Chapter VIII: Freefooted (1)

When I arrived at the flat rock I hurried into the suit of sailor toggery, damp from the wet of the dew; and making a pile, and a very small one, of my treasures, I ripped out the back of my embroidered waistcoat and tied them up in it.

Striking out for the highway, I soon gained it and started on a dog-trot, headed south. My lungs and legs must have been in good condition, for I kept it up steadily for an hour or so. (It may seem imagination, but I believe people can run faster and longer at night; maybe the distance seems shorter because we observe less clearly.)

Soon I began to recognize the well-known signs of approaching dawn. I had heard a fox bark up in the hills some time since, and now, as if in challenge, the crowing of cocks sounded and drowsy songsters fluttered twittering in the branches of the trees along the road. Before the sun had risen, round and red, the robins were piping and the thrushes tinkling their throat-bells on every hand.

I was in a new country, a much richer one than that of a few miles farther north; the farms were nearer together, and prosperity was plain on the face of the earth. The damp morning mists that hung over the brown new-ploughed ground smelled of growing things, and the buds on the trees, as they opened to the warmth of morning, scattered their scents lavishly.

I had signalled out at the bottom of a hill a house at which I intended stopping and getting a meal if I could; but as I went by a pasture I saw a man driving some cows through an opening in the fence. He saw me also, and hurrying about his work, he came walking toward me. I now perceived that my costume was a pass-word to people's hearts.

"Good-mornin', lad," hailed the farmer, who was a man past middle age. "Goin' off to sea again, be ye?"

"Yes," I replied, stepping to the fence. "Am I on the right road for Stonington?"

"Air ye in the navy?" he asked, without replying to my question.

"No; but I'm to ship aboard the _Young Eagle_ below."

"Oh, privateersman, eh? More money in it, I reckon. But there's no lack of glory in the sarvice. I have a son aboard the _Constitution_. He was in her when she fit the _Guerrière_. When I think of it, I allus feel like cheerin'."

And then and there the farmer took off his hat and gave three lusty cheers--in which, despite myself, and not knowing anything about the subject, I joined.

"My name is Prouty," the old farmer went on. "And my son's name is Melvin Prouty. Ye'll hear tell on him afore long. He's got promoted already. He's a quartermaster."

"Good!" I exclaimed, for notwithstanding my sailor's rig, I was supposing a quartermaster must be next to a commodore at least.

"Well, I won't keep ye. Good-luck and good-by," he said, extending his rough hand across the fence.

I shook it warmly, and picking up my small bundle, trotted down the hill. I covered some two miles more before I stopped at a farm-house for breakfast. Here I was received with as much honor as if my short stopping was to cast a blessing. I found that I had to adopt some subterfuge; and when asked what vessel I had served in, I replied, and with truth, "the _Minetta_, from Baltimore," and that I was bound to join the _Young Eagle_. Her fame evidently had spread broadcast, and I cannot forget the envious looks that were cast at me by a couple of youngsters, who requested to know if I had any pictures on my arms. As I had none, and had seen them on my voyage, and often before that, pricked into the skins of the sailors on the wharves, I determined to remedy this defect as soon as possible.

The goodwife of the house where I got my first meal insisted upon my carrying away enough to stock me for a voyage of two or three days; but it was mostly pie, for which I care little.

The main road was so well travelled that there was no mistaking it now. My legs, as well as my heart, seemed gifted with a desire to get ahead, and every one I met had for me a kindly wave of the hand, and would have questioned me breathless had I not made haste and hurried on.

By four o'clock that afternoon I had mounted to the top of the hill, and there I caught a glimpse of the ocean, and stretching to the westward, the blue sound. Oh, how the picture comes to me! The wide sparkling sea; here and there a white sail dotted on it, and the breeze, that was from the south, bringing the smell of it to my nostrils and setting my heart beating and thumping in my throat. Overhead a great hawk spun about in widening circles. I knew how he felt, for was not I free, and the world before me at my feet?

Out of pure joy and the loftiness of my spirits, I threw the Portugee cap into the air and caught it as it fell. And nothing would do but I must start at a headlong pace down the hill, jumping the water-bars and kicking my heels behind me as if I were a colt escaped from a pasture. By the time that I had entered the houses that clustered about the outskirts of the town it grew dusky, and I began to feel a trifle tired, for I had covered the distance of some thirty miles that day.

As the dwellings became thicker and I could see the clustering lights of the business portion of the town (it was past twilight), I felt a little trepidation. People had not paid so much attention to me as they had farther up the country, and I had run across one or two sailor-men, dressed much as I was (save the cap), who had hailed me good-naturedly. But I longed for a bed and a warm cup of coffee, and seeing a citizen leaning over a fence, smoking meditatively, I inquired my way to the best inn.

"I should 'a' reckoned that you'd 'a' known them all by this time, lad," he said; "but the best hotel is the United States, down near the wharves. Keep straight ahead."

