacefully lovely. It was late,

and the afternoon sun cast long shadows from the few trees on the lawn.

In the distance the cows were heard lowing at milking-time. At one spot

the river could be seen glinting through the trees, and June roses

filled the air with fragrance.

All was to the outward eye just as it had always been, summer after

summer, since the Franklins could remember, and yet how different it

really was.

Jack had gone to the station to meet the travellers. Edith, Cynthia,

Janet, and Willy were waiting on the porch, all in their nicest clothes.

The children had been bribed to keep their hands clean, and up to this

moment they were immaculate. Ben and Chester lay at full length on the

banking in front of the house; they alone did not share the excitement.

The sound of wheels was heard.

"They are coming," whispered Cynthia.

As for Edith, she was voiceless.

And then the carriage emerged from the trees.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

STORIES IN AMERICAN LITERATURE.

BY HENRIETTA CHRISTIAN WRIGHT.

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE.

In the old seaport town of Salem, with its quaint houses with their

carved doorways and many windows, with its pretty rose gardens, its

beautiful overshadowing elms, its dingy court-house and celebrated town

pump, Hawthorne passed his early life, his picturesque surroundings

forming a suitable setting to the picture we may call up of the handsome

imaginative boy whose early impressions were afterward to crystallize

into the most beautiful art that America has yet known. Behind the town

stood old Witch Hill, grim and ghastly with the memories of the witches

who had been hanged there in colonial times. In front spread the sea, a

golden argosy of promise, whose wharves and store-rooms held priceless

stores of merchandise.

[Illustration: ONE OF THE BOY'S FAVORITE OCCUPATIONS.]

Hawthorne's boyhood was much like that of any other boy in Salem town.

He went to school and to church, loved the sea, and prophesied that he

would go away on it some day and never return, was fond of reading, and

was not averse to a good fight with any of his school-fellows who had,

as he expressed it, "a quarrelsome disposition." He was a healthy,

robust lad, and life seemed a very good thing to him, whether he was

roaming the streets of Salem, sitting idly on the wharves, or at home

stretched on the floor reading one of his favorite authors. As a rule

all boys who have become writers have liked the same books, and

Hawthorne was no exception. When reading, he was living in the magic

world of Shakespeare and Milton, Spenser, Froissart, and _Pilgrim's

Progress_. This last was a great and special favorite with him, its

lofty and beautiful spirit carrying his soul with it into those

spiritual regions which the child mind reverences without understanding.

For one year of his boyhood he was supremely happy in the life of the

wild regions of Sebago Lake, Maine, where the family moved for a time.

Here, he says, he lived the life of a bird of the air, with no

restraint, and in absolute supreme freedom. In the summer he would take

his gun and spend days in the forest, shooting, fishing, and doing

whatever prompted his vagabond spirit at the moment. In the winter he

would follow the hunters through the snow, or skate till midnight alone

upon the frozen lake, with only the shadows of the hills to keep him

company, and sometimes passing the remainder of the night in a solitary

log cabin, whose hearth would blaze with the burning trunks of the

fallen evergreens.

He entered Bowdoin in 1821, and had among his fellow-students Henry

Wadsworth Longfellow, Franklin Pierce, afterward President of the United

States, and several others who distinguished themselves in later life.

Long afterward Hawthorne recalls his days at Bowdoin as among the

happiest of his life, and in writing to one of his old college friends

speaks of the charm that lingers around the memory of the place, where

he gathered blueberries in study hours; watched the great logs drifting

down from the lumbering districts above along the current of the

Androscoggin, fished in the forest streams, and shot pigeons and

squirrels at odd hours which ought to have been devoted to the classics.

[Illustration: NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE.]

After leaving Bowdoin, Hawthorne returned to Salem, where he passed the

next twelve years of his life, and during which he must have marked out

authorship as his profession, as he attempted nothing else. Here he

produced, from time to time, stories and sketches which found their way

to the periodicals of the day, and which won for him a reputation among

other American writers. But it is remarkable that the years which a man

devotes usually to the best work of his life were spent by Hawthorne in

a contented half-dream of what he meant to accomplish later on; for

exquisite as is some of the work produced at this time, it never would

have won for the author the highest place in American literature. These

stories and sketches were collected later on, and published under the

titles _Twice-Told Tales_ and _Snow Image_. They are full of the grace

and beauty of Hawthorne's style, but in speaking of them Hawthorne

himself says that there is in this result of twelve years little to show

for its thought and industry. But whatever may have been the cause of

delay, the promise of his genius was fulfilled at last. In 1850, when

Hawthorne was forty-six years old, appeared his first great romance. In

writing this book Hawthorne had chosen for his subject a picture of old

Puritan times in New England, and out of the tarnished records of the

past he created a work of art of marvellous and imperishable beauty.

In the days of which he wrote a Puritan town or village was exactly like

a large family bound together by mutual interests, in which the acts of

each life were regarded as affecting the whole community. In this novel

Hawthorne imprisoned forever the spirit of colonial New England, with

all its struggles, hopes, and fears; and the conscience-driven Puritan,

who lived in the new generation only in public records and church

histories, was lifted into the realm of art.

In Hawthorne's day this grim figure, stalking in the midst of Indian

fights, village pillories, town meetings, witch-burnings, and church

councils, was already a memory. He had drifted into the past with his

steeple-crowned hat and his matchlock. He had left the pleasant New

England farm-lands with their pastures and meadows, hills and valleys

and wild-pine groves, and lurked like a ghost among the old church-yards

and court-houses where his deeds were recorded.

Hawthorne brought him back to life, rehabilitated him in his old

garments, set him in the midst of his fellow-elders in the church, and

gave him a perfect carnival of trials and worries for conscience' sake.

He made the old Puritan live anew, and never again can his memory become

dim. It is embalmed for all time by the cunning art of this master-hand.

This first romance, published under the title _The Scarlet Letter_,

revealed both to Hawthorne himself and the world outside the

transcendent power of his genius.

Hawthorne, when the work was first finished, was in a desperate frame of

mind, because of the little popularity his other books had acquired, and

told his publisher, who saw the first germ of the work, that he did not

know whether the story was very good or very bad. The publisher,

however, perceived at once the unusual quality of the work, prevailed

upon Hawthorne to finish it immediately, and brought it out one year

from that time, and the public, which had become familiar with Hawthorne

as a writer of short stories, now saw that it had been entertaining a

genius unawares.

Hawthorne's next work, _The House of the Seven Gables_, is a story of

the New England of his own day. Through its pages flit the contrasting

figures that one might find there and nowhere else. The old spinster of

ancient family who is obliged in her latter years to open a toy and

ginger-bread shop, and who never forgets the time when the house with

seven gables was a mansion whose hospitality was honored by all, is a

pathetic picture of disappointed hope and broken-down fortune. So also

her brother, who was imprisoned under a false charge for twenty years,

and who is obliged in his old age to lean upon his sister for support.

The other characters are alike true to life--a life that has almost

disappeared now in the changes of the half-century since its scenes were

made the inspiration of Hawthorne's romance.

The _House of the Seven Gables_ was followed by two beautiful volumes

for children: _The Wonder-Book_, in which the stories of the Greek myths

are retold, and _Tanglewood Tales_.

In _The Wonder-Book_ Hawthorne writes as if he were a child himself, so

delicious is the charm that he weaves around these old, old tales. Not

content with the myths, he created little incidents and impossible

characters, which glance in and out with elfin fascination. He feels

that these were the very stories that were told by the centaurs,

fairies, and satyrs themselves in the shadows of those old Grecian

forests. Here we learn that King Midas not only had his palace turned to

gold, but that his own little daughter Marigold, a fancy of Hawthorne's

own, was also converted into the same shilling metal. We are told, too,

the secrets of many a hero and god of this realm of fancy which had been

unsuspected by any other historian of their deeds. No child in reading

_The Wonder-Book_ would doubt for a moment that Hawthorne had obtained

the stories first hand from the living characters, and would easily

believe that he had hobnobbed many a moonlit night with Pan and Bacchus

and other sylvan deities in their vine-covered grottos by the famed

rivers of Greece. This dainty ethereal touch of Hawthorne appears

especially in all his work for children. It is as if he understood and

entered into that mystery which ever surrounds child life and sets it

sacredly apart. It is the same quality, nearly, which gives distinction

to his fourth great novel, in which he is called upon to deal with the

elusive character of a man who is supposed to be a descendant of the old

fauns. We feel that this creation, which is named Donatello, from his

resemblance to the celebrated statue of the Marble Faun by that

sculptor, is not wholly human, and although he has human interests and

feelings, Hawthorne is always a master in treating such a subject as

this. He makes Donatello ashamed of his pointed ears, though his spirit

is as wild and untamed as that of his crude ancestors. In this

book--which takes its name from the statue--_The Marble Faun_, there is

a description of a scene where Donatello, who is by title an Italian

count, joins in a peasant dance around one of the public fountains. And

so vividly is his half-human nature brought out that one feels as if

Hawthorne must have witnessed somewhere the mad revels of the veritable

fauns and satyrs in the days of their life upon the earth. In the whole

development of this story Hawthorne shows the same subtle sympathy with

natures so far out of the commonplace that they seem to belong to

another world. The mystery of such souls having the same charm for him

as the secrets of the earth and air have for the scientist and

philosopher.

[Illustration: AT BROOK FARM.]

