Chapter XVII: Diverging Roads

“Get up, Pierre. You should be ashamed of yourself!”

It needed a strong and firm grasp to force the terrified lad to his feet, and even when he, at last, stood up he shivered like an aspen.

“A grave!”

“Certainly, a grave. But neither yours nor mine. Only that of some poor fellow who has died in the wilderness. I’m sorry I piled the brush upon it, yet glad we discovered it in the end.”

“Gla-a-ad!” gasped the other.

“Yes, of course. I mean to cover it with fresh sods and plant some of those purple orchids at its head. I’ll cut a cedar headstone, too, and mark it so that nobody else shall desecrate it as we have done.”

“You mustn’t touch it. It’s nobody’s--only a warning.”

“A warning, surely, that we must take great care lest a like fate come on us; but somebody lies under that mound and I pity him. Most probable that he lost his life in that very whirlpool which wrecked us. Twice I’ve been upset and lost all my belongings, but escaped safe. I hope I’ll not run the same chance again. Come--lie down again and go to sleep.”

“Couldn’t sleep; to try in such a haunted place would be to be ‘spelled’--”

“Pierre Ricord! For a fellow that’s so smart at some things, you are the biggest dunce I know, in others. Haven’t we slept like lords ever since we struck this camp? I’m going to make my bed up again and turn in. I advise you to do the same.”

Adrian tossed the branches aside, then rearranged them, lapping the soft ends over the hard ones in an orderly row which would have pleased a housewife. Thus freshened, his odorous mattress was as good as new, and stretching himself upon it he immediately went to sleep.

Pierre fully intended to keep awake, but fatigue and loneliness prevailed, and five minutes later he had crept close to Adrian’s side.

The sunshine on his face and the sound of a knife cutting wood awoke him; and there was Adrian whittling away at a broad slab of cedar, smiling and jeering, and in the best of spirits, despite his rather solemn occupation.

“For a fellow who wouldn’t sleep, you’ve done pretty well. See--I’ve caught a fish and set it cooking. I’ve picked a pile of berries, and have nearly finished this headstone. Added another accomplishment to my many--monument-maker. But I’m wrong to laugh over that, though the poor unknown to whom it belongs would be grateful to me, I’ve no doubt. Lend a hand, will you?”

But nothing would induce Pierre to engage in any such business. Nor would he touch his breakfast while Adrian’s knife was busy. He sat apart, looking anywhere rather than toward his mate, and talking over his shoulder to him in a strangely subdued voice.

“Adrian.”

“Well?”

“Most done?”

“Nearly.”

“What you going to put on it?”

“I’ve been wondering. Think this: ‘To the Memory of My Unknown Brother.’”

“Wh-a-a-t!”

Adrian repeated the inscription.

“He was no kin to you.”

“We are all kin. It’s all one world--God’s world. All the people and all these forests, and the creatures in them. I tell you, I’ve never heard a sermon that touched me as the sight of this grave in the wilderness has touched me. I mean to be a better, kinder man, because of it. Margot was right--none of us has a right to his own self. She told me often that I should go home to my own folks and make everything right with them: then, if I could, come back and live in the woods, somewhere, if I felt I must. But I don’t feel that way now. I want to get back and go to work. I want to live so that when I die--like that poor chap yonder--somebody will have been the better for my life. Pshaw! why do I talk to you like this? Anyway, I’ll set this slab in place, and then--”

Pierre rose, and still without looking Adrian’s way, pushed the new canoe into the water. He had carefully pitched it, on the day before, with a mixture of the old pork grease and gum from the trees, so that there need be no delay at starting.

Adrian finished his work, lettered the slab with a coal from the fire, and rewatered the wild flowers he had already planted.

“Aren’t you going to eat breakfast first?”

“Not in a graveyard,” answered Pierre, with a solemnity that checked Adrian’s desire to smile.

A last reverent attention, a final clearing of all rubbish from the spot, and he, too, stepped into the canoe and picked up his paddle. They had passed the rapids and reached a smooth stretch of the river where they had camped, and now pulled steadily and easily away, once more upon their journey south. But not till they had put a considerable distance between themselves and that woodland grave, would Pierre consent to stop and eat the food that Adrian had prepared. Even then, he restricted the amount to be consumed, remarking with doleful conviction:

“We’re going to be starved before we reach Donovan’s. The food stick burnt off and dropped into the fire last night.”