Now the groups of sailor-men had increased; to all appearances they had gained possession of the freedom of the town of Stonington. They seemed to have captured the prettiest girls, or bargained to drink the place dry, for from a grog-shop a number of them reeled out, arm in arm, singing a song to a tune that I learned to know and sing well afterwards myself--"Hull's Victory"--and the sound of fiddles and dancing were to all sides.

It was only a few steps now to the United States Hotel, and I turned from the street and entered. A number of loungers were on the broad veranda. A group of men--one in a cocked hat and blue coat with brass buttons--were sitting about a table on which there was much to drink, and they were not slighting it.

But here no one gave me more than a glance, and I entered the coffee-room, where I found a corner and placed my little bundle at my feet. A hubbub of conversation and much strong tobacco filled the place, and the waiters were so busy that I did not know enough to insist upon gaining their attention, and no one sought me out. I had sat there but a few minutes when I became engrossed, listening open-mouthed to a group of seamen talking within a short distance of me. One of them was telling of the action between the _Hornet_ and the _Peacock_, and he interspersed his talk by constantly calling to those about him to drink the health of "Lawrence, the bravest officer that ever trod a deck."

I here learned that a man may be a hero by mere reflected glory, for each one who drank with him nodded to the speaker as if Lawrence were his name. Suddenly I perceived that a man in a long apron was standing at my elbow.

"What is the order, messmate?" he asked familiarly.

I replied by asking for some coffee, and stating that I would like to get a room for the night. This evidently caused him some surprise.

"Rooms come high," he replied, looking at me, "but I can get you the coffee, right enough."

I had seen one of the sailors, in paying his reckoning, wave back the change due him into the waiter's palm, so when the man returned, I offered him one of the gold pieces in my pocket. He looked at it curiously, bit it, and took it over to a table and showed it to some of the sailors. The man to whom he handed it rang it on the bottom of the upturned plate.

"Good gold," he said, "and French. I've seen 'em often."

Whether he told the value of it or not I do not know, but soon the waiter returned with a half-handful of silver coin. I waved it back at him, and the man's eyes grew large. He returned to the sailors and spoke to them.

"Just back from a cruise, I dare say," said one, looking over his shoulder at me, but not addressing me.

"He doesn't look it," replied another. "But one can't tell nowadays. There was a girlish-looking lad--" Here the man began a yarn in a low voice, and I buried my face in my coffee-cup, and almost scalded my throat, for it was steaming hot.

At this moment the waiter returned.

"I've got a room for you, messmate," he said, "and the best one in the house. If you've got your box ashore, I'll take it up myself."

"No, thanks," I replied. "I have nothing with me," hiding at the same time my little bundle with my feet.

I noticed that the man was looking very carefully at my hands. Although they were not soft exactly, as they had been hardened by the chopping of wood and the handling of hoe and spade, the life of the sailor-man stamps the hands so distinctly to the eye of a close observer that there is no chance for wrong in judging.

"Will you follow me? I'll show you up to the room," said the waiter-man.

I picked up my bundle and squeezed it under my arm, and followed him out of the room, creating no little comment, I dare say, for not a few craned their necks to get a look at me. In the hallway my guide stopped and spoke to a large florid person in a stained satin waistcoat.

"Here is the lad who wishes a room, Mr. Purdy," he said.

The big man looked at me from head to foot.

"It will cost two dollars, and we will give you your breakfast. Is it a lark of yours, lad? Eh? I know of a sailor with money giving a dollar bill to a cow to chew on for a cud. But it's your game to play the gentleman, eh?"

"I trust I am as much a gentleman as any one under your roof," I returned, hotly.

"Heighty-tighty! what have we here?" the landlord said. "I forget. The price is three dollars, and it's the last room in the house. I had partly engaged it to a _gentleman_ in a cocked hat, but he has failed to appear. Pay in advance, please, or you don't ship for the night."

I gave him one of the gold pieces. He slipped it into his pocket without comment, and told the servant to show me up stairs. The room was quite large and comfortable, the soft bed with the white sheets looked inviting, and I was so stiff and tired from my walking that I tumbled out of my clothes and drew the covers over me.

I thought that I should go to sleep at once, but as is often the case, thoughts prevent the proper closing of the eyelids, as if they were the doors of the mind. What was I to do on the morrow? It was full eight days ahead of the time that I had promised to meet Plummer, and I had but four gold pieces. A thrill of fright took hold of me when I thought that perhaps my uncle might follow me and fetch me back with him. The noise of shouting and loud talking below in the tap-room, and the singing and chattering on the streets, continued for a long time; and I tossed uneasily.

To the best of my recollection I had not lost myself in sleep at all when I heard some stumbling and laughing out in the hall; then the door to my room was pushed open, and a hand shielding a candle, the light of which dazzled my eyes so that at first I could not see clearly, extended through the doorway. A man entered, talking loudly to some one who was following him.

"Come in, come in, Bullard; and don't drop that bottle for the life of you."

A thick growling voice answered. "I've had all the bottle I want, Captain Temple," were the words I caught, and the second man came in. He also carried a candle.