The book coming between _The House of the Seven Gables_ and _The Marble

Faun_ is called The _Blithedale Romance_. It is founded partly upon a

period of Hawthorne's life when he became a member of a community which

hoped to improve the world by showing that to live healthily, manual

labor must be combined with intellectual pursuits, and that

self-interest and all differences in rank could only be injurious to a

country. This little society of reformers lived in a suburb of Boston,

and called their association Brook Farm. Each member was supposed to

perform some manual labor on the farm or in the house each day, although

hours were set aside for study and intellectual work. Here Hawthorne

ploughed the fields like a farmer boy in the daytime, and in the evening

joined in the amusements, or sat apart while the other members talked

about art and literature and science, danced, sang, or read Shakespeare

aloud.

Some of the cleverest men and women of New England became members of

this community, the rules of which obliged the men to wear plaid blouses

and rough straw hats, and the women to content themselves with plain

calico gowns.

This company of serious-minded men and women, who tried to solve a great

problem by leading the lives of Acadian shepherds, at length dispersed,

each one going back into the world and working on as bravely as if the

experiment had been a great success. The record of the life and

experiences of Brook Farm are shadowed forth in _The Blithedale

Romance_, although it is not by any means a literal narrative of its

existence.

[Illustration: THE OLD MANSE.]

Hawthorne's early married life was spent at Concord, near Boston, in a

quaint old dwelling called the Manse, and as all his work partakes of

the personal flavor of his own life, so his existence here is recorded

in a delightful series of essays called _Mosses from an Old Manse_. Here

we have a description of the old house itself and of the author's family

life, of the kitchen-garden and apple orchards, of the meadows and

woods, and of his friendship with that lover of nature, Henry Thoreau,

whose writings form a valuable contribution to American literature. The

_Mosses from an Old Manse_ must ever be famous as the history of the

quiet hours of the greatest American man of letters. They are full of

Hawthorne's own personality, and reveal more than any other of his

books, the depth and purity of his poetic and rarely gifted nature.

In 1853 Hawthorne was appointed American Consul at Liverpool by his old

friend and school-mate Franklin Pierce, then President of the United

States. He remained abroad seven years, spending the last four on the

continent. The results of this experience are found in the celebrated

_Marble Faun_, published in Europe under the title _Transformation_. It

was written in Rome, and it is interesting to know that the story was

partly suggested to Hawthorne by an old villa near Florence which he

occupied with his family. This old villa possessed a moss-covered tower,

"haunted," as Hawthorne said in a letter to a friend, "by owls and by

the ghost of a monk who was confined there in the thirteenth century,

previous to being burnt at the stake in the principal square of

Florence." He also states in the same letter that he meant to put the

old castle bodily in a romance that was then in his head, and he carried

out this threat by making the villa the old family castle of Donatello.

After Hawthorne returned to America he began two other novels, one

founded upon the old legend of the elixir of life. This story was

probably suggested to him by Thoreau, who spoke of the house in which

Hawthorne lived at Concord, after leaving the old Manse, as having been

the abode, a century or two before, of a man who believed that he should

never die. This subject was a charming one for Hawthorne's peculiar

genius, but the story, with another--the _Dolliver Romance_--was never

completed, the death of Hawthorne in 1864 leaving the work unfinished.

[Illustration: THE CAMERA CLUB]

This Department is conducted in the interest of Amateur

Photographers, and the Editor will be pleased to answer any

question on the subject so far as possible. Correspondents should

address Editor Camera Club Department.

HOW TO DEVELOP CLOUD PICTURES.

Pictures taken simply of clouds, without special attention to the

landscape, should be developed very slowly in order to bring out all the

soft shadows, which are lost if the development is hurried.

Where clouds and landscape have been taken in one picture, the printing

quality of the negative may be made uniform by careful development of

the plate.

Place the plate in a rather weak developer, and as soon as the outlines

of the landscape begin to appear take it out and place in a dish of

clean water so as to arrest the development. Pour off the developer, put

the plate back in the tray, and finish the plate with brush development.

To do this take a soft camel's-hair brush or a small wad of surgeon's

cotton, dip into the developer, and brush over the part of the plate

which develops more slowly, which will be the landscape. As soon as this

part is nearly developed flood the plate with a weak solution of

developer, increasing it in strength till the sky is fully developed.

Brush development requires a careful hand, but, like any other part of

photography, becomes easy by repeated trials.

Another way of developing one part of the plate at a time is to take the

plate from the tray as soon as the outlines appear; turn off the

developer, and wash the plate. Put it back in the tray, and tip the tray

so that the sky will be out of the developer, turn in the developer, and

rock the tray gently to and fro, but do not allow any of the developer

to touch the sky until the shadows in the landscape are well out.

When the shadows are nearly or quite developed flood the whole plate

with the developer. The sky will develop very quickly, and if the

process is carefully watched a fine even-printing negative will be the

result. This plan of development is most successful where the

horizon-line is not too much broken.

Having once succeeded in catching the clouds, one will never be quite

satisfied with a landscape picture which has a perfectly clear sky.

We devote a little of our space this week to tell the Camera Club

something about two publications which have been sent to the editor for

inspection, and which are the work of some of the members of our club.

The first is entitled the _Focus_, a magazine issued by the Niepce

Corresponding Club, and published by Sir Knight Arthur F. Atkinson, of

Sacramento, California.

The literary matter is typewritten, and the illustrations are, with one

exception, original photographs by members of the Chapter. The first

illustration is a fine platinum print of the first-prize landscape

picture which was published in HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, March 26, 1895.

The first article, entitled "Rural Photography," is a most amusing

account of one J. Focus Snapschotte's attempt to take pictures in the

country. The pen and-ink sketch of "Silas" does great credit to the

artist, who we suspect is the publisher of the magazine, as the initials

A. F. A. are the same.

The other articles are part of a continued story, a description of the

prize landscape, an account of the capital of California, and matters

connected with the club. The photographs do great credit to the members,

and the whole magazine is very nicely arranged and embellished.

The second magazine is entitled _Hints_, and is published by Sir Knight

George D. Galloway and Sir Knight George Johnson, Jun., of Eau Claire,

Wisconsin.

As its name indicates, it is intended to help the amateur to do better

work. Its object is stated at the beginning: "This is a practical

periodical, and we know all who see it will say so too. From all the

prints that are here exhibited you will get _hints_, and you will notice

that your work will improve steadily in all respects."

This magazine is also illustrated with original photographs, among which

we notice one which also appeared in the Camera Club Department a short

time ago. It is by Sir Knight Andrew Phillips, of Nunda, New York, and

is entitled "Knights and Ladies of the Camera Club."

Both of these publications cannot fail to be helpful to those members

who have the privilege of examining them, for one is sure to learn

something by "exchanging experiences." The Chapters which issue these

magazines have reason to feel very proud of them.

A correspondent who signs herself "Sweet Marie" asks: 1. How to

prepare the best and cheapest developer. 2. How to make sensitive

paper. 3. How to prepare a polishing solution for ferrotype

plates. 4. How to make a ruby lamp. 5. What is stronger water of

ammonia. 6. What is bromide of ammonia.

As there are almost as many formulas for developers as there are

amateur photographers, it would be quite impossible to say which

one is the cheapest and best. Sir Knight William C. Davids, of

Rutherford, New Jersey, sends the following formula, which he

recommends very highly. We shall publish in our papers for

beginners several formulas for developing solutions, with prices

of chemicals.

_Hydroquinon Developer._--Sodium sulphite, 460 grains; sodium

carbonate, 960 grains; hydroquinon, 96 grains; water, 16 ounces.

1. Mix and filter before using. In No. 786 will be found a simple

developer for instantaneous pictures. 2. Directions for preparing

sensitive paper will be found in Nos. 786 and 803. 3. Directions

for polishing ferrotype plates will be found in Nos. 797 and 805.

4. A ruby light for dark-room work may be made by taking a wooden

starch-box, cutting a square hole in the cover, and pasting two

thicknesses of red fabric over the opening. A hole must be made in

one end of the box--which answers for the top of the lantern--to

allow for ventilation. This must be shielded so as to prevent the

escape of actinic rays. This may be done by pieces of tin bent so

that air can enter, but no white light escape. A candle should be

used with this style of lantern. 5. Ammonia in its pure state is a

gas which combines readily with water, water taking up of the gas

five hundred times its own volume. This is liquid ammonia, or

stronger water of ammonia. By diluting it with water it becomes

the spirits of hartshorn, or ammonia water. 6. Bromide of ammonia

is formed in the simplest manner by the addition of bromine to

water of ammonia. It is very useful in photographic work. It gives

great sensitiveness to gelatine and collodion emulsions--combined

with pyro for a developer it prevents fog--and is employed in the

preparation of sensitive papers.

[Illustration: THE PUDDING STICK]

This Department is conducted in the interest of Girls and Young

Women, and the Editor will be pleased to answer any question on

the subject so far as possible. Correspondents should address

Editor.

Lillie M---- came to see me yesterday, and after she had gone, Maria

G----, who was putting a new braid on my second-best gown, said:

"That Miss Lillie uses very nice perfumery. It's so faint and fine, not

anything you can smell a long way off, but something which makes you

think of roses or violets when she passes you on the street. How does

she manage it?"

Maria G---- likes perfumes, but does not know how to use them.

"Not by putting cologne on her handkerchief," I answered, decidedly.

"Nobody should carry about scents poured on their garments." I had to

say this.

Perfumes are used sparingly by elegant people, yet a touch, a vague

sense of fragrance, does add something of daintiness to a girl's

toilette. It is right for you to have perfumes about you if you love

them.

