[Illustration: HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE]
* * * * *
VOL. II.--NO. 85. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.
Tuesday, June 14, 1881. Copyright, 1881, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50 per
Year, in Advance.
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[Illustration: ON WHEELS--INCIDENTS OF THE RECENT BICYCLE MEET IN
BOSTON.]
ON WHEELS.
BY THE CAPTAIN.
To Boston boys Decoration-day of this year was a day long to be
remembered; for in addition to the usual military parade, with its
wagon-loads of flowers and beautiful floral designs to be placed on
soldiers' graves, they had another procession to review--one that was as
novel as it was interesting. It was a procession, a mile and a half
long, of bicyclers; or, as they are more generally called in this
country, "wheelmen." They were the members of the League of American
Wheelmen (L. A. W.), gathered, 800 strong, for their annual meeting; and
as they rode through the beautiful streets of what is known in Boston as
the "Back Bay District," in double file, with gay silken flags marking
the positions of the various clubs, bugles sounding, burnished wheels
flashing in the sunlight, and thousands of spectators cheering, many a
Boston boy determined then and there to become a wheelman.
While most of the wheelmen in this gay procession were men, its rear was
brought up by some fifteen or twenty boys, who, under charge of one of
the most experienced and graceful riders of the country, made a most
creditable show, and proved themselves to be good and careful riders.
The picture on the preceding page shows the contrast between them on
their 36 or 40 inch bicycles, and their tall Captain on his 56-inch
machine.
In the evening the wheelmen had Boston Music Hall, with its great organ,
all to themselves, and here the most expert among them gave exhibitions
of fancy riding that were very wonderful, as you may imagine by looking
at the picture, and seeing "the way some folks ride."
Now it does not seem to me at all surprising that, after seeing all
this, the Boston boy should be filled with an intense desire to become a
wheelman; nor should I be surprised if every boy who reads this article
should also long to own and ride a bicycle.
Well, if you, or your parents for you, can afford it, and you are a
strong, healthy boy, there is no reason why you should not become a
wheelman, and join the great parade that will take place on the 30th of
May next year.
Some boys are afraid that they will fall while learning to ride, and
therefore don't _dare_ try. Such boys will never learn, nor do we want
any cowards among our wheelmen. Of course there must be some falls, and
some little danger attends the sport; but no more boys are hurt in
learning to ride or in riding a bicycle than by foot-ball, base-ball,
cricket, lacrosse, horseback-riding, or a dozen other manly sports in
which boys always have engaged and always will. A little experience will
soon teach the rider how to exercise the care necessary to prevent
falls. He will learn to lean well back in his saddle when descending a
hill, when about to apply his brake, or upon striking a stone or other
obstacle. He will learn to lean forward when ascending a hill, and to
dismount rather than to try and force his machine through sand.
That bicycling is a healthy exercise is a fact beyond dispute, as any
physician who has the slightest knowledge of the bicycle will assure
you. Velocipedes, or "bone-shakers," were injurious; bicycles are not.
Good bicycles for boys of from ten to sixteen years of age can be bought
for from twelve to twenty dollars, and the very best will not cost over
fifty dollars.
A good, easy-running bicycle can be driven up any ordinary hill,
provided the road be smooth and hard, and a party of wheelmen,
travelling over the ordinary roads of the Eastern States, will cover
greater distances each day than if their means of conveyance were horses
and carriage.
A moderate amount of luggage, sufficient for a week's trip, may be
carried on the bicycle without inconvenience, and the perfection that
has been reached in hub and head lamps renders it almost as safe and
easy to ride by night as by day.
The best and most sensible bicycling suit consists of the uniform
adopted by the L. A. W., which is of light gray throughout--blouse,
flannel shirt, breeches, stockings, and polo cap, or helmet. If too
warm, the rider can take off his blouse, and carry it very comfortably,
rolled tightly, and strapped to the handle-bar of his bicycle.
Before closing I want to say a word about drinking. When a rider becomes
very warm, and perspires freely, the temptation to drink, and to drink a
quantity of almost anything that offers, is very great. Refrain from
drinking anything just as long as you can, except at meal-time, or after
your day's ride is over. The more you drink, the greater will be the
desire to do so. If, while riding, your thirst becomes unbearable, to
rinse your mouth several times, and take but one swallow of cool water,
will refresh you as much as, and do you more good than, copious
draughts. In riding through the country, be very careful where and what
you drink. Water from wells or springs in small quantities is generally
good. Water from ponds or streams is apt to be bad. Milk and lemonade
are both good. In England the wheelman's favorite drink is milk and
soda; in this country it is a soda lemonade: both are good. Beer is bad,
very bad--almost the worst thing you could drink. It does not quench
thirst, but increases it. It causes you to perspire freely, it takes
away your wind, and leaves you panting and exhausted at the top of easy
hills.
If the boys who are interested in bicycling have any questions to ask
that have not already been answered, let them address "The Captain,"
through Our Post-office Box, and he will try and furnish the desired
information.
CHATS ABOUT PHILATELY.
BY J. J. CASEY.
IV.
Already many of my young friends are making inquiries about counterfeit
stamps. I am not at all astonished. Similar inquiries have been made
almost since the time when stamp-collecting came into vogue. Collectors
were swindled at the very beginning. Collectors are swindled every day.
