Chapter XX: An Exciting Race for Liberty (2)

No trophy has been provided yet for this National championship. It is very important that there should be one, and the graduates of the schools ought to bestir themselves to collect a sufficient sum of money for the purchase of a suitable cup. I am very much afraid, however, that there is no single graduate with enough enthusiasm for the welfare of school sport to devote his time and energy toward persuading others to subscribe for a trophy, and even if there were he would have such a limited time in which to exercise his efforts that he would doubtless not be able to obtain a large enough subscription for his purpose. The cup which shall represent the National Interscholastic Championship ought to be as good as any of its kind, and ought to be put up for a number of years--say ten--and each year the name of the winning league should be inscribed upon it, the trophy to finally go to that association having its name upon it the greatest number of times. Further, I think that if such a cup were offered by the graduates, the National Association ought to award each year to the winning league a miniature cup of the same pattern, as a special evidence of that year's victory.

It would be far more to the interest of sport to have a valuable trophy of this kind to be contested for by the leagues, with small tokens only for individual prizes. Let the contest be among the league teams rather than among the individuals of the associations.

The tennis season is likewise upon us. Next Saturday will see the Harvard, Yale, Princeton, and Columbia interscholastic tournaments in full swing. There will also be an interscholastic tournament in Chicago, and it is possible that the winner may go to Newport for the championships.

The baseball season of the New England League began last Friday, and although it is too early yet to tell much about the various teams, it looks as if there would be some pretty good ball put up this season. Both C. H. & L. and Hopkinson's, who tied last year for first place, have strong nines. Lochman, who was the best catcher in the league last year, will take first base this season, and let Columbus go behind the bat. John Clarkson is to pitch, and his brother will play third. Both are brothers of the well-known professional pitcher, and ought to have baseball blood in their veins. Saul, captain of last year's victorious football eleven, is going into the field, and is counted on to do some batting.

For Hopkinson's, Captain Dickson will hold his old position of short-stop. Stillman is to pitch, and Carlton, who played half-back on the eleven, will catch him. Hallowell, also a member of last year's eleven, will look after left field. New men mostly will be tried for the other positions.

It seems necessary to repeat that no answers can be given in these columns to anonymous correspondents.

J. E. DOWNING, LOCUST VALLEY, N. Y.--In training for any kind of
athletic event it is best not to eat sweets or pastry of any kind;
but the most important thing is to take your meals at regular
hours, and not to eat between meals.

THE GRADUATE.

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.

About six months ago a 10c. Baltimore stamp on bluish paper was shown in Boston. This unique copy was badly damaged, and when offered at auction a short time ago failed to realize the reserve price of $1500 which was placed on it. The great find of St. Louis stamps in Louisville, Ky., last winter, stimulated every owner of old correspondence in that city to overhauling the same. Some good stamps were found, among them a 10c. Baltimore on white paper. This stamp has been sold to a New York collector for $4500, the largest price ever paid for a single stamp. The New Haven envelope sold for $2000, and one of the largest dealers in New York has since offered $3000 for it, or for a duplicate equally as good, but without success.

The Canadian 15c. now current has been withdrawn, and probably will not be reprinted. Collectors here, looking over their duplicates, find that they have very few copies. It will probably be scarce and advance rapidly in value.

England is about to issue stamps surcharged O. W. for the use of the officials in the "Office Works" department. As but few copies will be used, these stamps will be much sought after.

Z.--The 1872 U.S. 12c. is worth 60c.; the 24c. is worth $2; the 40
centavos Costa Rica official, $1.

C. BROODSTONE.--There is no duty on stamps imported into the U.S. I
cannot give names of societies, officers, etc.

NORMAL, ILL.--Your coin is a Spanish half-dollar. They were largely
used in this country before the war, and hence are quite common.

H. M. C.--The Continental note is a curiosity, but has very little
monetary value. Most of the notes can be bought of dealers at 10c.
to 25c. each.

PHILATUS.

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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.

