in order that he might get in in these 80 feet all the different forms
of railway construction Dr. Warneford has made the track so that it runs
over some of the uneven spots in his yard, and in this way, in the
places where bridges are required, he has constructed that form of
bridge which would naturally be best suited to the particular form of
ravine or cavity over which the road is to run. One of the prettiest of
these bridges is a thoroughly constructed cantalever bridge, on the form
of the great Forth Bridge between Scotland and England, which passes
over a little excavation immediately after the train has come out of a
long, thoroughly constructed tunnel, the entrance to which appears in
two of the illustrations. Another bridge is a perfectly constructed skew
arch, which the train crosses a few feet after leaving Chicago. Then
comes the model of an American trestle, and after passing over this the
road runs through the tunnel, over the cantalever bridge, through a
cutting, and finally over a steel tubular bridge into Jericho.
[Illustration: THE STEEL TUBULAR BRIDGE.]
Besides all these constructions, the proportions of which can be easily
seen by comparing them with the ordinary size bricks of the stone wall,
the road is fully equipped with complete sets of signals, which can be
and are worked with telegraph wires and posts. There are not only
signals for connections and ordinary use, but Dr. Warneford has even
constructed a fog-signal apparatus, which is worked by a spring when the
engine passes over it, causing a hammer to fall on a small blank
cartridge; and this, exploding, is the signal for the train to come to a
stop at a time when, either on account of fog or similar impenetrable
mist, the ordinary signals would be of no use.
[Illustration: JERICHO.]
As to the train itself, that consists of a locomotive, which is a
complete model of an ordinary English engine. The steam is generated by
spirits, and the engine draws a couple of trucks and a passenger-car.
When the steam is up, and the train is started, the reverend gentleman
has to run his level best to get to the next station before the train,
otherwise it would be "missing." When it does arrive at its destination,
the fact is made known by an electric bell ringing automatically; and on
close inspection of the photograph of the Jericho station the electric
button may be seen at the end of the tracks inside the depot. On the
line between the stations there is a signal-box, with levers to work the
signals, as complete in its way as any signal-tower in existence; and,
as some one said who visited the line a short time ago, the only thing
that is lacking on the line is the stentorian call of the conductor,
"All tickets ready."
[Illustration: SIGNAL TOWER, AND ENGINE WITH SNOW-PLOUGH.]
The accompanying illustrations, which are taken from photographs made
especially for HARPER'S ROUND TABLE, are interesting in many ways. They
were taken during the last winter, when snow was on the ground, and when
experiments were being tried with a tiny snow-plough on the front of the
engine to see if the track could be cleared. One of the illustrations
shows the plough at work in the cutting; and, as any one may see, the
job is not a light one to clear the track at that spot. In one or two of
the illustrations interesting comparisons may be made as to the size of
the bridges and the train with some of the small shrubs which have
sprung up near the track; but such are the perfect proportions of the
model track, signals, and station that unless some such object is
compared with them or the size of the bricks in the wall is noted the
photographs might be those of a normal train taken from a great
distance.
[Illustration: THE CANTALEVER BRIDGE.]
The parts of the road representing masonry are not, of course, built of
true stones, but simply of boards painted to represent them. The
bridges, however, are sincere constructions in every part, each "timber"
being set in place by itself, and the whole construction made to rely on
its own strength, without any false support. The steel tubular bridge
Dr. Warneford had made for him, and it will bear the weight of a boy.
All the castings for the wheels and machinery of the engine and cars are
perfect in their way.
The readers of the ROUND TABLE will remember that last fall we published
a photograph of the perfect model of a trolley-car which not only ran by
electricity, just as an ordinary car does, but had all the details, even
to advertisements, that the trolley has. This trolley-car was an
extraordinary piece of work; but whereas the Warneford engine is not
more than eight inches long, the trolley was between two and three feet
long. The care taken in constructing the English train, engine, and road
must have been infinitely greater and the difficulties considerably
increased on account of its smaller size; but such work is not
impossible for any one with a mechanical turn of mind.
This whole railway, in fact, is a most interesting and suggestive piece
of work, and illustrates what mechanical ability and ingenuity can do,
and how much amusement and profit even so busy a man as an English
clergyman may find in working on such a thing as a hobby.
SOME DONT'S FOR SWIMMERS.
BY WILLIAM HEMMINGWAY.
It is just as dangerous to play with water as it is to play with fire.
Probably no sport is more dangerous than swimming, just as none other is
quite so delightful. If you use proper caution no exercise is safer than
swimming.
But what is proper caution? It is almost impossible to learn how to swim
by reading any amount of printed instructions, but it is easy to learn
how to take care of one's self in the water. One of the best swimming
teachers I ever knew summed it all up in these words: Don't be rash.