And the swindling trade will go on as long as there is a collector who
can be swindled.
Whenever there is an opportunity to defraud, no matter how small the
amount to be gained, there are always found persons ready to take
advantage of the fraud. In the early days of collecting, scarcely a
collector was free from the swindlers, either in the shape of forgeries
of little-known stamps, or out-and-out humbugs in the shape of stamps
that never existed. But with increased study came knowledge, and this
knowledge was directed in great part to exposing the swindlers and their
vile wares. But the trade was not put down. All the known stamps, both
common and rare, were counterfeited in enormous quantities, and sent to
agents, who by high-sounding advertisements, and under cover of a "Stamp
Company" with a name as long as your arm, and with a prospectus more
glowing than the prospectus of De Lesseps's Panama Canal Company, sold
these counterfeits to the beginner as "great bargains." Master Jones
envied his neighbor's collection because it contained some stamps which
cost twenty-five or fifty cents each. But by chance Master Jones
receives one of these glowing circulars from "The Great American Stamp
Company" (with agencies in the principal cities), offering unheard-of
bargains. A country has become bankrupt, or some enterprising member of
the firm has persuaded a postal administration to sell to him for waste
paper its stock of uncurrent stamps, and hence he is able to sell these
great rarities for a mere trifle. Master Jones takes the bait, sends off
his little earnings, and if he receives an answer at all--in nine cases
out of ten he receives nothing--he is amazed to find a large assortment
of rare stamps, some fresh and clean, others nicely cancelled, but all
tending to make Master Jones feel that he will soon humble the pride of
his neighbor. Like older human nature, he keeps his purchases secret, as
he wishes his victory to be a most glorious one for himself, the defeat
a most humiliating one to his neighbor. But sooner or later Master Jones
finds that he has been made a dupe. Not one of the stamps he has
purchased is genuine. Those so nicely cancelled are as bad--in fact,
worse than those which are clean. For the counterfeiter, with an
ingenuity which might have found employment in better spheres, even
counterfeited the government cancelling marks.
Now this is not an imaginary case. It is, rather, the experience of
thousands and thousands of collectors, each one of whom has been
swindled more or less by this vile trade in counterfeit stamps. It is
impossible to estimate the injury resulting to Philately. If it were the
dimes and quarters thrown away which alone were to be considered, the
loss might be repaired. But it is the disgust, the doubt, following the
disclosure, that cause thousands of young collectors, who were
enthusiastic in their new hobby, to throw away their collections, and
betake themselves to other pastimes.
But it is not always upon the beginner that the counterfeiter or the
dealer in fraudulent stamps tries his hand. The trash that he sold to
the beginner was in truth trash, and trash of the worst sort. When he
could not succeed in getting copies of the wood-cuts that adorned the
pages of many of the stamp journals, he had wood-cuts made, most
miserable in execution, which could never have deceived the collector
who at any time had caught sight of the genuine stamp. The counterfeiter
often tried his hand at imitating the rare stamps, and in this, even
among collectors who claimed to a certain knowledge of what is good and
what is bad in stamps, he met with some success. In these cases, to give
plausibility to his specimens, he charged a very high price for them.
These counterfeits are of the finest execution.
In many countries, when the supply of low values runs out, the higher
values are utilized by printing on the face of the stamps the expression
of the value needed. And in other countries, notably many of the
Portuguese colonies, the stamps of the home country are made to do
service by having printed on them the name of the colony in which those
stamps are to be used. The counterfeiter has stepped in here, obtained
the genuine stamps before alteration, and then printed upon them a
forged inscription either of place or value. They are very dangerous, of
course, but not half so dangerous as a late trick which has been
exposed. Many stamps are printed on water-marked paper. Water-marked
paper has, so far, escaped the counterfeiter's arts. But it seems that
some sheets of the water-marked paper on which were printed the stamps
of Tuscany were obtained in some way or other from the post-office, and
on these the counterfeiter printed forgeries of the rare Tuscan stamps.
However suspicious the stamp itself seemed, it was printed on
water-marked paper, and as this had not yet been proved to be
counterfeited, the stamps would readily pass. Exposure came, but not
until the forger had made many dupes, and had pocketed his ill-gotten
gain.
Besides these counterfeits which are made exclusively for the collector,
and which, therefore, are worth nothing, is another class of
counterfeits which have been made exclusively to swindle governments.
Because of this fact, and because many of them have actually franked
letters through the post, these counterfeits are more valuable to the
collector than the corresponding genuine specimens.
To give all the facts concerning counterfeit stamps, and the means of
distinguishing them from the genuine, would take up every line of YOUNG
PEOPLE for many mouths to come. This of course it is impossible to do.
But a few words of caution will not be out of place. If you decide to
purchase, deal only with dealers of established reputation, and require
a written guarantee that the stamps sold are genuine. Have no
transactions with "Stamp Companies," which so often have been proved to
be cloaks for swindling concerns. Keep clear of great bargains. Remember
that stamps have a market value, and that any great departure from this
value is suspicious.
There are no counterfeits of United States stamps or stamped envelopes,
except in two instances: 1. The 5-cent and 10-cent stamps of the 1845 or
first government issues have been counterfeited by the Post-office
Department, although the genuine dies and plates are still in existence.