Adrian remembered that his mate had spoken of it at the time, when by some carelessness they had not secured the crotched sapling on which they hung their birch kettle.

“Oh! you simple thing. Why will you go through life tormenting yourself with such nonsense? Come--eat your breakfast. We’re going straight to Donovan’s as fast as we can. I’ve done with the woods for a time. So should you be done. You’re needed at the island. Not because of any dreams, but because the more I recall of Mr. Dutton’s appearance the surer I am that he is a sick man. You’ll go back, won’t you?”

“Yes; I’m going back. Not because you ask me, though.”

“I don’t care why--only go.”

“I’m not going into the show business.”

Adrian smiled. “Of course, you’re not. You’ll never have money enough. It would cost lots.”

“’Tisn’t that. ’Twas the dream. That was sent me. All them animals in black paint, and the blue herons without any heads, and--my mother came for me last night.”

“I heartily wish you could go to her this minute. She’s superstitious enough, in all conscience, yet she has the happy faculty of keeping her lugubrious son in subjection.”

Whenever Pierre became particularly depressing, the other would rattle off as many of the longest words as occurred to him. They had the effect of diverting his comrade’s thoughts.

Then they pulled on again, nor did anything disastrous happen to further hinder their progress. The food did not give out, for they lived mostly upon berries, having neither time nor desire to stop and cook their remnant of beans. When they were especially tired, Pierre lighted a fire and made a bucket of hemlock tea, but Adrian found cold water preferable to this decoction; and, in fact, they were much nearer Donovan’s, that first settlement in the wilderness, than even Pierre had suspected.

Their last portage was made--an easy one, there being nothing but themselves and the canoe to carry--and they came to a big dead water where they had looked to find another running stream; but had no sooner sighted it than their ears were greeted by the laughter of loons, which threw up their legs and dived beneath the surface in that absurd manner which Adrian always found amusing.

“Bad luck again!” cried Pierre, instantly; “never heard a loon but--”

“But you see a house. Look! look! Donovan’s, or somebody’s, no matter whose. A house, a house!”

There, indeed, it lay, a goodly farmstead, with its substantial cabins, its out-buildings, its groups of cattle on the cleared land, and--yes, yes--its moving human beings, and what seemed oddest still, its teams of horses.

Even Pierre was silent, and tears sprang to the eyes of both lads as they gazed. Until that moment neither had fully realized how lonely and desolate had been their situation.

“Now for it! It’s a biggish lake, and we’re pretty tired. But that means rest, plenty to eat--everything.”

Their rudely built canoe was almost useless when they beached it at last on Donovan’s wharf, and their own strength was spent. But it was a hospitable household to which they had come, and one quite used to welcoming wanderers from the forest. They were fed and clothed and bedded, without question; but, when a long sleep had set them both right, tongues wagged and plans were settled with amazing promptness.

For there were other guests at the farm; a party of prospectors going north into the woods to locate timber for the next season’s cutting. These would be glad of Pierre’s company and help, and would pay him “the going wages.” But they would not return by the route he had come, though by leaving theirs at a point well north, he could easily make his way back to the island.

“So you shot the poor moose for nothing. You cannot even have his horns,” said Adrian, reproachfully. “Well, as soon as I can vote, I mean to use all my influence to stop this murder in the forest.”

The strangers smiled and shrugged their shoulders. “We’re after game ourselves, as well as timber, but legislation is already in progress to stop the indiscriminate slaughter of the fast-disappearing moose and caribou. Five hundred dollars is the fine to be imposed for any infringement of the law, once passed.”

Pierre’s jaw dropped. He was so impressed by the long words and the mention of that, to him, enormous sum, that he was rendered speechless for a longer time than Adrian ever remembered. But, if he said nothing, he reflected sadly upon the magnificent antlers he should see no more.

Adrian’s affairs were, also, speedily and satisfactorily arranged. Farmer Donovan would willingly take him to the nearest stage route; thence to a railway would be easy journeying; and by steam he could travel swiftly, indeed, to that distant home which he now so longed to see.

The parting of the lads was brief, but not without emotion. Two people cannot go through their experiences and dangers, to remain indifferent to each other. In both their hearts was now the kindliest feeling and the sincere hope that they should meet again. Pierre departed first, and looked back many times at the tall, graceful figure of his comrade; then the trees intervened and the forest had again swallowed him into its familiar depths.