Fresh rose-leaves thrown into your bureau drawers and scattered in the

boxes where you keep your laces and handkerchiefs, and sprigs of

lavender or lemon verbena left there to dry will impart a pleasant

sweetness to whatever lies among them. Orris-root powder in little

sachet bags of China silk, or strewn lightly between folds of

tissue-paper, will give to your clothing in closet or wardrobe a

delightful faint odor of violet. If you use delicate soap with a sweet

clean perfume, not of musk or anything strong and pronounced, and put a

few drops of alcohol or ammonia in the water when you bathe, you need

not be afraid of any unfavorable comment on your daintiness. Perfect

cleanliness is always dainty. Soil and stain, dust and dirt, are never

anything but repulsive.

Rose-leaves pulled from the perfect flower and laid in your box of

note-paper when they are fresh will dry there, and insure your sending

to your friends notes which will associate you with fragrance. There is

an exquisite perfume in dried roses.

How do you seal your letters, by-the-way? I hope you have at hand a bit

of sponge and a tiny glass of water with which to moisten the mucilage

on the flap of your envelope. Better still is a little glass cylinder in

a glass jar, a very ornamental and thoroughly clean affair, which can be

procured at any stationer's. The glass jar holds water. You turn the

cylinder, and on its wet surface place your envelope. Postage stamps may

be moistened in the same way.

When friends call, on these very sultry days, you offer them fans, do

you not, and, if they wish it, a glass of cold water or lemonade?

Palm-leaf or Japanese fans should be in every room in profusion during

the summer solstice. When fans are broken at the edges renew them by a

ribbon binding, and tie a jaunty bow on the handle. Very few things

should be thrown aside as useless. While an article can be mended or

renovated it is worth keeping, and a thrifty person never discards a

household implement of any kind until she is convinced that it is worn

out.

Ribbon plays an important part in decoration. A bow on the corner of

mamma's sewing-chair, on the dressing-glass which hangs over the table,

on the little birthday package you send your friend, gives each a sort

of gala look. The plainest furniture in the plainest bedroom may be

brightened and made attractive by good taste, a few yards of cheap

netting or lace, and the judicious use of ribbon. Clever fingers can

accomplish wonders with very little money.

A girl showed me one day a beautiful sewing-chair, white and gold as to

frame-work, and cushioned with a lovely chintz, a white ground thickly

sprinkled with daisies.

"There!" she said. "Mamma gave me permission to use anything I could

find in our attic, and I hunted around till I came across this chair.

Such a fright! It was dingy and broken, and fit for nothing but

firewood. Look at it now. Two coats of white paint, some gilding, and

this lovely cushion, and then this ravishing frill and box of yellow

satin ribbon! Isn't it a triumph?"

I said, very sincerely, that I thought it was.

Bertha wishes me to tell her why lemonade is not always the rich

refreshing drink it should be. Well, Bertha, everybody does not know how

to make lemonade. I squeeze my lemons in a glass lemon-squeezer, mix in

my granulated sugar with a lavish hand, and add the thinly pared rind of

a lemon, dropping it in in circular strips. On this I pour boiling

water, setting it by to cool, and, when cold, putting it away in the

refrigerator. Then when served I add a strawberry, or a bit of sliced

orange or banana, and some pounded ice, and the lemonade is delicious.

[Illustration: Signature]

WHIPPOORWILL.

Unseen in the thicket a lone little bird

Cries over and over the sorrowful word,

Till the children, whose sweet lisping prayers have been said,

Turn over, half waking, and call from their bed,

"Do make that bird stop calling down from the hill

His mournful old story, Whip, whip, oh! poor Will."

What could Will have done in the days long ago

That this bird's great-grandfather hated him so?

Did he rifle a nest, did he climb up a tree,

Did he meddle where he had no business to be?--

When we find out, dear children, what 'twas Katy did,

The secret with those funny wood gossips hid,

We are likely, and not before then, to discover

The rune that the poor little songster runs over,

Who, hour by hour, up there on the hill,

Calls mournfully, urgently, Oh! whip poor Will.

MODERN WHALING.

It is natural enough that the Norwegians should be the most expert

people in capturing whales. They live in their cold country up near the

best whaling-grounds in the world, except, perhaps, the regions about

the northern part of Alaska. For centuries the old Norsemen have been

good whalers and famous at throwing the harpoon, but it was left for a

famous, perhaps the most famous, whaler the world has known to discover

a weapon which made the old hand-thrown harpoon a back number. The man

was a Norwegian called Svend Foyn, and an account of his life would make

an interesting and exciting story of adventures, escapes, dangers, and

finally riches.

Old Svend, who died not long ago at an advanced age, was a cabin-boy

when he was eleven years old, and did not have enough money to keep him

ashore a month. He used to sail in different kinds of vessels in his

early days, keeping his eyes open, and watching to learn what there was

for a cabin-boy to learn. This was in 1820. Gradually, as he grew older,

he began to save a few krone here and there, and when he came ashore

after a long trip he would take as much of his wages as he could

possibly spare and put them in the bank at home in Joensberg. But it was

slow work, and he was little more than a cabin-boy in 1845, except that

he was thirty-six years old and had a neat little sum in the bank. Then

the idea came to him to buy a little vessel of his own, and try to make

for himself the profits he saw others making out of his own and other

men's services.

He scraped together all he had or could raise, and bought a brig, and in

a very short time he had made a big catch of seals in the north, and had

$20,000 in the bank, besides the brig in the water. Svend seems to have

had all the shrewdness for which Norwegians have long been famous, and

much of the daring and self-reliance of the same great race. For he

started in 1863, with a little steamer which he had bought, to the

whaling-grounds, and tried to harpoon whales.

This did not seem to succeed very well, and he made up his mind that

spearing whales with a harpoon thrown by the hand of man was a doubtful

thing. He went to work, therefore, to think of something more powerful

and more certain in its aim than a man's arm, with the result that he

invented a harpoon which was fired from a gun, and which carried along

with it a shell that exploded inside the whale's vitals and almost

invariably killed it at once. This harpoon-gun is now used all over the

world, and has made whaling a wonderfully profitable business.

[Illustration: THE MODERN HARPOON AND WHALE BOAT]

The gun is placed in the bows of small steamers built especially for the

purpose, and is aimed and fired much as any other gun. When a whale is

sighted the craft is steered in its direction, and moves silently up

behind the big monster as he lies on the water taking long breaths or

resting. When the bow is within about twenty or thirty yards of the

whale the gunner takes careful aim at his most vital parts, and fires

the harpoon and shell combination, which is, of course, attached to the

vessel by a long line, just as in the case of the old harpoon. The spear

goes deep into the whale, but the moment he rushes forward or turns

flukes he tightens the line, and the end of the spear is therefore

pulled out behind. This acts on the flukes of the harpoon in such a way

that they are pulled out and catch in the flesh of the whale, as shown

in the accompanying illustration, and he cannot therefore get away.

But besides this, the flukes, in thrusting themselves out, break a

little glass tube inside a shell, which can be seen in the illustration

just ahead of the flukes. In this tube there is an acid, and outside the

tube but still inside the shell is another acid. When the glass is

broken and the acid inside mingles with the other, they chemically form

a third substance, which is a remarkably explosive gas that expands so

very quickly and to such enormous proportions that the shell bursts and

explodes inside the whale. If the poor beast is not killed at once, he

is so severely wounded that he is soon captured and hauled alongside the

steamer.

Sometimes, however, the harpoon does not penetrate far enough or fails

to hit a vital part, and then the explosion only wounds the whale

slightly and angers him. At such times there is a long and a hard chase

in which the steamer is hauled through the water at thirty miles an hour

for different lengths of time. Svend tells a story of being so towed by

an enormous whale for ten hours at more than twenty-eight miles an hour

up against a hard gale of wind. At the end of that time, as the whale

did not seem to get tired, and as the steamer still held together, the

cable attached to the harpoon broke, and the whale disappeared.

There is a good deal of danger connected with this modern harpooning

other than the usual danger of the dying "flurry" of the whale and the

long tows that may result if he is not killed at once. This danger has

proved very real in several instances. Occasionally, for one of a

thousand reasons, the shell does not explode in the whale. Perhaps the

harpoon does not pull back and break the little glass tube, or there may

not be sufficient strain put on the rope to break the glass, or the

whale may be killed by the force of the harpoon alone, and not live long

enough to struggle and explode it. In such cases, and they have occurred

occasionally, when the whale is hauled alongside, the harpoon, in being

withdrawn, may cause the shell to explode, when a great deal of havoc

results. On more than one occasion the side for many feet of the

steamer's length has been blown out, and the steamer, of course, sunk.

So that whaling in modern days, while it may be more paying, is not by

any means less dangerous than formerly.

This kind of harpooning, or something on the same general plan, is

coming into general use, and the result is that the whale is fast being

killed off, for the big fish are being demolished in enormous quantities

compared with what men were able to do with the hand harpoon before its

introduction.

Svend Foyn made an immense fortune out of his invention, for he patented

it in many countries, and fitted out a fleet of small steamers himself;

and then, when he had become rich, he did what most men would not have

done. He founded many asylums, hospitals, education and charitable

institutions, and used his fortune to help mankind in general and his

own countrymen in particular.

[Illustration: INTERSCHOLASTIC SPORT]

At last I have the much-needed space to answer the many questions that

have been pouring in for some time past, and also the discussion of a

number of interesting subjects that are unfortunately shut out during

the season of active interscholastic contests. These will resume in

August with the tennis tournament at Newport, followed by the opening of

the football season everywhere.

What I want to speak of principally this week is 'cross-country running.