Don't be frightened. It seems to me that no advice can be better than
that. I think that one more rule is safe to follow, Don't "show off."
Let us look at what happens to the rash swimmer and diver. Probably
every one of you has known or heard of some poor over-confident fellow
who has lost his life by diving overboard without knowing the depth into
which he was plunging. Nothing can be more dangerous. There is a fine
swimming-beach at the upper part of the Harlem River, near Farmers'
Bridge, on the Manhattan Island shore. There are bath-houses in plenty,
and a long stretch of firm sandy shore. One of the best oarsmen of his
year went swimming there a few years ago. He had just come to the end of
five months' hard training and racing. During that long period swimming
had been forbidden to men in the crew, because it was feared that they
might tire themselves out at it, and use up strength that should be
applied to rowing. But now the restraints of training were off, and
J---- was having a delightful frolic with his friends. He was a strong
swimmer and a graceful diver. Running down the beach he splashed out
until he was knee-deep in the river, and then gathered himself for a
dive. He plunged head first on a sand-bar. His neck was dislocated. He
did not live five minutes.
That young man had been swimming from the same place last year. He
thought he was familiar with the shore. Really he had forgotten just
where it was safe to dive. If he had been cautious enough to ask his
comrades, or even to wade out a little further and learn the depth for
himself, he would not have lost his life.
Do you think it childish to be cautious? Put away the idea. The bravest
men are nearly always the most careful.
"Your Majesty knows not what fear is," said a courtier to King Oscar of
Sweden, who had fought in many hand-to-hand battles with wonderful
success.
"The man who does not know what fear is," replied the King, "is a fool."
And fear is only another name for over-cautiousness.
"No matter how well you think you know a swimming-place, take nothing
for granted. So many changes take place in a year. Sand bars are formed
by the tides. If you dive from a pier, how can you know without actually
investigating what timber may have been swung loose by the water's
action since last year, and be now lurking for you beneath the surface?
And as for swimming in strange water, never do it without learning all
you can about the conditions. Henry Guy and I were chumming for bluefish
in Fire Island Inlet recently. We had fine luck for a while. Suddenly
the bluefish disappeared. After waiting idly a few minutes I began to
yearn for a swim. The air was very warm, and the cool, green water was
rippling a thousand invitations. Just as I was about to dive off the
stern of our cat-boat the skipper touched my arm and shook his head.
"Don't!" he exclaimed.
"Why not?"
"Sharks."
That was all of the conversation. Before I was half dressed the skipper
touched my arm and pointed at a long, dark gray object that loafed along
against the tide six or eight feet below our keel. It was a shark. My
hair bristled. You see it is advisable to know sometimes just where you
are "at."
Diving is certainly the best way for you to enter the water--always
provided that you know all about its depth. Nothing can be more
unhealthful than the dawdling habit of wading out ankle-deep or
knee-deep, and waiting to get your courage up. The hot sun beats down on
your head. Your feet and legs are in the cool water whose temperature is
anywhere from ten to twenty-five degrees lower than that of the air.
You can't remain long under these conditions without injuring yourself.
Nature's plan is to have the head cool and the extremities warm. Go
contrary to this, and you are in trouble. Probably most of you can
remember having had a headache some time or other from this very cause.
Indeed, physicians will tell you that many attacks of cramps in the
water are due to the swimmer's foolish habit of wading in very slowly.
Deranged circulation causes cramps. In places where it is not safe to
dive you can easily stoop over and throw a few handfuls of water on your
head. Then hurry forward and throw yourself in--fall in. Will other
fellows laugh at your precautions? Well, let them laugh, and pay for it
with the twinges of cramps. I have been swimming twenty years, and I've
never had a cramp, simply because I've followed the rules laid down
here.
Never let yourself be frightened in the water. A boy I know found
himself far outside of the breakers at Cape May. He swam deep--that is,
with his feet far below him--and found that in spite of his efforts he
was making no headway, or very little. Instead of howling for help, and
using up his strength in struggles that would drown him before help
could arrive, he put his wits to work. He soon found that the off-shore
current was below the surface, and that at the very top of the water the
flow was toward the shore. Thereupon he drew up his legs and swam as
near the surface as he could. Even then it was a long swim for a
twelve-year-old boy, but he got the beach under his feet at last.
Another boy I know was dragged far out by a "sea-puss" at Long
Branch--one of those deadly, swift, sudden currents that pounce on a
bather unawares and carry him away from shore. This boy waved his arm
and shouted for help. When he saw the men on shore running toward a
surf-boat he calmly turned over on his back and devoted all his energies
to floating. He had been carried nearly a mile before he was rescued. If
either one of these boys had been frightened he probably would have
drowned.
[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.