Resuming our route to Buffalo, leave Richmond Hotel at Batavia, run a little south of west across the river, and keep to the right for a few rods, taking the middle fork a short distance out where three roads converge. Follow this turnpike, which is called the Buffalo road, direct to Corfu, eleven miles from Batavia; thence, following the same straight road, proceed five miles further on to Crittenden, and thence three and one-half miles further on to Peters Corners. This Buffalo road runs a little south of west almost in a straight line from Batavia to Buffalo, and it is possible to keep to it all the way into the city; but from Peters Corners on it is not in nearly as good condition as the road which is marked as the best route. Up to Peters Corners it is hard clay, level, and in dry weather makes excellent bicycle-riding. It is not so good in rain, however. The rider is advised to take the right fork at Peters Corners, and run out through Mill Grove to Bowmansville, which is seven miles from Peters Corners. From Bowmansville keep slightly to the right, and afterwards to the left over a bridge, and cross the railroad; continue on through Shultz Corners and Pine Hill to the city line, where asphalt pavement begins; thence proceed down Genesee Street to the corner of Main Street, where the rider may put up either at the Genesee or Iroquois Hotel. The distance from Batavia to Buffalo is thirty-seven miles, and if you have reached Buffalo you have done at least 461 miles since leaving New York.

For any bicyclist, whether he lives in New York, Albany, Utica, Syracuse, or Rochester, or anywhere along the route given in the last few weeks, this tour, either towards Buffalo or towards New York, is one of the best that can possibly be taken in this part of the United States. It is the long route which is most patronized by wheelmen. Consequently people are more likely to receive and more glad to see bicyclists; the hotels are more accustomed to them, and the facilities are greater than along any other route in the United States of similar length. And these stages, as given in this Department, will be well worth the study of any wheelman who has had some little experience in short runs, and who wants to spend his vacation during the coming summer by taking a somewhat more extended trip. If he runs out through Albany and over the route as explained to Buffalo, and wishes to return to New York, it will be well for him to take the route through New Jersey and Pennsylvania, which, perhaps, may be given some time in the future in the Bicycling Department. No one nowadays can find a better way to put in a two weeks' vacation than by doing some such nine-hundred-mile run as this. He need not ride every day. He may take it easily, running ninety or one hundred miles in a day, if he feels in condition for such riding, or he may stick to the thirty-mile distance marked on these charts.

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. Tottenville to Trenton in No.
820. Trenton to Philadelphia in No. 821. Philadelphia in No. 822.
Philadelphia-Wissahickon Route in No. 823. Philadelphia to West
Chester in No. 824. Philadelphia to Atlantic City--First Stage in
No. 825; Second Stage in No. 826. Philadelphia to Vineland--First
Stage in No. 827; Second Stage in No. 828. New York to
Boston--Second Stage in No. 829; Third Stage in No. 830; Fourth
Stage in No. 831; Fifth Stage in No. 832; Sixth Stage in No. 833.
Boston to Concord in No. 834. Boston in No. 835. Boston to
Gloucester in No. 836. Boston to Newburyport in No. 837. Boston to
New Bedford in No. 838. Boston to South Framingham in No. 839.
Boston to Nahant in No. 840. Boston to Lowell in No. 841. Boston to
Nantasket Beach in No. 842. Boston Circuit Ride in No. 843.
Philadelphia to Washington--First Stage in No. 844; Second Stage in
No. 845; Third Stage in No. 846; Fourth Stage in No. 847; Fifth
Stage in No. 848. City of Washington in No. 849. City of Albany in
No. 854; Albany to Fonda in No. 855; Fonda to Utica in No. 856;
Utica to Lyons in No. 857; Lyons to Batavia in No. 858.

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.

Can I tell you how to go about learning to write a story? Well, my dear Lucie, I would do so if I could, but unless the story comes to you of its own accord, I fear there is no chance of your ever being able to write it. You may acquire the art of writing essays and poetry and letters; but stories are like visits from the fairies or the angels, and they must come floating in at your open windows and doors, like flower-seeds carried by the wind. The story-writer is born, not made.