It is a branch of sport that receives far too little attention from

school and college athletes in this country, yet is one of the oldest,

simplest, and healthiest pastimes on the calendar. In England it has

been popular for years, where there are a number of 'cross-country

running clubs of long standing, but in America we have known the sport

scarcely twenty years, and not very intimately at that. It was first

introduced to us in 1878 by some members of the old Harlem Athletic

Club, their first paper-chase being held on Thanksgiving day of that

year. The American Athletic Club then took it up, and later, in 1883,

the New York Athletic Club held a race for the individual championship

of the United States. The sport became firmly established in 1887 with

the organization of the National 'Cross-Country Association of America.

This is a very brief history of the sport; but it is brief of necessity,

for 'cross-country running is still in its youth.

There are two kinds of 'cross-country running--the paper-chase,

sometimes called hare and hounds, and the club run over a fixed course.

In the former there should be two "hares," a "master of the hounds," and

two "whips." The hares carry a bag of paper torn up into small bits, and

it is their duty with this paper to lay a fair and continuous trail from

start to finish, except in the case of the break for home. The master of

the hounds runs with the pack, and has full control of it. In other

words, he is the captain. He sets the pace, or, if he chooses, he can

appoint any other hound to do so. It is usual to travel no faster than

the slowest runner in the pack. The whips are chosen from among the

strongest runners, because it is their duty to run with the hounds, and

to keep laggards up with the bunch, or assist those who become seized

with the idea that they cannot move another step. These five men are, so

to speak, the officers of the chase. There may be any number of hounds.

The hares are usually allowed from five to ten minutes' start of the

pack, and as soon as they get out of sight they begin to lay the trail.

They choose their own course, but they are not allowed to double on

their track, and they must themselves surmount all obstacles over which

they lay the trail. They may cross fordable streams only, and must

always run within hailing distance of each other. With the hounds the

master takes the lead, following the trail, and the pack is supposed to

keep back of him until the break for home is ordered. The break is

usually made about a mile from home. It should never be started at a

greater distance than that, because it is generally a hard sprint all

the way. The point from which the break begins is indicated, as a rule,

by the hares' dropping the bag in which they have been carrying the

paper, or by scattering several handfuls of paper different in color

from that which has been used to lay the trail. As soon as the break is

ordered the pack gives up all formation, and each man runs at his best

speed. If at any time during a chase the pack catches sight of the

hares, it may not make directly for them, but must follow the trail,

thus covering the same ground gone over by the hares. It frequently

happens in an open country that the hounds are actually within a few

hundred yards of the hares, but perhaps half a mile behind them along

the trail. Such an occurrence always adds excitement to a run.

It is advisable for the hares, the day before a run is to be held, to

get together and lay out in a general way the course they intend to

follow. A great deal of the pleasure and interest, as well as the

benefit in a run, depends upon this. The more varied the course the less

tiresome will be the chase. Try to select one that will pass over hills

and through woods, with occasionally a short run along a flat road for a

rest. To add to the excitement, lay your course across a few streams

that have to be jumped or waded. If a runner falls into the water, his

ducking will do him no harm if he keeps on exercising and gets a good

rub-down when he reaches home. The pace going up hill should never be

more rapid than a slow jog-trot; but running down, take advantage of the

incline and hit the pace up as fast as you choose. This will make up for

all the time lost in the ascent.

The length of the course should be determined by the strength and

proficiency of the runners. It is bad to attempt to indulge in long runs

at first. I would advise those who intend to take up 'cross-country

running this fall--for the autumn is the prime season for that sport--to

practise trotting a mile or two once or twice a week between now and

then, just to get the muscles hardened. Don't do too much running in the

summer, because the air is not so bracing then and the heat causes evil

results. Between Thanksgiving and Christmas, after the football season,

when there is nothing particular going on, before the snow has come, and

while the roads are hard and the hills at their best, then is the time

for 'cross-country running. Then, if you are in good condition, you can

have a chase of five or eight miles that will make you feel like a

fighting-cock, and will not stiffen you up the next day. It is far

better to make two or three short runs in various sections each week,

rather than to make one long run once a week--a long run that leaves you

aching and sore.

The club run is very much like the paper-chase, except that no scent is

laid. It is more of a race among individuals. A course is laid out

across country by means of stakes with flags nailed to them, and the

runners must follow this as faithfully as they would a paper trail. The

rules for this kind of run are the same as for the chase. There are, of

course, a great many minor regulations which it is impossible to set

down here; but, after all, unless you want to go into the sport

scientifically, or to get up contests for prizes, the fewer rules you

have the better. Let common-sense be your guide, and you will be pretty

sure to come out all right in the end.

As to the outfit required for 'cross-country running, little needs to be

said. Every runner has his own views about what suits him best. In runs

for exercise, knicker-bockers, stout shoes, heavy woollen stockings, and

a flannel shirt are usually worn. The stockings should be heavy, so as

to resist being torn by thorns and briars, and the sleeves of the shirt

ought to be of a good length for the same reason. In club runs, experts

who are in for making the greatest possible speed sometimes wear light

shirts with no sleeves, and regular running shoes without any stockings.

They reach home with their arms and legs scratched and torn from contact

with bushes and twigs, and their knees bruised from climbing over stone

walls. This sort of thing may be all very well for those who make labor

of their recreation, but it does not pay for the amateur sportsman. Be

contented with getting exercise, and let others look after the records.

While speaking of 'cross-country running, it is interesting to recall

the greatest race of the kind that ever occurred in this country. It was

in the early days of the sport, at the time when those athletic clubs

which had teams of 'cross-country runners each wanted to be regarded as

the best exponent of the sport. The race was a club run over a marked

course, and was held at Fleetwood Park. The Suburban Harriers had made

quite a reputation for themselves as 'cross-country runners, their star

man being E. C. Carter. The Manhattan Athletic Club also had a team of

'cross-country men, and felt jealous of their rival's fame. They

therefore brought over from Ireland a famous 'cross-country runner, who

has since become well known in American sport, Thomas P. Conneff, and

challenged the Suburban Harriers. They felt all the more confident of

victory because their imported runner had defeated Carter in a four-mile

race in Dublin a few months before.

The race started with about seventy competitors, but Carter and Conneff

soon drew out of the bunch, and pulled rapidly away from the others. The

spectators paid little attention to this crowd; their interest was

centred in the duel between the two cracks. Conneff let Carter take the

lead and set the pace, and he followed along at his heels. It was plain

that he had made up his mind to dog his rival, and to depend upon a

burst of speed at the finish to win. Carter, on the other hand, seems to

have determined to outrun his opponent all the way, if possible--to lead

him such a hard chase that there would be no speed left in him at the

finish. Over the entire course the two men retained their respective

distances and positions. The field was soon left far in the rear. At

last they entered on the final mile around the Fleetwood track. Both men

looked wearied by their hard run, but it was impossible to judge even

then which must win in the end. They travelled half-way around the

track, and then had to pass behind a low hillock, which hid them from

the sight of the spectators. All were watching with the greatest

excitement the spot where the track again came into view. Carter came

out from behind the elevation trotting doggedly on. All looked for

Conneff, but Conneff was not to be seen. The gap behind Carter widened,

and Conneff came not. Ho had done his best; but he was not strong

enough, and he had gone to pieces. He had dropped to the ground back of

the hill, unable to move another step.

A big race, such as that, is most exciting; but just as much sport can

be had by less able runners. Several of the colleges, notably Harvard

and Yale, have hare and hounds in the fall--although I do not believe

there were ever any inter-collegiate contests in that branch of sport.

If the schools should take it up in New York or Boston, the men would

soon find that these runs out into the country are worth the trouble,

and full of living interest. Fancy trotting across Long Island, or

through Westchester, or up the Hudson, or out beyond Cambridge, if you

live in Boston, and through all that delightful Massachusetts country

where the British first introduced 'cross-country running about 120

years ago.

Since writing about the scoring of games and the arrangement of tennis

tournaments last week, I have been asked to tell of a good system of

drawings. The easiest and fairest way is to write the name of every

player on a separate slip of paper, and drop these into a hat. Shake the

slips well, so that they will get thoroughly mixed, then draw them out

one by one, writing down each name as it appears. The names, of course,

are written down the page in a column, one under the other. If there are

several men from the same club entered for the tournament, it is best to

make the drawing from several hats, placing all the names of players

from one club in the same hat. This prevents them from coming together

in the early rounds of the tournament. The idea is to arrange the

players in the first round so that they will form a group of 2, 4, 8,

16, or any power of 2. When there is an odd number of entries a

preliminary round must be introduced, in which the extra players contest

for a place in the first round.

This arranges matters so that in the preliminary round the number of

matches played will always equal the number of extra entries. Perhaps

the following diagram, which was gotten up by Dr. James Dwight, will

make the question a little more clear:

A bye } ____

B bye } }

}

C } ____ } } ____

D } ____ } } }

} } }

E } ____ } ____ } }

F } ____ } } Winner.

}

G } ____ } }

H } } ____ }

I bye } } }

} ____ }

J bye } ____ }

K bye }

The byes, or positions in the first round, are usually given to those

whose names come out of the hat first and last. If the number of byes is

uneven, the odd one goes to the first.

The Interscholastic Tennis Tournament will no doubt be held this year

during the first week of the single championships at Newport. This

begins Tuesday, August 20th, and so the school-players will no doubt get

on to the courts about Friday or Saturday following. From present

indications the Interscholastics this year will be one of the important

features of tournament week, and better players will represent the

schools than ever before. More men have already entered than for any

previous Newport interscholastic tournament, and several cracks have not

yet been heard from.