I heard of a society the other day, a society which has a beautiful
name. I am sure you will agree with me about the name when I tell you
that it is called "The Cheer and Comfort Society." Its object is to send
good reading matter, particularly magazines, papers, and interesting
books, to people too poor to obtain them by purchase, and not likely to
get them from lending libraries, and the lady who can tell you all about
the society and its work is Miss Emily Campbell, of Short Hills, New
Jersey.
The sweet words "Cheer" and "Comfort" are repeating themselves in music
in my mind as I write. Perhaps you would like to know where I am writing
this Pudding Stick letter to you, dear girls. Well, the place is in the
country, in a lovely valley with green hills rising around it on every
side, and standing like guardian sentinels about the pleasant homes
which are scattered over the breezy fields and plains beneath them. The
morning is very cool, and the blue sky is just breaking through the
heavy clouds which a while ago threatened rain. Wrapped in a shawl,
think of it you who are reading this on a day too warm for shawls,
and established in a big easy-chair, with my paper resting on a book
in my lap, I am thinking of you. I write these little letters almost
always in this way; they seem more intimate and confidential than if
I sat down beside my desk, and shut my door, and put on a sort of
let-me-alone-if-you-please business air. I fancy that most of the
letters I receive from you are written in this same easy and friendly
way, and that you keep your note-paper in little boxes and portfolios,
and perhaps sometimes in a dear old atlas, which makes a delightful
portfolio.
To go back to "Cheer" and "Comfort." There are always chances in life to
do both, for turn where you will, there are those who are in need of
help. Not always bodily help. Often those who have every earthly thing
they need--shelter, money, food, clothing, books, all sorts of
opportunities--are in want of the heavenly things which "cheer" and
"comfort" mean. They are depressed, low in their spirits, sad, and
troubled. They are even cross and disagreeable because they are unhappy.
To such persons young people, with bright faces and light hearts, can
bring both the cheer that gives courage and the comfort that takes away
pain. You haven't to do anything in a grand and heroic fashion either.
Simply be yourselves, and let the gladness that is in you bubble up and
overflow, and you will make tired people happier.
Two school-girls sat behind me in a car the other day, chatting together
in low voices, and laughing immoderately every few minutes at the
happenings of their day. Bless them, the sweet, gay, merry-hearted
creatures! The car seemed lonesome after they reached their station, and
went tripping along the road up the long hill to their home out of sight
from my point of view. Just be yourselves, dears, and you will make
older people happy. I sent a loving little word of thanks after my
school-girls, for they had been a help to me. If they read the ROUND
TABLE, here's a bit meant for them.
One afternoon, passing a church on a city street, I read this
announcement on a bulletin-board at the door, "The Pleasant Words
Society will meet at four o'clock." Wasn't that fine? The "_pleasant_
words" society! Whatever we think of, however we feel, we may speak
pleasantly, our words and our tones being in our own control. The effort
to speak pleasantly will usually cause us to feel pleasant, and it is
pleasant people--people who please--who get together and form societies
and clubs. Who ever heard of a Fault-finders Society or a Cross Words
Society? Fretful fault-finders have to sit in corners alone.
Another society of which I know is the T.M.D.S., which, being
interpreted, is the Ten Minutes a Day Society. This is an association of
young girls which requires of its members only that they shall devote
ten minutes every day, or sixty minutes every week, to sewing, or in
some other way working for orphans and the poor. It sends garments to
hospitals and asylums, boxes to home and foreign missions, and
accomplishes a wonderful deal of good, by simply using ten minutes of
each day in a bit of unselfish work.
[Illustration: Signature]
[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.
PAPERS FOR BEGINNERS, NO. 3.
GETTING READY TO DEVELOP.
If there is one place more than another where one needs to be methodical
it is in the dark room. It is lighted but dimly, and groping about for
materials or apparatus often results in disaster to that most
susceptible of all things, the sensitive plate. One should have his
materials so arranged that he can put his hand on any one in the dark.
Besides knowing where the materials are, and always having them in their
place, the materials and apparatus used for developing should be placed
the same way each time when arranging them for developing. Place the
hypo-tray far enough away, and in such a position, that there shall be
no danger of getting any of the hypo into the developer. If the water
for rinsing the plates is at the right hand of the developing-tray,
place the hypo-tray at the left hand of the water. Then in washing the
developer from the plate before placing it in the hypo it will be clear
of the developer, and if one is unlucky enough to let the plate slip
into the hypo, drops will not spatter into the developer.
Never, under any circumstances, set a vessel on the floor which contains
any liquid beside water. The dismay which has followed an unfortunate
step in the dark, when one has set the hypo-tray on the floor with a
well-developed plate "fixing" in it, can only be understood and
appreciated by the amateur who has been so rash as to invite such a
disaster.
Get the water for washing and rinsing the plates ready first, and if one
has running water this means simply attaching the hose to the faucet and
getting the washing box ready. Next fill the hypo-tray and put it in its
place, then the developing-trays should be placed in front of the
lantern, and the developing solution mixed in the glass graduate ready
for use.