These the government sells at face value; but to the philatelist they
are worthless. 2. Stamped envelopes of the 1860 issue--1-cent, 3-cent,
4-cent, 6-cent, and 10-cent. Genuine specimens of these envelopes are
worth from twenty-five cents for the 1-cent envelope, to fifty or
seventy-five dollars for the 10-cent envelope. But the counterfeits were
sold for a few cents each.
In fine, if you have any doubt about your specimens, send them to some
advanced collector for his opinion, taking care to inclose as much
postage for the return of your stamps as you placed on your letter when
you sent it. I shall be happy at all times to give any of my young
friends all the advice which they may require about their specimens.
[Illustration: A CHILD OF SOUTHERN GERMANY.]
THE APPRENTICE'S LEAP.
A STORY OF LONDON BRIDGE.
BY DAVID KER.
Sunset over London, on a fine summer evening in the days of "good Queen
Bess"; tall, quaint old houses, with peaked roofs and countless gables,
standing up on every side, and the Thames lying in the midst like a
broad sheet of gold, save where it was flecked by the dark shadow of
London Bridge, then a regular street, with houses along each side of it.
Just above the middle arch rose a house larger than the rest--that of
Sir William Hewet, cloth-worker, and Burgess of the city of London. The
sunset made a glory upon the windows of the old mansion, and lighted up
the balcony, on which Sir William's baby daughter was crowing and
clapping her tiny hands with glee at the sight of it, and stole into the
work-room, where the youngest apprentice, Edward Osborne, was beguiling
his task by singing the ballad of "Brave Lord Willoughby," which was as
popular in that age as "Glory Hallelujah" is in this.
"Ah, if I could but have the chance of doing such a deed as that!"
murmured the boy as he ended.
"Well, well, my brave lad," answered the cheery voice of old Sir
William, who had entered the room unperceived, "you're on the right road
to it by being diligent at your work. Keep to that meanwhile, and never
fear but the chance of doing great deeds will come all in good time."
Little did either speaker or hearer guess how soon and in what way those
words were to come true. Scarcely had the old knight left the room when
the boy was startled by a sudden shriek from the balcony overhead, and
by something white flashing past the window into the depth below. Sir
William Hewet's only child had leaped out of her nurse's arms, and
fallen headlong into the river.
The faint splash was instantly answered by a much louder one, and the
distracted household, as they rushed in a body to the fatal balcony, saw
Edward Osborne's brown curly head far down the shining stream, shooting
straight as an arrow toward the tiny white speck that floated a little
way beyond him.
"He has her!"
"No!"
"Yes!"
"No, he's gone past. Stay! he's turning again."
"Hurrah! he's got her at last. Thank God!"
The anxious father's straining eyes were already too dim to see anything
clearly; but the joyous shout of his keen-eyed serving-men told him that
all was well, and in another moment he was hurrying toward the scene of
action as fast as his feet could carry him.
But the peril was not over yet. Good swimmer as he was, the furious
swirl of the current, together with the weight of his own wet clothes
and those of the child, was fearful odds against the brave apprentice.
Twice his head dipped below the surface, and all seemed over; but he
still held the rescued infant above the water with one hand, while
struggling for life with the other.
"Courage, my hearty!" said a hoarse voice beside him. "Hold up just
another minute, and all's well."
At the same moment a boat pulled by two sturdy watermen, who had put off
from the shore on the first alarm, came sweeping up to the sinking boy.
A strong hand caught the child from his failing grasp, while in another
instant he was seized and dragged into the boat after her, just as the
last remnant of his overtasked strength gave way.
"Git her head round, Tom," said one of the boatmen to his comrade, "and
pull with a will, for that's the youngster's father running this way, or
I'm much mistaken."
Scarcely had the boat touched the wharf on her return, when old Hewet
sprang into her like a madman, and finding his child unhurt, flung his
arms round the neck of the half-drowned apprentice.
"God bless thee, my son!" cried he, fervently. "Let them never call thee
a boy again, for few _men_ would have dared as much."
"Let them call him a _hero_," said a voice from behind.
The boy looked up with a start. Beside him stood the handsomest man he
had ever seen, in a rich court dress, looking down upon him with grave,
kindly eyes. It was Sir Walter Raleigh, famous even then as one of the
greatest men whom England had ever produced, but destined to become more
famous still as the colonizer of Virginia.
* * * * *
Ten years from that day there was a great merry-making in the old house
on London Bridge, and Sir William Hewet, still brisk and cheery as ever,
though his hair was now white as snow, sat at the head of his own table,
amid a circle of guests whose names are in every history of England. At
his right hand was his daughter's newly made husband--a tall,
fine-looking young man, whose clear bright eyes faced that brilliant
assemblage as boldly as they had looked down into the foaming waters of
the Thames years before.
"This is the man to whom I have given my girl, fair sirs," said the old
knight. "Many a rich man and many a grandee have asked me for her; but I
always said, 'Let the best man win.'"
"And so he has," cried Sir Walter Raleigh, grasping Osborne's hand; "and
the fairest lass in London may be proud to bear his name, for I'll
warrant it will be famous yet."