In a general way, however, there is this to be said: Let a story tell itself naturally, and do not waste your time on an introduction. Begin at the beginning, and stop when you get through. I have said before, and I here repeat the advice, to read good books. Every girl who has an ambition to write should form her style by reading the best books and thinking them over. A very good plan is to make an abstract of every book you read, and to copy parts you like into a common place-book of your own.

Now for something quite different.

I am asked by a girl friend to give my opinion about a pretty foot. Is it a short or a long foot, a broad or a narrow one, and do I recommend a particular shoe. How is one to avoid ingrowing nails, corns, and bunions?

My dear child, these painful deformities are caused, as a rule, by ill-fitting shoes. A shoe too short for the foot or a very high heel will cause an ingrowing toe-nail, a source of endless trouble and suffering. Wear low heels, and have your shoes a little longer than your feet, and you will not be troubled by bunions, which are swellings of the joints. Change your stockings very often, and bathe the feet twice a day to prevent corns. A pretty foot is a foot in the right proportion to the rest of the figure. It is not always a small foot. Indeed, a tall, large girl should not care for a foot fit only for a wee midget who needs a tiny boot and an elfin slipper. Never be ashamed of the size of your foot, but keep your shoes and boots in the nicest possible order.

Be very careful about buttons. A shoe with one or two yawning spaces where all should be neatness and trimness gives a disagreeable impression of its wearer. Whenever you can manage it, have several pairs of shoes at a time. They last much longer if relieved by one another; and when not in use keep your shoes in a box or bag away from dust, and with tissue-paper stuffed inside their toes to preserve their shape. Wear the nicest stockings you can procure. It is true economy to purchase the best foot-gear one can afford.

MARGARET R. B.--I prize your beautiful little letter, and am very
glad that you like Eugene Field's verses. Do you like Stevenson's
_Child Garden of Verse_? I hope so.

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A STORY OF STRIFE.

FIRST-PRIZE STORY.

BY F. M. MACNAUGHTON.

Was Jake Lawson a coward? Well, according to Strife Settlement standards there could be but one answer to that question, for how could a boy be anything else who was afraid of the river? The river! Why, the Strife babies were almost born in it. Its roaring was the first sound they heard. It was the lullaby that hushed them to sleep, and the morning call that wakened them. Ask any Strife boy what was the first sight he remembered, and he would say the river. Ask him when he learned to swim, find ten to one he could not tell you. Every boy in Strife learned to swim very soon after he learned to walk, and thenceforth lived almost as much in the water as out. Jake, the youngest of the four stalwart sons of Lawson, the lumberman, had done as the others--bathing, swimming, fishing, paddling--till the day when he had stood on the rocks overhanging the Big Rapid and seen his brother Jim drowned. To shoot this rapid was the ambition of every boy living within a day's journey of it, and one day Jim, then in his thirteenth year, said to eight-year-old Jake, "I am going to shoot the Big Rapid to-day, and if you want to see me you can run down to the rocks." So little Jake had trotted off, not for a moment doubting his brother's ability to successfully accomplish this or anything else he undertook. What could not Jim do? The handsome, strongly built, daring boy was the idol of the rather delicate little brother, and Jake stood on the rocks in fancy already announcing to his playmates that Jim had run the rapid, a feat not yet performed by any boy of his age. But poor Jim had undertaken a task beyond him this time, and Jake, looking helplessly down, had seen the canoe overturned and his brother swept away by the rushing, foaming waters. Once his head appeared above the current, and Jake fancied he caught an imploring look in the dark eyes, and then he remembered no more. When a Strife boy is missed he is sought by the river-side, and there Jake was finally found unconscious. A serious illness followed, and since then his dread of the river had been unconquerable.