"What is it you wish to discuss with me, sir, that we couldn't say before McCulough?" he went on.

"It's just this," replied the one addressed as Captain Temple (I recognized him as the officer who had sat on the piazza): "McCulough thinks to tie us down in some way, because he happens to own a few planks of the ship. Now I--"

The speaker had placed the light on the mantel-piece, and the other man did the same with his candle, snuffing it a little with his fingers as he did so; but what had broken off Captain Temple's speech was the sight he had caught of me sitting bolt-upright in the bed and blinking, I dare say, like a startled owl.

"In the name of Davy Jones, what is this?" he said. "What are you doing in my room?"

"It's a drunken sailor-man," said the larger one, holding one of the candles over his head. "Kick him out where he belongs. They're getting too high and mighty, anyhow."

The Captain, seeing my bundle lying on the floor, sent it flying through the open doorway down the hall, and the other man, with a stroke of his foot, swept up the rest of my belongings.

"Get out of this, you swab!" said the Captain, "or I'll keelhaul you well. No chin music, now! Come, get out!"

I was mighty angry by this time.

"I'm no swab or no drunken sailor, I'll have you understand," I replied; "and this is my room, and I paid for it."

The Captain muttered a curse and the other man commenced to grin.

"I'll spit you like a goose!" the former roared. "How dare you talk to me like that!"

He drew his sword and made one or two passes at me. Of course I do not suppose it was his real intention to inflict an injury, but the point came dangerously close to my throat. I had drawn the covers to my chin.

"Don't kill him, Captain; don't kill him," snickered the big one.

At this, moved by some impulse, I jumped to the floor. There was a narrow poker leaning against the empty fireplace. Shaking with fear, I picked it up and fell into the position of defence. The big man's laughter changed to an impatient tone.

"Rout him out, the impudent rascal," he said, "and I'll boot him down the stairway!"

The Captain could not reach me across the bed, so he came about the foot-board. He made a quick pass at me as if he would give me a good slap with the back of his sword. I parried it, and aiming a quick stroke at his head, I sent his cocked hat flying across the room. His return to this showed that he intended me some harm, for he lunged straight at my breast. Again I parried, and a second time the Captain lunged. He had gotten the point of his sword a little too far down this time, and I got over it a bit with the poker. I remembered the disarming-stroke that my uncle had shown me so often. With a quick turn of the wrist I caught his blade aright and absolutely hurled it from his hand. It clattered across the floor, and lunging forward, I caught him just below the shoulder with the point of the poker. Had it been a cutlass or a small sword, it would have surely run him through! As it was it staggered him, and he sat down backwards in the empty fireplace.

The big man was roaring down the hallway for help, and I could hear a charge being made up the stairs. The Captain looked up at me, however, curiously.

"Where on the big green earth did you learn that?" he said.

I was so full of emotion and fear of the consequence of my action that I could not speak, and stood there panting. A dozen faces had appeared at the doorway. The Captain extended his hand.

"Give us a lift, lad," he said. "I'm badly grounded."

I pulled him out of the fireplace, and a strange picture we must have presented, I in my shirt, and he slapping me good-naturedly between the shoulders so hard that it set me coughing.

"No harm done, friends," he said, addressing the crowd, that had now half filled the room. "Some pleasantry between me and this young gentleman. Bullard, you old squillgee, gather the lad's trousseau from the hall, and fetch it in here."

Affirming that it was just a joke, he and the Captain cleared the room and gathered up my things. The short man was looking at me curiously.

"Gadzooks!" he said, "but that was a master-stroke! Who are you and where do you come from?"

I was drawing on part of my clothing, and a fit of embarrassment had hold of me. Now why I spoke as I did I cannot account for.

"My name is Debrin," I replied, taking the name that my uncle was known by at Miller's Falls. "I've come to ship on board the _Young Eagle_. Cy Plummer spoke to me about her."

The Captain threw back his head and laughed.

"You'll ship all right, lad. I'm Temple, of the _Young Eagle_. What's your first name?"

"John," I answered.

"Go below, Bullard, and make out articles for this lad to sign--John Debrin, instructor in small arms. Never knew of one in a privateer before, but I'll create one."

Then and there he made me show him what I knew about handling a weapon. In fact he treated me as if I were altogether his equal, and I soon lost any feeling of discomforture. As this is the only time that I ever saw Captain Temple in such a mood, I have dwelt on it. But to shorten this part of my chronicle: I signed the articles that Bullard brought up with him, and insisted upon giving up my room, which the Captain apparently took with reluctance, and I slept on the floor in a corner of the hallway.

From my clothes Temple must have judged me a seaman, for he asked no questions on that head, and apparently was satisfied with the explanation that I came from Chesapeake Bay, had sailed in the brig _Minetta_, and had been taught swordsmanship by an old Frenchman.

I awakened in the morning with the puzzled consternation of one unused to find himself in new surroundings, and with the feeling that last night's goings-on had been a dream. A glance at the paper in my pocket, however, proved that it was not.