Then Adrian, also, stepped upon the waiting buckboard and was driven over the rough road in the opposite direction.

Three days later, with nothing in his pocket but his treasured knife, a roll of birch bark, and the ten-dollar piece which, through all his adventures, he had worn pinned to his inner clothing, “a make-peace offering to the mater,” he reached the brownstone steps of his father’s city mansion.

There, for the first time, he hesitated. All the bitterness with which he had descended those steps, banished in disgrace, was keenly remembered.

“Can I, shall I, dare I go up and ring that bell?”

A vision floated before him. Margot’s earnest face and tear-dimmed eyes; her lips speaking:

“If I had father or mother anywhere--nothing should ever make me leave them. I would bear everything--but I would be true to them.”

An instant later a peal rang through that silent house, such as it had not echoed in many a day. What would be the answer to it?

[TO BE CONTINUED]

_Wood-Folk Talk_

By J. ALLISON ATWOOD

ROBIN’S RED BREAST

Although you are all in the habit of referring to Robin as “Redbreast,” do you not often wonder why the baby Robin always has a spotted breast so very different from his parent? True, he does not keep it very long, but why, then, should he wear it at all?

At one time Robin did not live in our yards and orchards as he does at present, but remained in the deeper woods, as his cousin Wood-thrush does now. In those times, of course, he did not have his bright red breast, but was clothed in a spotted plumage very similar to Wood-thrush. To narrate much of Robin’s history would make a very long story, but we can at least tell what brought about the change in his dress.

Besides being first cousins, Robin and Wood-thrush had lived close together all their lives, and it is only natural that they should be fast friends, as they were, until that eventful year when Bluebird arrived in Birdland.

Of course, from the very first, folks made a great deal of fuss over this newcomer, and the wonder of it is that Bluebird’s head was not turned by the attentions showered upon him instead of remaining the same modest fellow he is to-day.

Naturally, everyone wished to be as well acquainted as possible with the beautiful stranger, but in spite of his courageous song of “Cheer! cheer!” there was always a touch of sadness about Bluebird which folks could not understand, so that they never felt quite at home in his presence.

Now, among the birds who thus wished to become intimate with Bluebird, there was no one more conspicuous than Robin. Indeed, some folks thought that he made himself ridiculous by the way he toadied to the newcomer. But even this talk did not deter him. When, therefore, he learned later that Bluebird and himself were members of the same family, he could not conceal his pride. But he had no more reason to be proud than Wood-thrush, for he, too, was a relative of Bluebird.

Still, as time went on, Robin thought more and more of his new cousin, and it was noticed that he paid less attention than formerly to the other birds. Most of them, of course, did not mind this, for they thought that he would soon come to his senses and be the same hearty fellow he had been before Bluebird came. But, instead, Robin became prouder than ever, and the way he followed and imitated Bluebird would certainly have provoked that person had he not been a model of patience.

He soon moved his nest from the thicket near his cousin Wood-thrush to the apple-tree next to Bluebird’s home. This caused so much hard feeling between Robin and Wood-thrush that they have ever since built their nests in very different localities. But this isn’t all, and here comes the event which changed the former’s whole life.

Until this time Robin had always worn a spotted breast, but no sooner did he move to his new home than he decided to have a vest of red like Bluebird’s. But with all his pains he could not make himself as handsome as his cousin, for, like many folks when they try to imitate others, he overdid it. Instead of Bluebird’s delicate tint of carmine, he had taken on a less pretty though showier red, and, unlike the other, he wore it over his entire breast in a way that made some folks say that he showed very poor taste, indeed.

Now, at this last assumption of Robin, Birdland was outraged, and the indignation spread so widely that Kingbird had almost decided to banish him. It was not until then that Robin, terrified at the suggestion, saw how foolish he had been, and he very quickly came to his senses. First of all, he went around to all his old friends whose feelings he had hurt and apologized so sincerely that, we are happy to say, every one of them, except, perhaps, Wood-thrush, who could not forget the red vest, were glad to extend a friendly wing to him, now that he had gotten over his sudden pride.

But we, who are better acquainted with him, must admit that Robin never did quite conquer his pride. Everybody knows that he is one of the best hearted of birds, and that whenever any danger threatens Birdland he is always among the first to defend it. But the influence of Bluebird has refined him to such an extent that there is little doubt in our mind that he still thinks his other cousins, the Thrushes, in spite of their splendid musical ability, are backwoodsmen, so to speak.