The Lawsons mourned their son in their rough way, and when the bruised and battered body was recovered there were sad scenes in their humble home. But there were seven other children, and as time passed Jake's affliction, for so they considered it, was perhaps the greater trial. In the lumber region a boy who is not as much at home in the water as on the land is not worth much to his family, and Jake could give little or no assistance in the labor by which the family bread was gained. To his mother, who was often weak and ailing, he was of great assistance, there being as yet no grown daughter in the Lawson household; but the shame of his position preyed upon him. He knew that in the settlement he was an object of pity if not of contempt. He could fancy that the younger boys pointed at him as "that no-account Jake Lawson, skeered of the water and only fit to help women folk." And he knew that to strangers who came out to fish he was mentioned as the one boy over fifteen who had never shot the Big Rapid. He made many efforts to overcome his timidity, even "wrestling in prayer," but no help came. He used to force himself to go down to the banks of the Strife and watch the swirling, writhing, tossing waters, only to return with an access of terror. Why! the rapid seemed to him possessed of life! It was a very demon with teeth and claws, continually roaring for prey. Fierce eyes seemed to glare at him out of the foam, and shadowy arms to stretch towards him. At this stage he commonly turned and ran, only too thankful if he could gain home unobserved by the settlement boys.

He had one comfort. Education was not much thought of in the rough-and-ready backwoods family; "but bein' as Jake is so unlike other folks," said his father, "he might as well try to get a little larnin'. It's not as though we could ever make a man of him, so I don't keer so much about his spendin' his time; and they do say that book stuff sometimes comes in handy. I don't know nothin' about it, but if Jake can make a show anywhere let him get his chance." So, though the village school was six miles distant, Jake managed to attend pretty regularly for several years. The schoolmaster, who also did the little doctoring required in the settlement, took a great interest in the boy, in whom he soon discovered an unusual aptitude for study. He taught him many things not usually included in a village school course, and Jake while studying with him forgot his misery, but at home he could not get away from it. The roaring of the Strife seemed often like a voice proclaiming his cowardice. Sometimes he fancied that even strangers must hear it shouting "There goes Jake Lawson; he is a coward, coward, coward!" About this time his dream was to do some heroic deed and then die. Once owned brave, he would be too happy to live.

One afternoon he was feeling unusually depressed. A good job of lumbering at a distant drive had offered, and his brothers, with all the men able to work, had gone off gayly in the morning. Unusually good wages were offered, and old Lawson, who had been prevented from going with the others on account of a badly sprained ankle, had been unable to conceal his vexation that Jake could not join the party. He had said a few bitter words that the son could not forget, and then hobbled off to the yard. He had not been gone ten minutes when Jake heard a fall and a cry, and, rushing out, found that his father had stumbled over a log of wood, and, falling on an axe he was carrying, had made a terrible gash in his arm. By the spurting of the blood Jake knew at once that an artery had been severed. Without an instant's hesitation he tore open his father's shirt-sleeve and grasped his arm, pressing firmly against the inner edge of the biceps muscle, calling loudly at the same time for his mother. Mrs. Lawson came in haste and uttered a scream when she saw the quantity of blood that had already flowed from the cut, which was just above the elbow.

"Do not be frightened, mother," said Jake. "Father has cut himself badly, but I know just what to do. Please take the lace out of his shoe and give it to me."

The stout leather lace was handed to Jake, who bound it firmly round his father's arm above the wound, making a deep pressure, and explaining quietly to his mother, just as Dr. Barnes had to him, why this must be done. "And now, mother," said he, when Mr. Lawson had been helped into the house, "I must leave you and go for the doctor at once; but remember that the pressure _must_ be kept up. I do not think that the bleeding will begin again, but if it does do not get frightened, but tie a fresh cord, bringing the knot just over the same place. Tilly," addressing his twelve-year-old sister, who had stood by, "help mother all you can. Keep up your courage, father. Good-by."