A strange day was before me. I seemed destined in life to be a mystery to the people whom I met, and circumstances kept up this position for some time to come, as will be proven. The landlord and the serving-men at the hotel treated me with such deference that had I been more of a sailor-man and less of an innocent, my head might have been turned, and I dare say I should have swaggered dreadfully--to be honest, I may have done so as it was.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

THE SCIENTIFIC USE OF KITES.

BY H. H. CLAYTON,

OF THE BLUE HILL METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATORY.

Kite-flying has been a pastime and a pleasure for many generations of boys and, indeed, of men. In China and Malay it is one of the chief sports for men. In China kites are made in strange and fantastic shapes, and are flown in great numbers on fête-days and holidays. It seems strange that some of the forms of Chinese and Malay kites were not long ago imported and used by our boys.

But kites are useful for science as well as for sport; and this scientific men are now finding out. Inventors and engineers have discovered that kites present interesting problems for experiment and study. Men who watch the air and the sky find that kites are useful in getting records of what is going on far above the earth's surface. Nearly a hundred and fifty years ago, in 1749, the idea of using kites for a scientific study of the air occurred to two young men in Scotland. They were Alexander Wilson and Thomas Melvill. They made half a dozen large paper kites as strong and as light as the materials would permit. They began by raising the smallest kite, which, being exactly balanced, soon mounted steadily to its utmost limit, carrying up a line, very slender, but of sufficient strength to command it. In the mean time the second kite was made ready. Two assistants supported it in a sloping direction between them, with its face to the wind, while a third person, holding part of the line in his hand, stood at a good distance directly in front. Then the extremity of the line belonging to the kite already in the air was hooked to a loop at the back of the second kite, which, being now let go, mounted superbly. In a little time it took up as much line as could be supported with advantage, thereby allowing its companion to soar at an elevation proportionately higher. All the kites were sent up, one by one, in this manner, the upper kite reaching an amazing height, according to the writer who described the experiment. It disappeared at times among the white summer clouds. The pressure of the breeze upon so many surfaces attached to the same line was found too great for a single person to withstand, and it became necessary to keep the mastery over the kites by additional help. In order to learn about the warmth and the coolness of the air aloft, these young investigators fastened thermometers to the kites. The thermometers had bushy tails of paper, and were let fall from some of the higher kites by gradual singeing of a match-line. However, these young men probably did not learn much in this way, because a thermometer sinking slowly or rapidly to the ground would change its temperature. The kites were found to be capable of useful scientific work, but self-recording instruments to be sent up with the kites were not then invented.

Two years later than the experiment described above, as every boy knows, or ought to know, Benjamin Franklin, by sending up a kite during a thunder-storm, and collecting a charge of electricity, proved that electricity is the same as lightning.

For another hundred years kites were used only as toys. Then came the present age of wonderful inventions, beginning about fifty years ago. For the first time instruments were invented which could be lifted into the air, and could make on a sheet of paper a record of all the changes through which they passed while aloft. In 1883 Mr. E. Douglas Archibald, in England, used kites for sending up instruments to measure how much stronger the wind was aloft than near the ground. In 1890 Mr. McAdie used kites as did Benjamin Franklin, in order to study the electricity in the air. By sending kites tied to a string around which was wound fine copper wire, he found that sparks would fly from the wire to his finger, even when the sky was clear. When a thunder-storm came in sight the sparks became so strong that it was thought best to bring the kites down, on account of the danger. Within the last ten years M. Richard of Paris, and Mr. Fergusson of Blue Hill Observatory, have made instruments so simple and so light that at Blue Hill Observatory we now have instruments weighing less than three pounds, which record on a single sheet of paper how cool or warm the air is, how damp it is, how dense it is, and how fast it moves. One of these instruments, lifted by several kites all tied to the same line is easily sent up a mile or more above the top of the hill from which the kites are flown. On August 1, 1896, an instrument weighing three pounds was sent 6700 feet above the top of Blue Hill, near Boston. It was then 7333 feet above the level of the sea, or more than a thousand feet higher than the fop of Mount Washington, the highest mountain in New England. The highest kite was then higher than the instrument by more than a hundred feet.

Mr. W. A. Eddy, of Bayonne, New Jersey, has used the kites successfully at Blue Hill and at Boston for taking photographs of the surrounding country from a height of several hundred feet in the air. The camera is fastened to the kite-string, and the exposure of the plate is made by pulling a second string which hangs from the camera to the ground. One of the photographs, taken several hundred feet above Blue Hill, is shown here. The picture gives the Blue Hill Observatory and the country for several miles around.

Mr. J. Woodbridge Davis proposed to use kites for sending life-lines to vessels wrecked near the coast, and devised kites for this purpose which could be steered to any point nearly in a line with the wind.