Raleigh spoke truly. A month later, the ex-apprentice was Sir Edward
Osborne; yet a few years, and he had become Sheriff; and when the
Spanish Armada came, foremost among the defenders of England was
Osborne, Lord Mayor of London, from whom the English Dukes of Leeds are
still proud to trace their descent.
[Illustration: LETTING THE OLD CAT DIE.--DRAWN BY JESSIE MCDERMOTT.]
[Begun in No. 80 of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, May 10.]
THE CRUISE OF THE "GHOST."
BY W. L. ALDEN,
AUTHOR OF "THE MORAL PIRATES," ETC.
CHAPTER VI.
When the boys awoke, soon after dawn, a thick fog hid everything except
the oyster sloop from their view. The crew of the latter were already on
deck, and as soon as the Captain saw that the boys were putting away
their blankets, and getting out their breakfast dishes, he invited them
to come to breakfast. There is nothing more cheerless than cooking your
own breakfast in a cold wet fog, and the young yachtsmen, who were
feeling rather tired in consequence of loss of sleep and the excitement
of the previous night, were glad to accept the Captain's invitation.
Harry, foreseeing that the oystermen's coffee would not be quite suited
to his fastidious taste, and also desiring to make some return for the
Captain's kindness, asked to be allowed to furnish the breakfast table
with coffee made by himself. The oystermen were pleased with the
proposal, and Harry, taking the _Ghost_'s coffee-pot to the galley, made
what the Captain declared was the "bulliest" coffee he had ever drank.
They sat down to breakfast in the cozy little cabin of the sloop, and
the Captain told them all about the oyster fishery. He was on his way to
Amityville, where he lived, with a cargo of clams; for during the summer
months, when there was no demand for oysters, he loaded his vessel with
clams and scallops, which are in season all the year round. He
prophesied that the fog would last all day, but assured the boys that by
steering due northeast by compass, they would reach the northern shore
of the bay, and could then safely pursue their voyage by keeping close
to the land, where the deepest water in the Great South Bay is usually
found. During the night the tide had ebbed, leaving the sloop aground in
the mud, and it would be several hours before she would be afloat again.
The boys would have preferred to let the sloop lead the way, and to
follow her through the fog, but they did not care to wait until she
would be afloat. So bidding their new friends good-by, they hoisted
their sails, and with a fair breeze, just strong enough to give their
boat steerage-way, they started to cross the bay.
They neither saw nor heard any other boats during the hour that they
sailed silently on the course given them by the Captain of the sloop. At
first they felt a little nervous, and had a dread of being run down by
some big schooner or other craft; but in a little while they began to
enjoy the novelty of sailing in a dense fog, and were rather sorry when
the _Ghost_ unexpectedly ran her bow against the low shore of the
mainland of Long Island.
What to do next was the question. Nobody wanted to spend the day moored
to the shore, and waiting for the fog to lift; and as Charley, in
consulting the chart, found that the shore-line was very irregular,
indented with a succession of long narrow bays separated by low sandy
capes, neither he nor his comrades liked the idea of keeping close to
it, and thus wasting time in a very uninteresting way. While they were
still studying the chart, they heard what was evidently a breakfast bell
ringing a little to the west of them.
"That bell must be in Amityville," said Charley, "and we must be close
by this little creek that is laid down on the chart. Now let's find that
creek, and then we'll know exactly where we are, and can tell what
course to steer without following the shore."
"I'll go ashore," said Harry, "and hunt up the creek, and get some eggs,
and a loaf of bread. It will be twice as much fun to sail straight ahead
through the fog as it would be to keep along shore, just as if the
_Ghost_ was a canal-boat."
"I'll go with you," said Joe. "I am getting the cramps sitting still in
this boat so long."
The two explorers stepped ashore, and immediately vanished in the fog.
Charley and Tom presently heard a dismal exclamation in Joe's
unmistakable voice, and in a short time he returned, announcing that the
creek was only three or four boat-lengths distant. He was dripping with
water, having found the creek by unexpectedly walking into it from off a
boat-landing.
"Wet again, boys," he remarked, sadly, as he proceeded to find a dry
shirt and trousers. "The next time we go cruising, I'm going to wear a
water-proof suit like Captain Boyton's. This is our fourth day out, and
I've fallen overboard twice, been rained on once, and walked off a pier
once. I wonder how it would do to rub myself all over with oil. Do you
think I'd shed water then?"
"You couldn't rub yourself with oil, and then put your clothes on,
without getting them all greasy," observed Tom.
"Then I won't try oil; but the least you fellows can do is to wring me
out. I can never get myself dry by rubbing with a towel."
"We'll wring you as soon as we get time," said Charley, kindly. "We'll
begin with your neck, if you say so. But here comes Harry with the
provisions. Shove the boat off, Tom, and we'll steer for a big cape that
is just this side of Islip. The end of the cape ought to bear just
east-northeast from the mouth of the creek Joe discovered."
[Illustration: IN THE GREAT SOUTH BAY.]
The _Ghost_ was soon under sail again, and the shore was lost in the
fog. The breeze freshened a little, but the fog remained as thick as
ever. Occasionally a fog-horn could be faintly heard in the distance,
but whether it was blown on board a vessel on the bay, or a vessel at
sea a little distance beyond the beach, it was impossible to tell.