He snatched up his hat and hurried out. By the road it was six miles to the village, and a mile in an opposite direction to the nearest place where he might hope to get a horse. And there were many chances that the horse might be away at work. No, he must walk, and it would be over two hours before he could bring help to his father, whose situation he knew to be critical. But there was one other way. If he went by the river the swift current would land him at the doctor's door in half an hour. It must be by the river, and he resolutely took the side path leading down to the pool where the boats were kept. A thought struck him that for a moment stayed his feet. He might not get through, and then no help would reach his father. It might be his duty to take the road, after all, unless a messenger could also be sent that way. But at that moment he sighted a boy who could be sent. Benny Masters, a ten-year-old boy, and one of the swiftest runners in the village, sat idly rocking in one of the boats.

"Benny," said Jake, "will you do something for me? Father has cut himself very badly. He may bleed to death. So I am going down to the doctor's by the river; it is father's best chance, but some one ought to go by the road in case anything happens to me. Will you go right off? And if I have not reached there, bring the doctor at once, and be sure to tell him just what the trouble is. Don't wait one minute for anything."

"Be you goin' to run the Big Rapid, Jake?" said Benny, with eyes wider open than they had ever been before.

"Yes; but don't wait a moment. I'll give you my knife if I get back; now run."

Benny raced up the path, and Jake, who had meantime untied the canoe, jumped into it and pushed it from the shore. And now for a moment his courage failed him, and he made no effort to guide the canoe, but covered his face with his hands, trying vainly to shut out sight and sound. He did not fear death; he had often wished to die, and to die giving his life for another, but he feared the demon; he felt himself in the grasp of the horrible creation of his fancy, that had held him in thrall for so many years; but the boat swept round the curve that brought the Big Rapid in sight, and the deafening roar of the waters brought him to himself, and, grasping the paddle, he headed the boat for the centre of the river.

Drawn by P. R. Goodwin, Winner of First Prize in Drawing Competition.]

The Big Rapid was nearly half a mile in length, and not really dangerous to an experienced person except in one spot, about the middle of it, where an enormous bowlder rises from the river, and, dividing the current, sends it rushing to the shores, only to fall back from the rocky walls in a wave that would upset the largest boat likely to be found on the Strife. Jake had heard so much about the rapid all his life that he knew the one chance of safety lay in passing as close to the large bowlder as possible without striking on a little reef of jagged rocks that surrounded it, and he exerted all his strength to head the boat accordingly. The waters foamed and roared all round him, and the boat was tossed about like an egg-shell; but he managed to keep it right side up and headed for the rock. In a few moments he had reached it, and was being carried towards the shore by the mighty side sweep of the current. He did his best to pull across it, but his strength was as nothing against the fierce rush of the water. Once within the grasp of that foaming wave, he knew that he and the canoe would be rolling over and over, and all hope be lost, and he redoubled his efforts. It was no use; he shut his eyes, expecting all to be over in a moment, when a sudden shock almost threw him out of the canoe, and, opening his eyes, he found he was again in the centre of the river. Looking back he saw he must have been struck by a side wave from an almost sunken rock, whose head he could see just above the water a few feet from the shore, and so carried out into the river again.

How he finished the run he never quite knew, but seemed to waken from a dream to find himself floating round and round in an eddy of the pool in which the rapid ended. The river was in flood at the time, and he was doubtless safely carried over many dangers, which might have beset him at low water. Fearing he had lost time, he paddled out into the current as quickly as possible, and in a few moments he ran alongside the doctor's landing. He jumped ashore at once, and, entering the little front garden, was met by Dr. Barnes himself, who exclaimed:

"Why, Jake, where did you spring from? You don't mean to tell me you came down the river?"

"Yes, sir," said Jake; "father has cut an artery, and we had to have help at once. I sent Benny Masters by the road in case I could not get through; if you meet him tell him it's all right, but would you please go as quickly as possible? I tied up his arm as you told me it should be done, but I am afraid that if the bleeding starts again mother will be frightened." Jake got out the words with difficulty. The excitement and strain of the last half-hour had been too much for him, and, his message given, he staggered and fell into the arms of the doctor, who carried him in, and, while his horse was being saddled, applied restoratives. Then, asking his housekeeper to get Jake to bed, he galloped off to Mr. Lawson's, arriving just in time to prevent serious results from the bleeding, which had recommenced in spite of Mrs. Lawson's efforts.