As in matters of this kind generally, I believe that players should

always be well supported by their adherents. As many scholars as

possible should make it a point to be at Newport when the tournament is

going on to cheer the scholastic players. If the tennis men feel that

their own friends and classmates are as much interested in their

individual work as if they were a football team or a baseball team, they

will surely strive harder and accomplish more.

In spite of the fact that we are in the middle of the summer, with the

track-athletic season several weeks behind us, the interest in the

formation of a general interscholastic athletic association seems to be

just as lively as ever. I judge this from the number of letters I

receive every week. Some of these letters are short, approving the

scheme, and hoping for its fulfilment; others are long, suggesting new

ideas, or taking exception to theories that have already been advanced.

All are interesting, and many have offered valuable suggestions. I

should like to print some of these communications, and, no doubt, some

time during the coming month the Department will be able to devote some

space to that purpose.

The summer-time is not the best for a discussion of this kind, and for

that reason I have felt somewhat inclined to let the matter drop for the

present. It is not desirable that it should drop out of sight

altogether, however--although there is scant danger of that--and so,

even without any hope of achieving an immediate result, I shall now and

then take up the subject. A number of readers in various localities have

sent me pictures of the tracks in their neighborhood, and descriptions

of the good points of each. It will be interesting when all counties are

heard from to compare notes, and see what suggestions can be made to the

committee that will have the question of locality to decide. There seems

to be a growing opinion that New York would be the best city in which to

hold the meeting, not only on account of the good tracks available here,

but because there are better facilities for transportation to and from

and within the city, and also because there are more well-known athletes

and officials here whose services could be availed of. To my great

surprise, few of the distant leagues find any objection to travelling

any number of hours, in view of the great meet there would be after they

reached their destination.

THE GRADUATE.

PRIZE-STORY COMPETITION.

THIRD-PRIZE STORY.

The Beverley Ghost. By Jenny Mae Blakeslee.

I.

The old Beverley place was haunted. At least that is what everybody

said, and when "everybody" says a thing is so of course it _is_ so,

especially in a little town like Elliston.

There certainly was a singular melancholy air brooding over this old

mansion, although it had been deserted only for about five years. The

heir to the property, young Henry Beverley, had gone abroad on the death

of his father, leaving the place unoccupied, and his stay had been

unexpectedly prolonged.

The house was a stately structure of stone, and would seem a safe place

in which to store the valuables that, according to rumor, had been left

there--old family plate, rich mahogany furniture, and costly

bric-a-brac. Reports of all this had aroused the spirit of covetousness

in the breasts of at least the less scrupulous of the neighboring

villagers. A rumor, however, that the late Mr. Beverley's shade made

nightly visitations to guard his son's possessions had probably so far

kept away these would-be burglars, if such existed.

Farmer Bagstock stood, one August afternoon, in the doorway of Mr.

Smythe's little store--one of the kind that keeps the whole range of

necessities from muslin to mowing-machines. His thin sawlike features

wore an expectant expression, and his eyes were lightened by a look of

cunning and greed as he occasionally glanced down the road. Farmer

Bagstock was not rich in this world's goods, and the nature of his

efforts to become so might, it is feared, damage his prospects in the

next. His patient waiting was at last rewarded, for a long lank figure

presently appeared far down the street, evidently making for Mr.

Smythe's establishment.

When this individual, known as Hoke Simpkins, mounted the steps the

farmer greeted him in a rather surly way.

"Ben waitin' long enough, I should think."

"Couldn't git here no sooner, 'pon my word," responded Hoke,

apologetically.

After a word or two with the talkative storekeeper, Bagstock bestowed a

wink upon his friend, and suggested that they "walk down the road a

piece." Hoke complied, and presently they left the highway and entered a

small piece of woodland. Following the course of a brook for some

distance, they reached an immense oak-tree and seated themselves

underneath it. The surrounding underbrush and the oak's thick trunk

concealed them from the view of any one who might chance to pass along

by the stream.

II.

A short time before this, James Stokes, one of the village boys, came

down to the brook to try his luck at trout-fishing. The afternoon was

sultry and rather cloudy, and it was probable that the fish would bite,

if there were any there. But these contrary trout evidently turned up

their noses at his tempting flies, and at last he gave up in despair.

But Jimmy would not relinquish all hope of a "catch" yet, so he wandered

further up the stream. He walked quite noiselessly for fear of scaring

the fish, and at last halted just back of a large oak-tree. Before he

had had time to cast his fly Jimmy heard the sound of men's voices

speaking in low and cautious tones. Now he was a typical small boy, and

of a shrewd and inquiring turn of mind, so he dropped quietly down on

the bank and listened, screening himself from possible observation by

getting behind a large stump. Soon he caught a sentence which made him

hold his breath to hear more.

"Waal," slowly said a voice which he could not at first recognize, "the

only thing is, we'll haf ter break a winder. I found everythin' fastened

when I skirmished round t'other night."

"It 'ud make an awful racket, breakin' the glass. 'Twould be better to

take a pane out, I reckon," answered the other man.

Jimmy was quite certain that this speaker was Hoke Simpkins.

"Yaas, it might," said the other, meditatively; "that big winder at the

end of the hall."

"Folks say there's piles o' silver and things worth a heap o' money. How

I'd like to get holt on it!"

And Jimmy knew that Farmer Bagstock had spoken.

"Don't see why we can't cut out a pane right under the ketch. Then we

c'n raise the winder in a jiffy."

"Waal, it might do that way," answered Bagstock. "What d'ye say to next

Monday night? That ain't too soon, be it?"

Hoke said he thought not.

"Then," went on the farmer, "we want dark lanterns, and," with a

chuckle, "I don't think an old meal-bag or flour-sack 'u'd be onhandy.

We could git there about nine, cut the pane aout, then go off fur a

spell, fur if any one was a-lookin' it 'u'd throw 'em off the scent.

After a consid'able space we could sneak back and git in. Thar, how's

that for a scheme?" he finished, triumphantly.

"Fine," said Hoke, admiringly. But he added, rather slowly, "Folks say

old Beverley's spook's around there, y'know, but I ain't afraid, be

you?"

"Spooks!" laughed Bagstock, scornfully. "They ain't no sech thing. Ef

there was, they couldn't hurt _us_."

Both were rather silent for a moment, however, after this brave speech,

and soon the farmer suggested that they had said enough for the present,

and might as well move on. They rose to leave their retreat, and Jimmy

made himself as small as possible back of the stump. As he was on the

other side of the brook from the men, they passed by without seeing him,

and were presently lost to his view.

Then Jimmy rose to his feet, shook himself, looked around, and gave vent

to his feelings by a long whistle and the exclamation, "Jiminy Chrismus,

if I could only--"

He stopped short, seeming to remember that "discretion is the better

part of valor," and that some one might be listening to hear what _he_

was going to say. So he only walked away very slowly, almost forgetting

to pick up his fishing-tackle in his absorption. On arriving home he

laid his rod on the front porch, and without lingering a moment, dashed

across the lawn, got through a hole in the fence, and then raced across

lots to the village store. He encountered his bosom friend Will Smythe

in front of his father's establishment, and greeted him excitedly.

"Hullo, Bill! I've got something to tell you. Quick! Come over to the

orchard; I can't wait a minute."

Full of curiosity Bill followed Jimmy's lead, and they were soon in

their favorite haunt, an old apple-tree.

"Now," said Jiminy, "wait till you hear what I have to tell you. Whew!

It's immense!"

Billy was breathless with interest, and Jim unfolded the plot he had

heard. Will became as excited as his friend could wish, and exclaimed:

"The scoundrels! Can't we head them off?"

"If we could only hit on something without letting any one know. That

miserly Bagstock! Father always said he wouldn't trust him with a dime,

and Hoke Simpkins would do anything Bagstock told him to. He's a coward,

anyway."

Billy was lost, in thought. Suddenly he exclaimed: "Hurrah! I have it.

Just the thing." In his eagerness he nearly fell out of the tree. When

he had managed to tell his plan it met with tremendous applause from

Jimmy. What came of Will's bold inspiration remains to be seen.

III.

Monday evening was moonless, just the night for a reckless deed. The

conspirators thought that they were especially favored. By nine both

were at the meeting-place, and repaired in silence to the old house. The

night was one of the kind that ghosts usually select for a promenade,

and this thought may have occurred to the minds of the farmer and Hoke.

Each assured himself that such an idea was nonsense, but just the same

this delicate subject was not mentioned.

The window being found, Bagstock proceeded to pry out the pane. Then

both, after glancing cautiously about, stole away to Simpkins's house,

which was not far distant. It was fully an hour before they returned and

viewed the window. All was as they had left it, and Bagstock said, in a

hoarse whisper,

"Now, then, you climb in first."

Hoke drew back a little. The house, somehow, looked unusually dismal.

"What, you ain't afraid, be you?" ejaculated the farmer.

Hoke said. "Of course not," but for some unaccountable reason his voice

shook slightly. He consented to be boosted up, and inserting his hand in

the opening, easily undid the catch and raised the lower sash. Both of

them would have been seized with consternation had they imagined that

but a short time before other hands than their own had made the same use

of this very window.

Now, Hoke was an awkward youth, and in climbing over the sill his foot

caught, which very shortly deposited him on the floor. This mishap added

to his misgivings, but he picked himself up and helped in the impatient

Bagstock. They were now inside the walls which sheltered the coveted

treasure. What to do next?