The largest kite ever built was lately made by Mr. Lamson at Portland, Maine. This kite was built on the plan of Hargrave's kite, shown in one of our pictures, except that the cells were curved, and various other improvements made in construction. This kite was 32 feet long, and had 900 square feet of surface. It weighed about 150 pounds, and lifted a dummy-man weighing 150 pounds several hundred feet into the air. Then the cord broke, and kite and dummy floated off into an adjacent swamp.

To see the air lift such weights astonishes most people, because in the quiet of our rooms we move through the air without an effort, and it even fails to support the lightest and downiest feather. But give the air enough motion and it will lift anything made by man. In the terrific wind of a tornado houses are lifted and burst like egg-shells. Even locomotives are not too heavy for such winds to lift. A locomotive is said to have been lifted in a tornado at St. Louis and carried fifteen feet. At Blue Hill we find that the kites in a wind that blows 10 miles an hour lift about two ounces for each square foot of surface; in a 25-mile wind they lifted about a pound for each square foot; and in a 40-mile wind, nearly three pounds for each square foot.

The recent interest in kites has brought about a great improvement in their forms. The Malays discovered that a diamond-shaped kite constructed with two sticks could be made steady in the wind, and could fly without a tail if the cross-sticks were bent backward and tied with a cord so as to hold them in the shape of a bow. A writer in the _American Boys' Handy-Book_ calls a kite of this form a Dutch kite, indicating that it has been flown for a long time in Holland. Mr. W. A. Eddy, of New Jersey, is one of the first persons who have attempted to improve the kite for scientific use. He did this by making a kite with the bowed cross-sticks longer and nearer the top than they are in the Malay or the Dutch kite. Mr. Eddy's kite is illustrated in Fig. 1.

To make a kite of this kind five feet tall the sticks should be about 1/2 by 3/8 inch cross-section if only two sticks are to be used; but if they are to be strengthened by cross-sticks, as is done at Blue Hill, they should be about 3/4-inch wide and 1/4-inch thick. These sticks can easily be sawed out of a board of the proper thickness. A B and C D should each be 60 inches in length. C E should be 18 per cent. of C D; that is, in a five-foot kite A B should cross C D 10.8 inches below the top of C D. O is the centre of gravity, or the point where the kite balances when supported on the finger. It is placed about 35 per cent. of the distance from C to D. In the simplest form of construction A B is bent backward like a cross-bow (see Fig. 2), and tied so that the deepest part of the bow is about one-tenth of the length of A B. The lower part of the kite should be strung first, and the eye should not be trusted to make A D and B D equal. The distance should be carefully measured, because the success of the kite depends on the exactness of these proportions. In bending A B great care is required to make the bend on one side of the point of junction at E exactly symmetrical with the other bend. The slight bagging inward of the covering of the triangle A E D should be equal to the bagging of B E D. If the kite flies sidewise, owing to inequality in the two sides, it can be partly remedied by tying half-ounce or quarter-ounce weights at A or B. If A should swing too far to the left, tie the weight at B. If B should swing too far to the right, tie the weight at A. The hanger should be tied in front of the kite at E and D, and when pulled sidewise should extend nearly to B, and have a loop or ring tied in it an inch or two inches below B for the kite line. To make Eddy's kite strong and trustworthy, a more complex method of building it, adopted by Mr. Fergusson at Blue Hill, is as follows:

A drawing of the actual size of the kite is made on a floor or a table, and four screws are driven into the positions occupied by the corners, leaving the heads projecting about a quarter-inch. The cloth covering is then stretched over the floor or table, and tacked down several inches outside of the edge of the kite, as outlined by the screws. A piece of cord for the edge is then passed around the outside of the screws, drawn tight, and tied at the top by a square bow-knot. A knot is also made just below each of the corners at the sides so that when the cover is transferred from the floor to the sticks the knot will prevent the ends of the cross-sticks from slipping downward, because that is the cause of most of the trouble due to bad balancing. The cover is then pasted to the cord, a lap of about one inch being sufficient, and the cord is left bare at each corner where it passes over the screws. It is well first to wet with water the part of the cloth which is to be pasted, and the paste should be rubbed into every part of the cloth, and a smooth seam should be made. The cover should not be removed from the screws until perfectly dry. While it is drying, the kite-frame can be made. The upright stick is made of two flat sticks fastened at right angles to each other, so as to form a T; that is, they have that appearance when looked at endwise. (See bottom of Fig. 4.) The two sticks are glued to each other, and then firmly lashed. For the cross-stick A B two sticks set at an angle to each other are used instead of a single bowed stick. The method of making the angle joint is shown in Figs. 3 and 4. In a piece of square brass tubing, B, is cut a slot, into which fits the upright stick, C D. The tubing is then bent around the upright stick, C D, to the angle desired; a piece of wood, E, is fitted to the angle, and the whole is firmly lashed together. The ends A and B of the two arms of the cross-stick are driven into the ends of the tubing and strengthened by a brace, F. The frame is then ready for the cover, and the proportions are the same as those of the kite with two sticks. The ends of the sticks are notched to receive the loops of cord left at the corners of the cover, and the cover is slipped over the frame with the knots at A and B beneath the ends of the stick. The cord in the cover should then be lashed to the sticks, except at C (Fig. 1), and coated with glue, in order to prevent the cover from drawing away from the corners. The cord at C is left free to permit adjusting the tension of cover and string by retying when necessary. These kites will fly without a tail, but they are much steadier and better if flown with a tail, like the one invented by Mr. Archibald. This tail does not act by its weight, since it should weigh only one or two ounces, but by the pressure of the wind on it. It is made of two or three cloth cones joined to each other and to the end of the kite at D (Fig. 1) by a fine cord. The front of each cone is made of a wire ring, stiff enough to hold its shape, and two cross-braces of wire, or two cross-strings, as shown in Fig. 5. The tail string is tied to the braces in the centre of the ring, and passes down through the end of the cone, and several feet beyond it, where a second cone may be attached. To make the kite lift well, and to fly it in wet weather, it is best to cover the cloth and sticks with varnish which is mixed with rubber to make it elastic, as suggested by Dr. Stanton. The following proportions are used at Blue Hill: Pure rubber, shredded, 2 ounces; bisulphide of carbon, 2 to 4 pounds. When the rubber is dissolved, this solution is mixed with spar-varnish in the proportion of 2 pounds of the solution to 1 pound of varnish, and thinned with turpentine. Apply a small quantity at a time, evenly distributed, and give two or three coats.