When Jake awoke next morning he could not understand what had happened to him. The rushing of the river sounded like music to him. He walked down to the shore half expecting that at the sight of the water the old terror would revive. But no; his burden had fallen from him; it was buried in the bright, cold waters of the Strife.

He was aroused by the clatter of a horse's hoofs, and turned round as Dr. Barnes, who had remained at Lawson's all night, rode up to the gate. He brought word that Jake's father was doing well, and wishing to see him; so, having already breakfasted, Jake started at once for home.

His mother was waiting for him on the door-step, and clasped him in her arms. She had, motherlike, always clung to the one of her children least promising, according to the accepted standards, and triumphed greatly that he had now won his spurs. His father did not say much, but grasped his hand in a way Jake never forgot, and the altered demeanor of his brothers when they returned went far to heal the wounds of the past. In fact, now that the stigma of cowardice was removed, the family began to recognize in Jake a higher type than themselves, and, advised by Dr. Barnes, who pointed as proof of his leaning that way to his coolness and nerve in dealing with his father's wound, they decided to give him an opportunity to become a doctor.

* * * * *

Prizes for Pen Drawings.

The Table offered three prizes of $25 each for the best stories written by Knights and Ladies of the Order. These prizes were awarded, and then a prize of $10 was offered to members who would best illustrate one of the stories. Those who wished to try for this illustration prize applied for and had mailed to them a proof, with hints about size. They were allowed to select their own subject. In order to afford them the largest possible scope proofs of all three stories were sent them. Out of three hundred who applied for proofs sixty return drawings. The best drawing received is the work of Philip E. Goodwin, aged 14, who lives in Providence, R. I. It is an illustration for "A Story of Strife," and it is now reproduced and printed with that prize story.

Although we offered but one prize, we award two others of $5 each, because two other drawings were received that seem to deserve that recognition. One is an illustration for "The Duke of Alva's Humiliation," drawn by Edmund F. Webber, New York, aged 17, and the other an illustration for "How Hector Saved the Train," drawn by Carl A. Bostrom, Washington, D.C., aged 16. Both drawings will be published with the prize stories which they illustrate.

Following are awarded honorable mention: Beverly S. King, Brooklyn; Robert Jerome Hill, Jun., Tex.; Louise C. Walter, Pittsburg; Annis Dunbar-Jenkins, Miss.; George J. Smith, Brooklyn; P. B. Greene, Philadelphia; Elizabeth Wright, Mass.; Francis Barrett Faulkner, N. H.; James Edmonds, Miss.; William O'Neill, Baltimore; and Caroline Bonsall Silves, Pa.

The prize money has been forwarded with the Table's congratulations, and all drawings returned to their owners save the three first-prize ones, which are retained for reproduction.

One may be neat and "bike" it too;
A muddy fall is naught to rue
Since Ivory Soap will soon restore
The fabric, spotless as before.

Copyrighted, 1896, by The Procter & Gamble Co., Cin'ti.

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A 25c. package makes 5 gallons. Sold everywhere.

PRINTING OUTFIT 10c.

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. Mailed for 10c. stamps for postage on outfit and catalogue of 1000 bargains. Same outfit with figures 15c. Outfit for printing two lines 25c. postpaid.

Ingersoll & Bro., Dept. No. 123. 65 Cortlandt St., New York.

THE POPULAR WORKS

OF

CAPTAIN CHARLES KING

* * * * *

CADET DAYS

A Story of West Point. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, $1.25.

CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK,

And Stories of Army Life. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, $1.25.

BETWEEN THE LINES

A Story of the War. Illustrated by Gilbert Gaul. Post 8vo, Cloth, $1.25.