With the aid of their dark lanterns they groped along the hall, which

ran from front to back, as in most old houses built in the colonial

style. Poor Hoke found his knees beginning to shake in a distressing

manner. Any corner might suddenly reveal something to strike them with

terror. If he had not discarded his hat before entering it would have

been at present resting on the ends of his abundant crop of hair. He was

obliged to catch hold of the farmer to steady himself, which called

forth a growl from that quarter, for Bagstock was having all he could do

to stifle some little misgivings of his own.

"Where the dickens," he muttered, "can the things--"

He stopped suddenly. The hall was wide as well as long, and they had now

nearly reached the front end. At one side stood a large heavy chest,

suggestive of riches stored, perhaps, in its depths. Near it was a heap

of furniture and rubbish. Bagstock had taken a step forward, and almost

had his hand on the chest, when his lantern flashed on something. This

"something" made his knees shake more, his hair rise higher, and his

eyes bulge out further than Hoke's ever thought of doing. Seated on that

very chest was an object in white, perfectly motionless, its head

evidently turned toward the men. The farmer was transfixed with horror,

and what Hoke was undergoing at that moment may be imagined but not

described. He only gave vent to a kind of howl and dropped with a thud

on the floor. Bagstock looked as though his shaky knees would oblige him

to follow Hoke's example, when suddenly the figure moved. It rose

slowly, slowly, to its full height, raised one long arm, and pointing to

the chest, said, in low, blood-curdling tones:

"_Yonder lies the treasure. Beware! Touch it not, or ye die!_"

They waited to hear no more. Somehow they reached that window by a

succession of bumpings and scrapings, and finally, with a particularly

heavy and emphatic thump, Hoke found himself on the ground. Before he

could struggle up the farmer was on top of him. After they had

extricated themselves it did not take long for both to put a good

half-mile between themselves and the haunted house.

A rumor that two men had attempted to burglarize the Beverley house, but

had been nearly frightened out of their wits by the famous ghost, and

taken themselves off in terror, caused much excitement in the village.

The names of the two men no one seemed able to find out, but Bill Smythe

and James Stokes had many a laugh in private over the sheepish look

which the faces of Farmer Bagstock and Hoke Simpkins always wore when

the subject of the burglary was mentioned.

* * * * *

YOUNG MOTHERS

should early learn the necessity of keeping on hand a supply of Gail

Borden Eagle Brand Condensed Milk for nursing babies as well as for

general cooking. It has stood the test for 30 years, and its value is

recognized.--[_Adv._]

ADVERTISEMENTS.

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

[Illustration: Royal Baking Powder]

[Illustration: If afflicted with SORE EYES USE Dr. ISAAC THOMPSON'S EYE

WATER]

HARPER'S NEW CATALOGUE,

Thoroughly revised, classified, and indexed, will be sent by mail to any

address on receipt of ten cents.

[Illustration: BICYCLING]

This Department is conducted in the interest of Bicyclers, and the

Editor will be pleased to answer any question on the subject. Our

maps and tours contain much valuable data kindly supplied from the

official maps and road-books of the League of American Wheelmen.

Recognizing the value of the work being done by the L. A. W., the

Editor will be pleased to furnish subscribers with membership

blanks and information so far as possible.

[Illustration: Copyright, 1895, by Harper & Brothers.]

In No. 812 we published a map of Staten Island, showing the run across

the Island to Tottenville. It was a route which we then called attention

to as a good short ride within the reach of any New-Yorker for a Sunday

afternoon or a holiday spin. This bicycle route from St. George's to

Tottenville is also, however, the first stage in a run to Philadelphia,

which in many ways is as pleasant a tour as any one in the vicinity of

New York city or Philadelphia could well take.

The Map this week takes up the route from Tottenville and carries it on

to Trenton, New Jersey, a distance of thirty-five or thirty-six miles.

As a matter of fact, if you are planning to take the Philadelphia tour,

it is wise to make a night stop at New Brunswick instead of Tottenville.

Then, by stopping at Trenton the next night, the third day will bring

you into Philadelphia. As has often been said in this Department, these

distances are not for "scorchers" or old and long-distance riders. They

are for people--young people especially--who are riding for the fun of

riding, and who will find much more amusement if they take the runs

which have been proved to be the best in their vicinity. And,

by-the-way, no readers need be angry because the maps so far have been

all in the vicinity of New York. As time goes on it is our purpose to

treat the neighborhood of Philadelphia and Boston as we have treated New

York, and then to cover territory in the vicinity of other cities also.

This run to Philadelphia can be made in one day by a good man. It can be

done in two days with less than fifty miles each day; but if you are

wise, and if you want to see the country, and get some pleasure out of

the ride, do it slowly and take three days. Crossing the ferry at

Tottenville, Staten Island, you run out of Perth Amboy direct, bearing

right in a diagonal fashion one block. This will bring you in a short

time to the Metuchen road, and this should be kept to for about four

miles beyond Perth Amboy. Here, instead of keeping on into Metuchen, you

will save distance and get a better road by turning to the left to

Woodville, and then running through Bonhamton, Piscataway, into New

Brunswick. This is about twenty-six miles from St. George's, and a good

place to stop for the night is the Palmer House. Running out of New

Brunswick you cross the bridge, and, passing out Albany Street, turn to

the left and go through Franklin Park, Bunker Hill, into Kingston;

thence, crossing the bridge, keep to the left, and run on into

Princeton, where a pleasant stop may be made at the Princeton Inn. From

New Brunswick to Kingston is largely down hill and is thirteen miles,

and from thence to Princeton is three miles further.

From Princeton to Trenton is thirteen miles, the road being of clay and

shale, and pretty good if not too wet. Keeping to the road running along

in front of the Princeton Inn the rider runs into Lawrenceville, about

five miles out, and from here he makes direct for the old Trenton

Turnpike. Turning left into this his road is straight to Trenton, a

distance of six miles from Lawrenceville and twenty-nine miles from New

Brunswick, the road being on the whole a gentle decline all the way,

with occasional small but no bad hills.

NOTE.--Map of New York city asphalted streets in No. 809. Map of

route from New York to Tarrytown in No. 810. New York to Stamford,

Connecticut, in No. 811. New York to Staten Island in No. 812. New

Jersey from Hoboken to Pine Brook in No. 813. Brooklyn in No. 814.

Brooklyn to Babylon in No. 815. Brooklyn to Northport in No. 816.

Tarrytown to Poughkeepsie in No. 817. Poughkeepsie to Hudson in

No. 818. Hudson to Albany in No. 819.

ADVERTISEMENTS.

Arnold

Constable & Co

* * * * *

HOSIERY

Ladies' Knit

Bicycle Jackets

* * * * *

Men's Golf Hose

* * * * *

Broadway & 19th st.

NEW YORK.

Walter Baker & Co. Limited,

[Illustration]

The Largest Manufacturers of

PURE, HIGH GRADE

COCOAS and CHOCOLATES

On this Continent, have received

HIGHEST AWARDS

from the great

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EXPOSITIONS

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* * * * *

=Caution:= In view of the many imitations of the labels and wrappers on

our goods, consumers should make sure that our place of manufacture,

namely, =Dorchester, Mass.= is printed on each package.

* * * * *

SOLD BY GROCERS EVERYWHERE.

* * * * *

WALTER BAKER & CO. LTD. DORCHESTER, MASS.

=OFFICIAL ANNOUNCEMENT= of the award on

=GILLOTT'S PENS= at the CHICAGO EXPOSITION.

=AWARD:= "For excellence of steel used in their manufacture, it being

fine grained and elastic; superior workmanship, especially shown by the

careful grinding which leaves the pens free from defects. The tempering

is excellent and the action of the finished pens perfect."

(Signed) FRANZ VOGT, _Individual Judge_.

Approved: { H. I. KIMBALL, _Pres't Departmental Committee_.

{ JOHN BOYD THACHER, _Chairman Exec. Com. on Awards_.

Postage Stamps, &c.

[Illustration]

=STAMPS!= =300= fine mixed Victoria, Cape of G. H., India, Japan, etc.,

with fine Stamp Album, only =10c.= New 80-p. Price-list =free=. _Agents

wanted_ at =50%= commission. STANDARD STAMP CO., 4 Nicholson Place, St.

Louis, Mo. Old U. S. and Confederate Stamps bought.

[Illustration]

100 all dif. Venezuela, Costa Rica, etc., only 10c.; 200 all dif. Hayti,

Hawaii, etc., only 50c. Ag'ts wanted at 50 per ct. com. List FREE!

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

[Illustration]

WONDER CABINET =FREE=. Missing Link Puzzle, Devil's Bottle, Pocket

Camera, Latest Wire Puzzle, Spook Photos, Book of Sleight of Hand, Total

Value 60c. Sent free with immense catalogue of 1000 Bargains for 10c.

for postage.

INGERSOLL & BRO. 65 Cortlandt Street N. Y.

[Illustration: If afflicted with SORE EYES USE Dr. ISAAC THOMPSON'S EYE

WATER]

[Illustration]

Old and New.

Franklin Square Song Collection.

The "Franklin Square Library" has given many valuable numbers, but none

so universally attractive as this. Nowhere do we know of an equally

useful collection of School, Home, Nursery, and Fireside Songs and Hymns

which everybody ought to be able to preserve, and which everybody will

be able to enjoy.--_Springfield Journal._

Price, 50 cents: Cloth, $1.00. Full contents of the Eight Numbers, with

Specimen Pages of favorite Songs and Hymns sent by Harper & Brothers,

New York, to any address.

[Illustration]

Suggestions for that Gala Night.

So many want to know how to have that "Gala Evening" that we print the

directions.