"We ought to have brought a horn along with us," remarked Charley; "and
it would be a good idea to stop somewhere and buy one. We ought to have
green and red side-lights too. We haven't any right to sail at night
without them."
"Why don't you insist on having a surgeon and a chaplain, and two or
three life-boats, while you're about it?" said Joe. "You forget that the
_Ghost_ isn't a man-of-war going on a three years' cruise. We can get
along without such luxuries as side-lights and surgeons. I'll tell you
one thing we do want, though."
"What's that?" asked Charley.
"We want somebody on the look-out in a fog like this."
"That's so," exclaimed Charley. "I forgot all about it. Go to the bow,
Joe, and keep the sharpest kind of a look-out. Boys, I'm not fit to be
Captain, for I've neglected one of the first duties of an officer."
"We'll forgive you," said Harry. "Especially as I don't believe there's
another boat on the bay to-day."
"Of course there isn't really much danger of running into anything,
unless it may be a sloop lying at anchor. Still, we--"
"What's that?" exclaimed Tom.
"Sail on the port bow!" yelled Joe, at the top of his lungs.
While Joe was still speaking, the mainsail of a big cat-boat suddenly
loomed up through the fog, and before the least thing could be done to
avoid a collision, the strange boat struck the _Ghost_ amidships, and a
chorus of girls' voices cried out, "Oh, my!"
"No harm done," called out Charley. "Let go the jib-sheet, Joe. Now hold
on to the side of that boat, boys, and don't let her get away till we
see if she is damaged." So saying, he put the helm hard down, bringing
the _Ghost_ up into the wind. The other boat had already dropped her
sail, and the two vessels were soon lying quietly side by side.
On board the cat-boat were four girls, three of them about fourteen
years old, and the fourth about ten. There was also a boy, who did not
seem to be as old as Joe, but who was apparently one of the "Bay boys,"
who spend most of their time during the summer in sailing boats of
various kinds, and who at twelve years old are often thoroughly good
sailors. The boy did not seem in the least alarmed, but the girls were
terribly frightened.
"Do, please, help us," implored the tallest and prettiest of the four,
addressing Charley almost as respectfully as if he were a man. "We are
awfully afraid to be out here in this fog."
"May I ask how you came to be out here?" asked Charley.
"Why, we started to go on a fishing picnic, and there wasn't any fog
when we started. Father and all the ladies and gentlemen are in the
other boat, and we've got all the provisions. We were going to an island
somewhere--I don't know where--to have dinner, and to go fishing; but
the fog came up, and we got lost, and we're so frightened!"
"I ain't lost very much," said the Bay boy; "that is, I can find my way
back to the shore by the wind; but I hain't got no compass, and I don't
feel very sure about fetching the island."
"When did the fog come up?" asked Charley.
"About three hours ago. It come up from the south-west, and if you've
come that way, you've had it longer than we have."
"I don't exactly see how we can help you," said Charley to the girl who
had spoken to him; "but we'll all be delighted to do anything we can. If
you like, we'll keep together, and try to find the island."
"Oh, I do wish you would!" exclaimed the girl. "It's so dreadful to be
all alone in this awful fog."
"Do you know how the island bears from the place where you started
from?" Charley asked the Bay boy.
"Put me back there, and give me a compass, and I could hit it to an
inch. Just try me once."
"We've got a compass," said Charley. "Let's run over to the shore and
get our bearings, and then we'll head for the island."
This proposal delighted the girls, and accordingly both boats set their
sails again, and running side by side, soon reached the shore. The Bay
boy declared that he now knew exactly where he was, and what course to
steer for the island.
"We want to steer a little east of south, and we'll fetch it," he said.
"You go ahead with your boat, and keep her south, half east, and I'll
follow right after you."
"You won't run away from us, will you, sir?" asked the pretty girl: and
Charley thought that he had never seen anything half so pretty before.
"If you don't mind," he said, "I'll come on board your boat, and then
you'll feel sure that our boats will keep together. Only you mustn't
call me 'sir.' You take the helm, Tom," he continued, "and keep her
south, half east; and you'd better slack the peak a little, or else
you'll out-sail us."
Without waiting to have his offer accepted, Charley sprang on board the
cat-boat, and after trimming the sheet, sat down, half frightened at his
rashness in thrusting himself among a boat-load of girls.
"Are you staying near here, sir?" asked the pretty girl.
"No. We're from New York, and bound on a cruise through the South Bay.
That is, the other boys are from New York, but I am from Annapolis. I'm
in the navy."
"In the navy!" exclaimed all the girls together. "Aren't we in luck,
Nina," added one of them, addressing the girl who had won Charley's
admiration, "to have a naval officer to take care of us? Now I don't
mind the fog one bit."
"I'm not much of an officer yet," said Charley, laughing; "and you've
got somebody here who can manage a sail-boat better than I can."
"Are you a lieutenant, sir, or a captain of the fore-top?" asked Nina.
"I'm only a cadet midshipman; but you really mustn't call me 'sir.' My
name is Charley Smith, and I'd be awfully obliged if you'd call me
Charley."
"And mine's Nina Stone; and as everybody calls me Nina, I suppose you
ought to."