A new form of kite was invented a few years ago by Mr. Hargrave, an Australian inventor, who is devising a flying-machine. A picture of a Hargrave kite floating in the air, taken from a photograph made by Mr. Alexander McAdie, is shown in the illustration. In this kite the wind acts on a number of thin strips rather than on a single broad surface, and at the same time it gets steadiness of flight by putting the planes in pairs in two directions, and adding side planes. The general principles to be remembered are to have the width of the kite five-sixths of its length, the width of the cells a little less than a third of the length of the kite, and the depth of the cells the same as their width. The description of Hargrave's improved kite appeared in 1895. Since then numerous forms having something of his principle have been invented. The most interesting are Lamson's multiplane and schooner kites, Potter's diamond kite, and Hammon's hemispherical kite, all shown in the illustrations. No tails are used with any of these kites.

Mr. Hargrave's kite is complex, and not easy to build. Simpler forms of the frame have been used at Blue Hill, but probably the simplest and best frame is that devised by Mr. S. C. Keith, Jun., and described here for the benefit of those boys who may wish to try one.

The cells have the same shape and appearance as Hargrave's kite, shown in the picture, but the frame is different.

Fig. 6 is a plan of the kite; Fig. 7 is a side view; and Fig. 8 an end view. In Figs. 6 and 7 the stick M N is 66 inches long, and has a cross-section of 1/2 by 3/8 of an inch. At C D and A B are cross-sticks, two at each place. An end view, at A B, is shown in Fig. 8. The cross-sticks A F and B E are 33 inches long, and 3/8 inch square, or even smaller. Small screw-eyes like those used in hanging pictures are screwed into the ends of each stick. Pass a strong wire or cord--steel piano-wire is best--through the screw-eyes at A B E and F (Fig. 8), and fasten it firmly at the corners by a cord, or otherwise, making A E and B F 14 inches, and A B and E F about 30 inches. Next pass a wire from M through the screw-eyes at C and A to N (Fig. 6), and then on through F and G (Fig. 7) to M again, and fasten it. Pass a similar wire on the opposite side of the kite from M through D B N, etc., to M, and fasten it. These wires, and also the wire around A B E and F (Fig. 8), should be light. It is best to have turn-buckles at some point in each wire, so that it can be tightened after it is in place. Since the sticks at A E F B and C D G are liable to slip along the wire, it is necessary to hold them by stays tied to M and N. The cells are made of cloth (nainsook being the best). After the cloth is folded over at the edges, and hemmed or pasted, it is in two strips, each 14 inches wide and 90 inches long, so that the strips will pass entirely around the kite-frame and form two cells, D P and R B (Fig. 7). The distances from the line B F to N, and from the line D G to M, is 9 inches, and the distance P to R is 20 inches. The cloth, after being fastened around the kites, should be tight and smooth. This can be obtained best by putting lacing-strings in the edges, and making the cloth 3 or 4 inches shorter than the measure given above--say 86 inches. The cloth should then be fastened to the corners of the sticks, and also to the wire which passes around the kite at C D and A B. Next, the edges of the two cells should be laced together all around by cords running across from one to the other, as shown by the dotted lines in Fig. 6. To fly the kite, tie a strong cord at M, and also at the other end, where M N joins the cross-sticks which run from B and F. (See the broken line in Fig. 7) Tie a ring or a loop-knot at O at the rear edge of the cell D P (Fig. 7). Or the hanger may be tied at M, and brought down under the cell D P. In that case the ring O should come farther forward. It also insures steadiness to run two strings from O, one to F, and the other to E. The kite-string is tied in O.