Look at the lantern and be sure that there is enough candle or oil to
last during the developing. To be left in darkness with a plate at its
most critical point of development is, to say the least, a great
annoyance.
See that the dishes are perfectly clean. This should always be attended
to after each development. It not only saves time, but the possibility
of fresh solutions being spoiled by the decomposing of chemicals left in
the trays is thus avoided.
Having everything in readiness--the bottles of restrainer and
accelerator where they will be at hand if needed--get the plates which
are to be developed. These should be placed on a convenient shelf, or
stand where they will be out of the way of liquids, but where they can
be easily reached. If the plates are still in the holder, of course they
do not need to be covered, as they are already shut away from the light,
but if they have been removed from the holders and placed in a box, have
a cover from a larger plate box to turn over the box after it is open.
This will prevent fogging the plates, and is easier to adjust than the
cover which fits the box.
It is a good plan to provide one's self with light wooden covers a
little larger than the trays. These can be made from cigar boxes, and a
little white porcelain knob, such as druggists use on small drawers,
screwed on for handles. The cover for the hypo-tray should have a white
band painted across it, or marked in some way by which it may be easily
distinguished from the covers for the developing-trays. These covers are
very convenient to place over the trays if one wishes to leave the dark
room for a moment, or to open the door to admit a little fresh air. They
can also be placed over a tray when the plate is first covered with the
developer if the plate is extremely sensitive. A screw eye can be put in
the end of the cover to hang it up by when not in use.
Having once decided on the most convenient way for arranging the
materials for developing, stick to it. The task of finding and using
what is needed will soon become mechanical, and the mistakes which occur
from a haphazard way of arranging the developing outfit will be avoided.
In the next paper for beginners we shall suggest some home-made
appliances for the dark room which have been designed by skilful
amateurs for saving time, space, and money. Any of our amateurs who have
improved ways of doing things are requested to send descriptions to the
Camera Club. We have already several on hand, which will be published in
their appropriate places. When sending a description of home-made
apparatus, send a photograph with it if possible.
KING ARTHUR AND HIS KNIGHTS.
I.--UTHER PENDRAGON, THE FATHER OF ARTHUR.
Jack and Mollie had joined the Order of the Knights and Ladies of the
Round Table, and had become Sir Jack and Lady Mollie in consequence.
They were proud of it, too, not so much because of the titles they were
thereby permitted to use, but because they knew that it was a great
thing to be knightly enough to become members of a society which had
high aims and lofty purposes in view. They were both sturdy little
Americans, and to be known as _Sir_ Jack and _Lady_ Mollie did not add
at all to the good opinions they had of themselves, except in so far as
these honorable prefixes to their names showed that they were members in
good standing of a flourishing organization.
Who the original Knights of the Round Table were and what they had done
they did not know, but they set about finding out as soon as they
received their membership cards, for, as Jack said, "What's the use of
going into a thing without finding out all about it?" And Mollie, as
usual, agreed that that was the thing to do.
So they asked their father about it, and it turned out that he knew very
little more about the Knights of the original Round Table than they did.
He did know that at the head of the table had sat a certain King of
England, Arthur by name, who was a Knight of great prowess, but beyond
this he was quite ignorant on the subject. He said, however, that he
would look the matter up when he had time, and let them know whatever he
might discover. And he did so, and whenever he discovered anything which
he thought would interest the children, he would tell them about it.
"Arthur's father, according to the legends," said their father, "was
King of England, and his name was Uther Pendragon."
"What a terrible name," said Mollie.
"It was indeed," said the story-teller. "It was meant to be, for the
title Pendragon signified in those days that he who bore it was the
chief leader in war, which is a terrible thing. Uther Pendragon, the
King, married Ingraine, who was beautiful and good, and Arthur was their
son, but for some reason or other it was thought well that the boy
should be brought up in ignorance of who his parents were, and on the
advice of Merlin he was sent away to a certain lord of Uther's land, one
of the noblest and most faithful of his day, who would look carefully
after the bringing up of the child, and see to it that he should become
well fitted in every way for the position he was some day to occupy.
Merlin had looked into the future, and had seen that Arthur would grow
to be a better man if he were kept away from his father's court, where
in all probability every one would have flattered and spoiled him, and
lead him to believe that he was a much finer fellow than he really was.
So Arthur was sent to Sir Ector, who brought him up as his own son, and
no one but the King and Queen and Merlin really knew that he was a
Prince, and would some day become King of England."
"I'm glad they don't do things that way nowadays. I'd hate to be brought
up by one of the neighbors without knowing that you were my papa."
"Must have been worse than going to boarding-school," said Mollie.
[Illustration: JOURNEYING TOWARDS LONDON.]