It is intended for out-of-doors--a lawn or vacant lot. If need be, build

a platform 16 by 20 feet, but where the grass is smooth this may not be

necessary. Get evergreens from the woods for "scenery," and use two

pairs of portieres sewed together for a curtain. For music use an

upright piano, if nothing better offers; for lights use lanterns--head

lights, if you can get them; and for seats borrow benches from a church

or hall, or they may easily be made from some borrowed lumber.

A capital programme will be a pantomime and a farce. Nobody has anything

to learn in the former, so if you want to get it all up in two nights'

practice select two pantomimes. Here are some good ones: "The Mistletoe

Bough," to be had of French & Son, 28 West 23d Street, New York, price

15 cents; and "Aunt Betsy," "Priscilla," and "Dresden China," Harper &

Brothers, New York, price 5 cents each. If you can try a farce, get "A

Ticket to the Circus" or "The Tables Turned," Harper & Brothers, price 5

cents each, or "Who's Who?" "Turn Him Out," "The Delegate," "Quiet

Family," or "Beautiful Forever," price 15 cents each, to be had of

French.

An ideal programme is "The Mistletoe Bough," followed by either "A

Ticket to the Circus" or "Who's Who?" The former takes eighteen or

twenty; the latter four. A good way is to send for one copy of several

farces and pantomimes, then read and select what is best suited to your

needs.

Sell your tickets in advance at 25 cents each. When they are presented,

give a small blue or red check, which you explain is good for a plate of

cream after the performance. Let the ice-cream man attend to all

details, and you cash all his checks next day at 5 cents each. He will

do this, and your guests will be satisfied.

Do not fear an element of discord from the neighborhood small boy

because the performance is out-of-doors, nor need you fear people will

come in without paying if you have no rope stretched. You will have no

trouble from these sources. The thing is novel, being out-of-doors.

There is no rent to pay. The ice-cream to be had free will draw if you

advertise it. And, by confining your programme to pantomimes, you can

learn all in two evenings. Even farces take little longer, and you

cannot fail in rendering them.

One member asks if Chapters _have_ to help the School Fund. Our Order

has no "have tos." A company of young persons might give the "Gala

Evening," present a small sum to the Fund or some other charity, and

with the balance get each one taking part HARPER'S ROUND TABLE for one

year. But of course you do as you please with your own. The gala evening

or gala afternoon is the thing.

Making Small Journals.

The Table is much interested in amateur journalism, and is able to print

herewith two morsels that may be of benefit to all. Ralph T. Hale is

co-editor with F. W. Beale, of the _Amateur Collector_, 11-1/2 Spring

Street, Newburyport, Mass., and Edward Lind edits the _Jug_, Box 633,

East Oakland, Cal., and is greatly interested in the National Press

Association. Both papers are models, the Table thinks, of what play

journals should be. Of course Sir Ralph may send us that natural history

morsel. He writes:

"When a person has decided to publish an amateur paper, he first

prepares a 'dummy' showing the size of his pages and their number,

the number of columns on a page, the place where he intends to

print his sub-heading and editorials, and the amount of space he

intends to give to advertisements. Then he goes round among his

friends and asks their subscriptions, and likewise solicits

advertisements from his business acquaintances. Having established

his paper on a comparatively firm financial basis, he next

proceeds to prepare copy for his first issue, first consulting a

printer as to prices which he should pay for a good job. After he

has published his first number it is much easier to secure

subscriptions and advertisements, as he has a paper to show to

doubtful persons.

"The prices for printing depend largely on the quality of work and

the size and number of papers printed. Printers will generally

print five hundred papers at about the same price as that asked

for one hundred. Remember that it is the amount of type which a

printer has to set which decides the price. Sometimes the price is

as high as seven or eight dollars per hundred, and again it is as

low as two dollars and a half for five hundred.

"Of course, if you are lucky enough to have a press of your own,

the cost of an amateur paper is not so large, but for a boy busy

with school-work it pays better in the end to hire the greater

part of his printing done. The size of an amateur paper is one of

the most important points to be considered. It should not be too

large, for then it has an overgrown appearance, nor yet too small.

A medium size is preferable. Good sizes are 8 by 5-1/2 inches, and

7 by 10 for each page. I am very much interested in botany, and

would like to correspond on that subject. May I write again on

natural history?

"RALPH T. HALE."

* * * * *

As there are amateur papers, there are also amateur printers. As a

rule, these printers do good work for a much less price than

professional printers charge. Perhaps the cheapest amateur printer

is M. R. King, of Cobleskill, N. Y. Mr. King will print 500 copies

of a paper, size page of HARPER'S MAGAZINE, for $1 per page. The

National Amateur Press Association convenes at Chicago July 16-18.

The ticket below is the one favored most by the Pacific coast: For

President, David L. Hollub, of San Francisco; for First

Vice-President, C. W. Kissinger, of Reading, Pa.; for Recording

Secretary, A. E. Barnard, of Chicago, Ill.; for Corresponding

Secretary, E. A. Hering, of Seattle, Wash.; for Treasurer, Alson

Brubaker, of Fargo, N. D.; for Official Editor, Will Hancock, of

Fargo, N. D.; for Executive Judges, C. R. Burger, Miss E. L.

Hauck, and J. F. Morton, Jun.

The Pacific coast is the most active amateur centre in the world.

There are thirty-four amateur papers in San Francisco. Seattle has

a live amateur press club of thirty members. I shall be glad to

send sample copies of amateur papers and to give further

information.

EDWARD LIND.

Kinks.

No. 89.--AN ARBORET FROM THE POETS.

FOR SPRING-TIME.

1.

"Swelled with new life the darkening ---- on high

Prints her thick buds against the spotted sky."

2.

"On all her boughs the stately ---- cleaves

The gummy shroud that wraps her embryo leaves."

3.

"Far away from their native air

The ---- ---- their green dress wear;

And ---- swing their long, loose hair."

4.

"The ---- spread their palms like holy men in prayer."

5.

"The wild ---- ---- waste their fragrant stores

In leafy islands walled with madrepores

And lapped in Orient seas,

When all their feathery palms toss, plume-like, in the breeze."

6.

"Give to Northern winds the ---- ---- on our banner's tattered field."

7.

"The ---- dreamy Titans roused from sleep--

Answer with mighty voices, deep on deep

Of wakened foliage surging like a sea."

8.

"The ---- ----, tall and bland,

The ancient ----, austere and grand."

9.

"The ----'s whistling lashes, wrung

By the wild winds of gusty March."

10.

"Take what she gives, her ----'s tall stem,

Her ---- with hanging spray;

She wears her mountain diadem

Still in her own proud way."

11.

"Look on the forests' ancient kings,

The ----'s towering pride."

12.

"O ---- ----. O ---- ----!

How faithful are thy branches!

Green not alone in summer-time,

But in the winter's frost and rime!"

Fill blanks with names of trees, and give the authors.

Answers to Kinks.

No. 87.--Book-worm--Bookworm.

* * * * *

No. 88.--A Study in Cats: 1. Cat-alogue. 2. Cat-aclysm. 3. Cat-amaran.

4. Cat-fall. 5. Cat-block. 6. Cat-salt. 7. Cat-achresis. 8.

Cat-erpillar. 9. Cat-aract. 10. Cat-ling. 11. Cat-aplasm. 12.

Cat-echism. 13. Cat-afalque. 14. Cat-acomb. 15. Cat-o'-nine-tails. 16.

Cat-adupe. 17. Cat-alepsy. 18. Cat-sup. 19. Cat-tle. 20. Cat's-foot. 21.

Cat-acoustics. 22. Cat-aphonics. 23. Cat-aphrect. 24. Cat-echumen. 25.

Cat-silver. 26. Cat-nip. 27. Cat-apult. 28. Cat-agmatic, 29.

Cat-enation. 30. Cat-egory. 31. Cat-gut. 32. Cat-kin.

The Helping Hand.

The Harry Harper Chapter, of Newtown, Conn., gave an entertainment the

other evening in aid of the School Fund. It scored a success, of course,

though at this writing it is too early to have a report of the proceeds.

The Table thanks the Chapter and gives the programme, that others may

adapt it to their purposes. The Chapter had the help of an older person

in Mr. Andrews, who gave many hints, decided hard questions, and on the

programme gave a talk on "Mother Hubbard." There was an introduction by

Curtis Morris, who told about Good Will, the Order, and the Chapter. A

solo followed, "Ten Little Nigger Boys," by Charlie Jonas, and Katie

Houlihan gave a recitation. Arthur Platt rendered well a violin solo,

and the entertainment concluded with a very funny farce, _The Frog

Hollow Lyceum_.

The Order's New Patents.

Late applicants for Patents in the Round Table Order are asked to wait a

few days for responses. Patents of the new design are being prepared and

will, of course, be sent as soon as possible.

More About Young Journalists.

Two of the most creditable specimens of amateur journals that have come

to the Table in a long time are the _Club Register_, 51 Third Ave., Long

Branch, N. J., and the _Markletonian_, Markleton, Pa. The latter,

published by Fred G. Patterson, is about as neat in appearance as any

amateur paper we ever saw. He wants contributors, and will send a sample

free. Harris Reed, Jun., president of the Nineteenth Century Club

(Chapter 604), of Philadelphia, is much interested in the _Register_.

This paper wants contributors, and the Club wants members. Sir Harris's

address is 1119 Mt. Vernon St.

Questions and Answers.

W. H. LEGGETT.--What you have made is a truss, not slings at all. Slings

are chains running from a mast-head cap down through the hounds, and are

used to support a lower yard which is fastened to the mast by a truss,

and is not intended to be raised or lowered. A yard which is to be

hoisted and lowered should be secured to the mast by a parral of

leather, and should be raised by lifts and halyards. (2.) Clew-lines

lead from the deck through a clew-block under the yard, and through the

clewline block in the sail, the standing part being taken between the

head of the sail and the yard, and made fast to the arm of the truss.