So in a few minutes Charley and Nina were talking like old friends, and
the young Captain of the _Ghost_ found the time pass so pleasantly that
he was sorry when, after a long sail, the island was reached, and the
missing boat found at anchor, with all her passengers engaged in fishing
for weak-fish.
Mr. Stone, the father of the pretty Nina, was greatly relieved at the
arrival of his daughter; and when she had told him how the _Ghost_ and
her Captain had gone out of their way to escort the cat-boat to the
island, he shook Charley and his companions warmly by the hand, and
insisted that they should stay and join the picnic party at dinner. The
fog was already beginning to grow thinner, and there was every prospect
that it would soon vanish, and that the sun would come out. The boys
were getting hungry, and were not at all averse to spending the
afternoon in fishing. So they accepted Mr. Stone's invitation, and the
whole party went ashore, and had a delicious dinner of fresh weak-fish,
broiled on the coals. After dinner they went on board the boats, pushed
out in the channel, and anchoring, devoted the rest of the day to
fishing. The sun was now shining brightly, the fish were abundant and
ravenous, and the pretty Nina was fishing by the side of Charley, who
baited her hook, and took off her fish as fast as she caught them. When
the two cat-boats finally hauled up their anchors, and prepared to
return home, the boys felt as if they were parting from old friends. Mr.
Stone invited them all to come and see him in New York, and Miss Nina
told Charley that she should never forget his kindness to her. When her
handkerchief could no longer be seen waving over the waters, Charley
said that he was tired of fishing, and thought the cabin had better be
rigged up, and that all hands had better turn in early.
It was a rather gloomy ending of a delightful day. The young Captain
evidently felt very little inclined to talk.
"If we meet any more pretty girls," whispered Joe to Harry, as they were
lashing down the sides of the cabin, "we'll have to get a new Captain. I
can't see what some fellows see in girls. They can't play foot-ball, nor
wrestle, nor do anything rational, and I'd like to know what use they
are, anyway."
"Girls are all very well in their place," said Harry; "but I don't think
they ought to go sailing. They can do sums, for instance, for my sister
does mine for me sometimes. But I say, that was a pretty girl, though,
wasn't she? and she seemed real nice and jolly."
"She's the best girl I ever met," exclaimed Tom.
"That's so," said Joe. "I was only pretending not to think so, because I
didn't want to make Charley jealous. I tell you what, boys, we'll get
her to go fishing again with us some day."
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
[Illustration: "IN THE BARN."--FROM A PAINTING BY H. ALLINGHAM.]
HOW TOM RAN THE ENGINE WITHOUT WOOD OR WATER.
BY CHARLES BARNARD.
Once upon a time a rich man built a school for boys, in which they might
study surveying, engineering, mechanics, and the sciences one needs to
know to be a railroad man. This man began life as a train-boy, and
steadily pushed his way up to be fireman, engineer, master-mechanic, and
finally President of a railroad. He often said his own chance in life
would have been better if he could have gone to school when a boy, and
learned from books about steam and engines, levels, inclines, and
curves, before he undertook to fire a boiler or take a locomotive over
the road. As it was, he got his education by hard knocks, heavy work on
the engine's foot-plate, and weary toil in the machine-shop. So it
happened he built the school close to the repair shops of the road of
which he was President. He put good teachers and good books in the
school, and then opened it, free, to the sons of the brakemen,
conductors, engineers, and other men employed on the line. In the school
the boys were to study the science of the railroad and locomotive, and
then, if they afterward went to work on the road, they would not have
such a hard time as the train-boy who became President.
Twice every year the President offered a Waltham watch as a prize to the
boy in the school who should write the best composition on any subject
connected with the things they had been studying, or anything in
relation to engines or railroads. Tom Stayboltt, whose father was
conductor on the night express, had been in the school three years, and
had tried five times for the prize, and lost it every time. Tom was
regarded by all the scholars as the brightest boy in the school. He
stuttered in his speech, and his handwriting was as stiff as a
switch-rod, yet he was always at the head of his class. You could never
trip him on any knotty questions as to whether the cylinders were on top
of the boilers or under the tender. He knew the name and use of every
bit of metal in an engine, and it was believed by all the boys that he
was a good engineer, and could take his father's train right through to
the Junction, without running past a red light, or wasting steam on the
down grades.
The semi-annual prize had been announced, and nearly every boy in the
school was busy over his composition.
"I-i-it's no use, b-b-boys. I shall not try for the p-p-prize. I can't
write, and I never can t-t-tell--tell what I know. If they would give a
prize for doing something, I think I might g-g-get--get it."
Tom was a great favorite in the school, and not one of the boys laughed
at this speech. They were taught manners, as well as mechanics, in that
school, and the boys well knew that what Tom said was true. They might
write compositions and get prizes, but when it came to doing the things,
why, Tom Stayboltt would beat them all.
The day of the prize-giving drew near, and every boy save Tom was hard
at work over his composition. He had tried five times, and each time the
teachers had said his composition was very bad indeed, with the wrong
words, awkward sentences, and punctuation that was truly awful. Now it
happened that the day before the prize was to be given, a new locomotive
arrived on the railroad, and stood, without wood or water, on the track
of the repair-shop yard. It had been hauled up on the freight train, and
had never been used on the road. After school a number of the boys went
over to the yard to see the new engine, and among them was Tom
Stayboltt.