The best material for the construction of a kite is straight-grained spruce. The best covering is bond paper, nainsook, or silk.

THE PINGRA POL.

BY ALLAN FORMAN.

"Shall we visit the Pingra Pol to-day?" said my Parsi friend, who was hospitably showing me the sights of Bombay.

"Oh, certainly!" I replied, with alacrity, though I had very vague notions as to what a Pingra Pol might be, and cherished a hazy idea that he was some sort of dignitary of the Hindoo Church, an archbishop or the like.

"You know what the Pingra Pol is?" queried my friend, as we seated ourselves on the cushions of his neat little gharry behind a team of spotless white bullocks not much larger than calves. Our driver, clad in flowing white garments and an enormous white turban, was seated in front of us astride the tongue, and seemed to guide his animals by patting them on the flanks. The willing little beasts started off on a brisk trot in the direction of the native city, and my friend repeated his question.

"So you do not know what the Pingra Pol is?" he said, smiling.

"I have not the slightest idea," I replied.

"It is our hospital for worn-out and disabled animals, and it is one of the oldest and most extensive charities in the world. In your country, if an animal breaks its leg or otherwise injures itself, you kill it to 'put it out of its misery'; we hold that life is sweet to even the humblest of God's creatures, and that we have no right to take away that which we cannot give again. So, instead of killing our disabled animals, we care for them until they die a natural death. This is a part of the religion of all Hindoos, but some sects are much more strict in their observance than others. The Jains, for example, will turn out of their way on the street to avoid stepping on a bug or a worm, and after going to the temple they wear a cloth across their mouths until sunset, that they may not breathe in any living creature."

While he was talking we had been trotting rapidly through the narrow streets of the native city, past gorgeous Buddhist temples, the gay residences of the wealthy Hindoos, and the tiny shops and squalid huts of the poorer people. At last we came to a high wall of dried clay which surrounded an enclosure of about ten acres. On one side was a great gateway, devoid of ornamentation, but forming a resting-place for scores of monkeys. Little monkeys and big monkeys; busy, nervous mother monkeys, at their wits' ends to keep their lively youngsters out of trouble; and gray, dignified grandfather monkeys, who looked down upon us as if they were proprietors and managers of the whole busy scene. Myriads of little green parrots screeched and swung in the trees which overhung the wall, and blue pigeons plumed themselves in the sunshine. Through the gateway came the lowing of cattle, the yelping of dogs, the quacking of ducks, and a strange medley of noises that sounded like a barn-yard gone mad.

We alighted, and passing through the gateway, where we were provided with a guide and a quantity of "gram"--a peculiar native grain which tastes something like pea-nuts--we proceeded to make the rounds of this strange hospital. A dozen or more camels with broken legs, ragged and disreputable looking, glowered at us with evil eyes.

The natives say that a camel's greatest delight consists in biting a man; they can kick, too, in a way that would make an American army mule blush with envy; but they enjoy biting better; they can then witness the pain of their victim, while if they only kick him they have to go over to an adjoining county to view the remains, and a camel hates to exert himself. From all I have been told, I judge that a camel is a very even-tempered animal--always ugly.

From the camels we pass on to the horses, about three hundred of them, housed in comfortable box-stalls around the walls. Dainty Arab ponies, sleek and well kept, but with a leg dangling limp and useless. They crowd about you for caresses, for the Arab pony is a pet by long generations of breeding, and he craves attention like a house cat, rubbing against you, and pleading with his soft brown eyes for a lump of sugar or a bit of salt. Great rawboned "Walers," as the horses which are imported from Australia for the use of the English army are called, stand side by side with the shaggy rough little hill ponies, which are apt to be vicious, and make but a poor showing in comparison with the lovable, graceful Arabs. Some dozens of gray donkeys, looking as forlorn and dejected as only donkeys can look, yet fat, sleek, and lazy, complete the equine section.

All this time we have been threading our way among broken-legged and broken-winged ducks, cats of all sizes, ages, and colors, and in all stages of decrepitude, solemn storks standing on one leg, gulls fighting over some scrap of food that has been thrown to them, tiny striped squirrels scampering up and down the trees, pigeons without number, and monkeys everywhere. It seemed to me that there were enough monkeys to stock all the menageries in the world.

The monkeys, the gulls, the parrots, the storks, and the squirrels are not legitimate occupants of the Pingra Pol, but they have discovered a place where they are kindly treated and well fed, and where that despised and detested creature, man, has to turn out for them instead of making them fly or scamper out of his way, and they are not slow to realize its advantages. One has to witness it to appreciate the malicious joy a bedraggled stork can find in standing directly in the middle of the path and refusing to budge while the unfortunate human carefully skirts round his storkship in the mud. Then the bird raises his head, ruffles, out his neck feathers, and winks a wicked wink of triumph, and you feel that they make entirely too much of animals in India.