(3.) Lead the braces to the main-top. (4.) Your dimensions are not good,

unless your draught is to be increased by a heavy lead keel. Your

proportion of more than five beams to the length is bad. She ought to

have more beam--say, sixteen inches. The capstan ought to be on the

forecastle-deck. The dimensions of spars are good.

FRANK J. SMYTH.--Such a set of rules as you ask for would occupy too

much space in this paper. The racing rules of the American Model Yacht

Club were printed in _Forest and Stream_ for November 24, 1894. Send ten

cents and postage to the office of that paper, 318 Broadway, and get a

copy.

HERBERT ARNOLD.--Dimensions of a good dory would be sixteen feet long on

the bottom, seventeen feet over all, three feet six inches wide on the

bottom amidships, four feet eight inches wide at the gunwale amidships,

and two feet deep. You could not have a safer boat in any waters.

[Illustration: STAMPS]

This Department is conducted in the interest of stamp and coin

collectors, and the Editor will be pleased to answer any question

on these subjects so far as possible. Correspondents should

address Editor Stamp Department.

[Illustration]

Quite a number of inquiries have come to me as to what is "embossing" or

"grilling." Both words mean the same thing in philately. Above are two

illustrations from the 1867-68 stamps. It seems at one time the

government feared that cancelled postage-stamps could be used a second

time. They therefore adopted (in 1867) a method of impressing or

embossing on the backs of the stamps after they had been gummed a series

of small squares, each square having a sharp point. The idea was that

these points or squares would break the fibre of the paper, so that the

gum and cancellation ink would go right through the stamp, and thus make

a second use impossible. At first the entire stamp was grilled, and

these are now quite rare, and the 3c.-stamps are worth about $20 used,

or $25 unused. This was soon given up, and a grill measuring 13 x 16

millimeters was used. These stamps were in turn soon discontinued, and

are now scarce, this 3c.-stamp is worth $5 used, $20 unused. The grills

were then reduced to 11 x 13 mm. and 9 x 13 mm. Of the first variety of

grills the 1, 2, 3, 10, 12, and 15c. are found. Of the latter all values

from 1 to 90c. are found. In 1869 the new issue of stamps brought a

still smaller grill into use, 9-1/2 x 9-1/2 mm. Then in 1870 the new

issue had a grill 9 x 11-1/2 mm. The 1, 2, and 3c. of this issue are

common, but all the other values are rare, especially the 12c. and 24c.,

which are worth from $25 to $35 each. In 1871 a grill, 8-1/2 x 10-1/2,

was used on the 1, 2, and 3c. only, but soon discontinued, and since

then no U. S. stamps have been so made. Peru used the same grills on

some stamps, but has also discontinued the practice. A number of double

grills and odd-sized grills are known, and are much sought after by

specialists.

H. M. POYNTER.--The 5-franc piece 1809, France, is sold by dealers

at $1.

L. A. D.--The 1861 and 1868 U. S. stamps are printed from the same

dies in the same colors, but the 1868 are "grilled." An early

number of the ROUND TABLE will contain illustrations of these

grills. The Costa Rica, Honduras, Salvador, etc., unused, are

probably remainders.

F. EDGERTON.--Postmarks have no value.

J. G.--The quotation was on one million assorted, and the value

depends altogether on the number of varieties in each lot. Apply

to any dealer.

HAROLD SIMONDS.--The stamps are part of the "Jubilee" issue of New

South Wales, all of which bear the inscription, "One Hundred

Years." They were issued in 1888 to commemorate the one-hundredth

anniversary of the first settlement made in 1788.

F. M. L.--The half-dollar without rays is the scarce one. The

coins mentioned do not command a premium.

[Illustration: Ivory Soap]

At all grocery stores east of the Rocky Mountains two sizes of Ivory

Soap are sold; one that costs five cents a cake, and a larger size. The

larger cake is the more convenient and economical for laundry and

general household use. If your Grocer is out of it, insist on his

getting it for you.

THE PROCTER & GAMBLE CO., CIN'TI.

[Illustration]

EARN A TRICYCLE!

We wish to introduce our Teas, Spices, and Baking Powder. Sell 30 lbs.

and we will give you a Fairy Tricycle: sell 25 lbs. for a Solid Silver

Watch and Chain; 50 lbs. for a Gold Watch and Chain; 75 lbs. for a

Bicycle; 10 lbs. for a Beautiful Gold Ring. Express prepaid if cash is

sent for goods. Write for catalog and order sheet.

W. G. BAKER,

Springfield, Mass.

[Illustration]

=SEND for Catalogue of= the =Musical Instrument= you think of buying.

=Violins repaired= by the Cremona System. C. STORY, 26 Central St.,

Boston. Mass.

[Illustration: If afflicted with SORE EYES USE Dr. ISAAC THOMPSON'S EYE

WATER]

[Illustration]

CARD PRINTER =FREE=

Sets any name in one minute; prints 500 cards an hour. YOU can make

money with it. A font of pretty type, also Indelible Ink, Type Holder,

Pads and Tweezers. Best Linen Marker; worth $1.00. Sample mailed FREE

for 10c. stamps for postage on outfit and large catalogue of 1000

Bargains.

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

[Illustration]

Harper's Catalogue,

Thoroughly revised, classified, and indexed, will be sent by mail to any

address on receipt of ten cents.

Reading for the Vacation

By THOMAS W. KNOX

* * * * *

_THE "BOY TRAVELLERS" SERIES_

Copiously Illustrated. Square 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $3.00 per volume.

ADVENTURES OF TWO YOUTHS--

IN THE LEVANT.

IN SOUTHERN EUROPE.

IN CENTRAL EUROPE.

IN NORTHERN EUROPE.

IN GREAT BRITAIN AND IRELAND.

IN MEXICO.

IN AUSTRALASIA.

ON THE CONGO.

IN THE RUSSIAN EMPIRE.

IN SOUTH AMERICA.

IN CENTRAL AFRICA.

IN EGYPT AND PALESTINE.

IN CEYLON AND INDIA.

IN SIAM AND JAVA.

IN JAPAN AND CHINA.

* * * * *

OTHER BOOKS BY COLONEL KNOX:

_HUNTING ADVENTURES ON LAND AND SEA_

2 vols. Copiously Illustrated. Square 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $2.50

each.

THE YOUNG NIMRODS IN NORTH AMERICA.

THE YOUNG NIMRODS AROUND THE WORLD.

* * * * *

Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York

_The above works are for sale by all booksellers, or will be mailed by

the publishers, postage prepaid, on receipt of the price._

[Illustration: TWO OF A KIND.]

AN APPEAL.

I wish you would buy me a wheel, daddy dear,

Oh, really and truly I do.

It's worth quite a million of dollars to me,

And costs but twelve dollars for you.

And nothing I know of in all of this world,

No matter how hard I may think,

So easily keeps me from mischief at home,

Like cutting up pranks with your ink.

So buy me a bicycle, papa, I pray,

A wheel that will spin like a breeze,

And keep me from getting in trouble in-doors;

I am truly so anxious to please.

Patrick had a nice little trade in ice in the small town of B----, and

everything progressed smoothly, until one day a rival set up business,

and by degrees took Pat's customers away. Patrick was very mad and swore

vengeance, but was at a loss how to accomplish the matter. At last he

hit upon a plan, and immediately proceeded to put it into execution.

He visited each of the customers he had lost, and solemnly assured them

that his rival only sold warm ice.

A theatrical manager had considerable trouble with his star actor, who

was constantly meeting with accidents or falling sick. One day, as the

story goes, the star was hurt in a boiler explosion. When the manager

heard of it he remarked to his agent, "I am sick of this sort of thing.

Advertise him, as usual, and add that we intend bringing out a new

piece, in which the great star Mr. D---- will appear in _several_

parts."

BOBBY. "I wish the Lord had made the world in two days."

JACK. "Why?"

BOBBY. "Then we'd have had three Sundays a week."

AT THE CAT SHOW.

MRS. S. "What is the name of your cat?"

MRS. W. "Claude."

MRS. S. "Why do you call it Claude?"

MRS. W. "Because it scratched me."

An old darky lived in the South who was a great barterer, and it was

very hard to beat him on a trade. It seems he had sold a mule,

guaranteeing him faultless. The purchaser shortly after came back in a

great rage, and said,

"Look here, you rascal, that mule you sold me is blind in one eye; you

assured me he had no faults."

"Dat's right, sah; dat mule habe no faults. If he am blind in one eye,

dat am his misfortune, not his fault."

"I think I ought to stay home from school to-day," said Bobbie.

"Why so, Bobbie?" asked his father. "You aren't ill, are you?"

"No, poppy; but I dreamed I was in school answering questions all last

night, and I think I've had enough for one day," said Bobbie.

"Do you know your letters, Jack?"

"No, sir; but the postman does, and he always tells. I don't need to

know 'em."

"Have you tried the ROUND TABLE bicycle maps, Wilbur?" asked Wilbur's

father.

"Yes, I have," said Wilbur; "but the trouble is, daddy, sometimes I get

'em upside down, and sort of have trouble finding my way home."

BABY ELEPHANT AND BUBBLES.

[Illustration: "OH!"]

[Illustration: "AH!"]

[Illustration: "MY!"]

[Illustration: "EYE!"]

End of Project Gutenberg's Harper's Round Table, July 16, 1895, by Various