It was a first-class passenger engine, built for high speed, and looking
very handsome in its new paint and shining brass work. There were
several men looking at the engine as the boys came up, and they gathered
round to hear what might be said.
"An empty engine," remarked one of the men, "always seems to me a very
helpless thing. It is so big and heavy, it is impossible to move it
without steam-power, and yet it will not only move itself, but will drag
many times its weight at forty miles an hour over the line."
"It is not the engine that moves," said another man. "It's the wood or
coal and water--the fuel and steam. If it were not for the fire and
water inside, it could never move at all."
"I can make her go without w-w-w-wood--wood or water."
This remark caused a laugh from the boys, and even the men smiled at the
absurd statement. One man came over to where Tom stood, and said, "How
would you do that, my boy?"
"I'd rather n-n-not--not tell."
"Why not?"
"Because I n-n-never t-t-tried--tried it."
"Oh, you mean you think you could, but you have never proved your theory
by experiment."
"Y-y-yes--yes, sir."
The men and boys became wonderfully interested in this conversation, for
it was clear that Tom Stayboltt knew what he was talking about.
"Do you belong to the Railroad School?"
"Y-y-yes--yes, sir."
"You mean to try for the prize, I suppose?"
"No, sir. My handwriting is as crooked as a r-r-ram's h-h-horn--ram's
horn."
After that, nothing more of importance was said, and the boys, having
looked over the engine to their hearts' content, went home.
The next day at ten o'clock the entire school was marched into the
lecture-room of the school building to see the prize watch given by the
President to the boy who had written the best composition. All the
teachers were there, together with the fathers and mothers of the boys,
visitors, and people connected with the railroad. This prize-giving was
regarded as a great event along the line, and every man, from
engine-wipers to directors, wanted to be on hand to see whose son
carried off the prize. At 10.15, railroad time, the President and the
Honorable Directors, with their wives and daughters, marched in and took
seats on the platform, while all the boys stood up as a matter of
respect to the founder of the school. It was altogether quite a grand
and ceremonious affair, and was for the boys an impressive occasion.
When the directors and the ladies were seated, the boys sat down. Then
there was a speech from the head master, followed by one from a
director, and one from the President's wife. Then it came the
President's turn to give out the prizes. All the compositions, neatly
tied up in red tape, were laid on the desk, and when he stood up he
brushed them all one side, as if he did not care much for compositions.
His speech was short and very peculiar.
"Ladies and gentlemen, and boys of the school, I have carefully read all
the compositions, and while I think they are all excellent, I have
decided that this time the chance to win the prize shall be open to
those who did not write a composition."
This was a great surprise, and the boys wondered how this was to be
done. They knew the President was a just and honorable man, and would do
nothing unfair; so they accepted what he said in silence, though those
who had written the compositions were, of course, somewhat disappointed.
"Yesterday," continued the President, "I heard one of the boys say he
could run a locomotive engine without wood or water. If he can do it,
he shall have the prize. Is the boy present?"
There was a solemn hush in the room. Every one looked about, and
wondered if the audacious and foolish boy was there. Of course it could
not be done, and the President had taken this means to punish him for
his vain and idle boasting. As for Tom Stayboltt, he felt ready to sink
through the floor. Something must be done about it, and in a moment he
stood up, and said, in a clear, manly voice,
"I said so, sir; and if you will give me the engine, and Jerry Smith's
Mogul, I'll do it."
The sudden appearance of little Tom Stayboltt, pale and yet calm, and
the clear voice without a defect, caused a great sensation, and every
one turned in wonder to look at him. Some of the ladies wanted to know
what the boy meant by "Jerry Smith's Mogul," and the gentlemen with them
explained that it was a heavy freight engine of the "Mogul" pattern run
by Mr. J. Smith.
The President called Tom up to the platform, and for a moment or two
there was a whispered conversation between Tom, the head-master of the
school, and the President. Every one looked on with the greatest
interest, and wondered what would happen next. Tom seemed to have
convinced the two gentlemen that he knew exactly what he was talking
about, for the President smiled and shook Tom by the hand, and then
stood up and said to all the people:
"When I heard Master Stayboltt say yesterday afternoon he could run the
engine, I resolved to give him a chance. I therefore ordered a train to
be got ready, and I now invite the school and all their friends to go to
the station. We will take the engine out on the line, and Master
Stayboltt shall try for the prize by running the engine a mile without
wood or water. The engine has never been used, except on its trial trip,
and there is not a quart of water in the boiler or tank, nor a pound of
coal, or so much as a match, on the tender."
This proposal was received with the greatest enthusiasm, and the entire
company, ladies and gentlemen, teachers, boys, and all, marched down to
the station, and took a train of cars they found all ready for them. A
heavy "Mogul" engine backed up and took the train over to the
repair-shop yard, where the new engine stood. Several of the directors
got out and examined the engine, and declared there was no fuel in the
tender nor a drop of water in the boiler. The train was backed up to the
front of the engine, and it was coupled on. Every one got on board, and
the train hauled out of the yard, and took the main line, with the empty
engine trailing behind. As for Master Stayboltt, they put him on the
engine, and made him ride there all alone.