A WAR-TIME WOOING

A Story. Illustrated by R. F. Zogbaum. Post 8vo, Cloth, $1.00.

* * * * *

LITTLE KNIGHTS AND LADIES

Verses for Young People

By MARGARET E. SANGSTER. Illustrated. 16mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25.

* * * * *

HARPER & BROTHERS, Publishers, New York.

A MUSICAL PAIR.

"We are a wonderful musical pair,
Our notes go sailing up into the air,
And then like rain
Come down again.
When Mr. Frog, as will be seen,
Will catch 'em all in his tambourine,
And put our notes
Back in our throats
To use once more
On another score.

"So don't be afraid to ask us to sing
A solemn song or some comic thing;
An opera grand, an opera small.
We've notes enough and to spare for all.
We can sing as high as a telegraph pole,
As deep as the hole where they keep the coal.
So step up soon
And name your tune.
Meanwhile we'll sing in our best-known manner
A line from the sweet 'Star-Spangled Banana.'"

* * * * *

MAMMA. "Ethel, what is the matter with you? You have been jumping all day long."

ETHEL. "I think it must be my spring tonic that makes me feel so."

* * * * *

OVERHEARD AT THE CIRCUS.

I've seen a whale that did fine tricks,
And nothing could be moister;
But what I most do wish to see 's
An educated oyster.

The monkeys race on ponies,
And the elephants all dance;
They've dogs that sing right in the ring,
And even pigs that prance.

They've boars that play at muggins, and
They've storks that know the waltz;
They've horses that stand on their heads,
A kangaroo that vaults.

But none of them, it seems to me,
The equal could be rated
Of one small shell-clad oyster that
Was really educated.

"You didn't shoot the lady through the hoop to-day," said the Hippopotamus to the Cannon.

"No," replied the Cannon. "They discharged me yesterday."

"I didn't think the Clown was very funny to-day," said the Kangaroo.

"No," replied the Hyena. "I was the only creature that laughed, and I only did it to prove that I was a real hyena."

"I had a bully time yesterday," said the Monkey.

"Did you?" replied the Giraffe. "What was it interested you?"

"What interested me? Why, looking at the children, of course! They're too funny for anything."

"Humph!" said the Elephant, "I'm going to resign from this circus."

"What's the matter?" asked the Leopard.

"I only received one pea-nut yesterday," replied the Elephant, "and that got mislaid in my trunk."

"Oh dear!" sighed the Hippopotamus. "I am so tired of this circus life. I wish some nice little boy would buy me for a pet. I'd love to sit in a little boy's lap and have him call me Fido, and let me crawl into his bed and bite his toes every morning like a puppy-dog."

"I don't see why boxes are so popular," said the Elephant, as he gazed about the arena. "I prefer a bag."

"A bag?" laughed the Hyena.

"Yes, a bag," said the Elephant. "A bag of peanuts."

* * * * *

"What we want is a breakfast."

The remark came from one of three very hungry young men who were aimlessly walking the streets of Paris. The other two agreed with the speaker, but wondered where the meal was to come from.

"Let us see," said the first; "a breakfast for us three will cost about ten francs. Now I have an idea, and all you've got to do is to follow me, taking the cue as I proceed."

He entered a music-store, the other two obediently following him. "I wish to sell you a song," said he to the proprietor. "My friend here will write the music, and my other friend will write the words, and I will sing it."

The proprietor looked at him in astonishment, but agreed to listen to the song, and, if it had any merit, to purchase it. Finally it was completed, and the young man sang it.

"Humph! it isn't much of a song, but I'll give you fifteen francs for it," said the proprietor.

"Done!" cried all three young men in a breath.

Alfred de Musset was the author, Hippolyte Maupon the composer, and Gilbert Duprez was the singer. The song was entitled, "Connaissez-vous dans Barcelone," and it had a great success, netting the publisher forty thousand francs.

* * * * *

End of Project Gutenberg's Harper's Round Table, April 28, 1896, by Various