But we have not nearly finished the Pingra Pol yet. From the horse enclosure we pass into a much larger court, devoted to animals of the cow kind. Here are upwards of fifteen hundred water-buffaloes, trotting-bullocks, sacred Brahmin cows, oxen, some deer and antelope, and innumerable goats. With the exception of the water-buffaloes, the motley collection is hardly worth looking at; they are fat, lazy, and appear to be perfectly contented. The water-buffaloes, which I recently saw described at a travelling circus as "the ferocious Bovapulous from the jungles of India," is a most grotesque beast--a smooth skin of faded black with hardly a hair on it, stretched over so clumsy a carcass that it looks as if it were badly stuffed, a great head bearing a pair of the most ferociously villanous horns, and lit up by as mild a pair of light blue eyes as ever beamed from the countenance of a Quaker. The combination of the piratical horns and the peaceful eyes gives the beast a strange, contradictory appearance. It is a harmless creature, and when not wallowing in the mud, it trudges patiently after its owner from house to house, and furnishes the best milk procurable in India, unless you happen to have the rare good fortune to secure the produce of an imported English cow. These poor beasts are almost all broken-legged, and while it is satisfactory to see that they apparently suffer no pain, they are too contented to rouse much sympathy.

With the dogs, however, it is different. There are three or four hundred of them confined in great cages in a large court-yard, and they are the only occupants of the Pingra Pol who do not seem satisfied to remain there. They are all yearning for human companionship, and the barks and yelps which greet the visitor as he passes their cages are most pitiful. "Take me away with you; I will be a good dog for you; take me with you," is the burden of the canine chorus, and the expression of dull despair that succeeds the hope that lights each doggy face is enough to melt the heart of the most rabid dog-hater. There are a few good dogs here--setters, Great Danes, and mastiffs, and other imported animals which have been injured and sent here by their owners--but the most of them are what are known in India as "dogs of sorts," meaning all sorts, or, as a friend of mine said, "the most thoroughbred mongrels he ever saw." But some of these mongrel curs make the most faithful and affectionate canine companions, and it is surprising the accession of dignity and self-importance that will come to the humblest "yaller purp" of the streets when he is adopted by a good master. The English residents use the native mongrels to hunt jackals, as they use fox-hounds for foxes in England, and the pluck and endurance of the unpromising-looking beasts surprise a good many Englishmen who have been used to hunting behind the carefully bred fox-hounds of the mother-country.

But a globe-trotter can't be encumbered with pets, and we pick our way out of the Pingra Pol, carefully avoiding the ducks, pigeons, and other small fry which squat unconcernedly in our path, and dodging as best we can the sticks and straws which the ever-active monkeys try to drop on our heads.

"Well, what do you think of one of the oldest charities in the world?" inquired my Parsi friend, as we passed through the gateway and seated ourselves in the bullock gharry.

"It is very interesting, but it must cost a deal of money to keep all those animals after they have ceased to be of any use," I answered.

"Yes; but we cannot kill them, and if one recovers so that it can be worked, or if there is healthy increase, they are given to deserving persons who will treat them kindly. The Pingra Pol is supported by voluntary contributions from the Jains, Parsis, and other Hindoo sects; there are others in Ahmedabad, Jeypoor, and other large cities. In Ahmedabad, which is the headquarters of the Jain sect, they have a building for fleas. When a pious Jain catches a flea among his scanty garments, he does not do as you cruel Occidentals do, ruthlessly crush the poor insect. Oh no! He carefully carries it to the Pingra Pol, and deposits it in the flea-house, where every day a brawny coolie is paid to spend a few hours and give the inmates a square meal," and my friend laughed as if he were not in thorough sympathy with the extreme customs of the Jains.

I found subsequently that this same regard for animal life extends all over India. The monkey, the gray crow, and the green parrot ravage the gardens and fields undisturbed save by ineffectual scarecrows. Occasionally a house-servant would catch a crow and wire a soda cork on his bill, but I fancy that the crows regarded it as a mark of distinction; the wild peacocks committed such depredations in the vicinity of Jeypoor that the people were obliged to employ double sets of watchers to drive the birds out of their gardens. And in Agra the monkeys became such a nuisance that the native merchants joined together, chartered a train of flat cars, which they plentifully covered with gram, and when the train was well loaded with monkeys busily engaged in eating, they ran it up country into the jungle about two hundred miles. I am assured, however, on the authority of a Judge of the Supreme Court of India, that the monkeys, like the cat, came back, and that each brought with him seven new chums who had been lured from their native jungle by tales of city life as told by the involuntary wanderers. I will not vouch for the accuracy of the figures of my friend the Judge, but I did not miss any monkeys in Agra or any other part of India. But while the monkeys and birds are a nuisance, it is far pleasanter to see them taken care of than killed in wanton cruelty, for "sport."

After a season that has been unusual in more respects than one, the New York Interscholastic football games have come to an end, and De La Salle stands as the champion of the League. The final game was played on the Berkeley Oval, a week ago Saturday, between De La Salle and Trinity, the former winning by a score of 2-0.

De La Salle has the ball on Trinity's 10-yard line.]