Tom didn't care; in fact, this was just what he wanted. The train ran at
a good speed for about ten miles into the country. Then it stopped, and
everybody hurried out to see the performance--or the failure. The road
just here was perfectly level, and there was a switch and siding. The
train was uncoupled from the engine, and run into the siding, out of the
way, and flag-men were sent up and down the line to stop all trains that
might interfere with the show. The people gathered round the cold and
silent engine, standing in a crowd on the grass by the line. Tom still
sat in the engine, and when everything was ready, the President said
that Master Stayboltt might now try for the prize.
The idea of that boy making an engine go a mile! It was very silly in
him, and no doubt he would now be properly punished for his vain
boasting.
"Are you ready, sir?"
"Y-y-yes--yes, sir."
"Then go ahead."
The people stood looking on, and quite ready to laugh at the poor boy's
failure. Ah! she moves. The big wheels turn slowly, and the cold and
silent engine rolled slowly backward. For an instant there was a laugh.
She was going the wrong way. She moved faster and faster, and the laugh
died away. Ah! she's slowing up. She has stopped. It's a failure. No.
Tom could be seen turning the reversing bar. The engine gave one loud
whistle, and started ahead. Faster and faster! On it came, and rushed
past all the people, at twenty miles an hour. How the people cheered and
cheered! It was wonderful. Tom was looking straight ahead, like a good
engineer. The ladies waved their handkerchiefs, and the boys shouted
until they were hoarse. Tom Stayboltt had won the prize.
The engine ran on about half a mile, stopped, and then came slowly back,
and stopped just before the President's pretty daughters. Tom came to
the window, and took off his hat and bowed politely to the ladies.
"How much pressure have you, Master Engineer?" said the President.
"T-t-twenty--twenty pounds, sir."
Then the school gave three cheers for Tom, and three more for the
President, for every one said it was far better to do something than to
write the best composition ever seen. Of course every one wished to know
just how it was done, and to make it all clear, the President mounted a
pile of sleepers, and told them the whole story.
"You all know that in a steam-engine is a boiler and a furnace, or
fire-box. Water is put in the boiler, and a fire is made in the furnace
precisely as in a tea-kettle on a stove. The water boils in the
tea-kettle, and we see the steam escape. In the engine the steam is
locked in, and can not escape, and very soon it becomes crowded, and if
still kept locked in, it will burst the boiler. Before this can happen,
the engineer opens a valve, and permits the steam to enter two oblong
iron boxes, called the cylinders. Here it meets a piece of metal, called
the piston, that fits the inside of the cylinder pretty closely. It can
not get past, and so it pushes the piston away to the other end of the
cylinder. As soon as this happens, the valves close of their own accord,
and the steam escapes into the open air with a loud puff. Then the steam
enters the other end of the cylinder, and drives the piston back again.
In this manner the steam pushes the piston to and fro as it tries to
escape from the boiler.
"Now there is a rod fastened to the piston, and passing through the end
of the cylinder. Each cylinder has one, and these are connected by means
of other rods with the great wheels of the locomotive. You now see that
the piston, driven forward and backward, moves the wheels, and thus it
is the escaping steam moves the engine. These rods you can see outside
the engine; the piston and valves are inside, out of sight.
"Now the air is elastic, like steam, and it may be used in any engine in
place of steam. If air is pumped into a tight box like a boiler, it may
be locked up, or compressed, and if we were to go on pumping, we might
burst the boiler with compressed air. Master Stayboltt knew all this,
and he also knew that when an empty engine is dragged along the rails by
another engine, as happened on our ride out here, the wheels will turn
round, and these move the rods and the pistons, and each cylinder works
like a pump. Instead of letting steam out, it pushes air back into the
boiler, and very soon the boiler is full of elastic compressed air
struggling to get out. Master Stayboltt, as soon as the train stopped,
opened the valves, and the air rushed out the way it went in, making the
pistons move, and the wheels turn round. Of course the air soon ran out,
and the engine stopped. This made no difference to us, for Master
Stayboltt clearly showed that he had learned his lessons well, and knew
how to apply them."
Then the President's youngest daughter climbed up into the engine, and
gave Tom the prize watch. The boys took him on their shoulders in
triumph to the President's car, every one got on board, the flag-men
were called in, and the entire party went gayly home with the empty
engine trailing behind.
BEES IN THE MEADOW.
BY MRS. SANGSTER.
Bees in the meadow,
Birds on the bough,
Bloom on the hill-side--
Play-time is now.
Stones in the pasture,
Weeds in the bed;
Haying and harvest,
Hard work ahead.
Loud sings the robin,
"If you'd be gay,
Take to the work, lad,
The _heart_ of the play."
[Illustration: PUNCH AND JUDY IN A CONVENT.]
PUNCH AND JUDY IN A CONVENT.
Although convents are religious houses occupied by nuns, who, under the
names of Sisters of Charity, Mercy, etc., devote their lives to doing
good by helping those who are sick or poor or in trouble, many of them
are also schools. Young girls are received within their walls as
scholars, and although they must all dress just alike, and submit to the
strictest kind of discipline, they are trained in habits of simplicity,
obedience, and industry that prove of great value to them in after-life.
These convent scholars are only allowed to see their friends from
outside the convent walls on one day of the week, and even then in many
convents they may only talk to them through iron gratings, as you may
see several of the girls doing in the picture.