Fortunately, however, there is one thing which will forever keep him from forgetting his plainer kinsmen, and that is the fact that his children, until they are several months old, are made to wear the same spotted plumage which he once wore.

And it is this which shows Robin’s pride more than anything else. Should you approach his nest when it contains young, you will see how mortified he is, for he fears that you will take them for Wood-thrushes. And what a fuss he does make? He flies almost in our faces, as if to show us that they are his children. And how anxious his voice is as he calls to them to “Speak! speak!” Just as if young Robins could tell us that they are not Wood-thrushes!

THE OLDEST COLLEGES

The University of Oxford, England, is said to have been founded by King Alfred in 872. The University of Paris was founded by King Philip II about 1200. The first college of the University of Cambridge was founded by Hugo, Bishop of Ely, in 1257. The first German university was founded at Prague in 1348. The University of Edinburgh was founded in 1582. Trinity College, Dublin, was incorporated by royal charter in 1591. Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass., was founded in 1636. Yale University was founded in 1700 at Saybrook, Conn., and removed to New Haven in 1716. William and Mary College was established in 1617, at Williamsburg, Va., and its charter was granted in 1693.

The first common schools established by legislation in America were in Massachusetts in 1645. The first town schools were opened at Hartford, Conn., prior to 1642.

* * * * *

The loftiest active volcano is Popocatapetl; it is 17,748 feet above sea level, and has a crater three miles in circumference and 1,000 feet deep.

BOB WHITE

Whose voice is that that wakes me from sleep,
As soon as the day begins to peep--
Now under the wall, and now in the hay,
Now in the meadow, piping away?
Why, that’s Bob White.

He seems as fond of his common name
As humans who’ve attained to fame;
But he isn’t conceited, not a mite.
Though he wakes us up before it is light
To call “Bob White.”

Our Robert has just two notes, that’s all;
But many a bird might envy his call,
So rich and full, so joyous and free;
For a matin singer, there’s none to me
Like dear Bob White.

“Wake up!” we hear from among the sheaves;
“There is work to do, and old Time leaves
The laggard and lazy on the way;
The best time for work is this very day,
And I’m Bob White.”

--_Eleanor Kirk._

August is the high-tide month of outdoor life. At this season, young folks, in preparation for the new school term, are hurried off to draw their last breath of vacation at the country, the seashore, or mountains, and the older people, wherever it is possible, leave their work and join the children on the court and field. Athletics supplant business and study.

The habit of taking physical exercise can be traced as far back as the time of Homer. With the old Greeks, systematic gymnastics was a part of the young person’s education. Further than that, it even became a matter of legislation, and to this fact can be attributed the splendid physiques which are portrayed in the old Greek statues.

At Athens, the government erected public gymnasiums. In connection with them were medical attendants whose duty it was to prescribe the special kind of exercise needed by each pupil. To show still further the regard for athletics at that time, it might be said that both Plato and Aristotle believed that public gymnasiums were essential to a perfect nation.

Athletics now are regarded in a different light. Very few of us go through the tedious systematic drill necessary to a perfect physical condition. By many, indeed, the exercise of the entire year is crowded into the short space of a fortnight, and then it is taken only as recreation.

A better form of the practice is found in what we might term team athletics, but even here we lack the wise purpose of the ancients. The object in this case is to develop a squad of athletes, generally those already well gifted by nature, to compete with and defeat another such team of picked men. As a consequence, in the great effort to produce a winning crew or eleven, the especial needs of the individual are forgotten.

So, notwithstanding the fact that every one is welcomed as a candidate for these teams, the final result is to turn out, perhaps, a score of exceptionally well drilled men, while hundreds of others, who, in reality, most need the exercise thus afforded, are content to fill the grand stands and cheer their men to victory.

Undoubtedly, team athletics does much good. It stimulates a greater interest and brings more men into the field than any other influence; but it still falls short of the ideal purpose of athletics--to get everyone, gymnasts or invalids, to develop their bodies with the same systematic care with which they train their minds.

Physical exercise must not be considered merely as a form of recreation or a detail in the making of an athletic team, but rather in the light of a training which, in the future, will have a very telling effect upon our lives. Even if we can never hope to lower a track record or win a place upon the gridiron, we should not wholly surrender the field to those who already excel: but see that a corner of it, at least, is left for those who are not born athletes--those who, in fact, are most in need of exercise.

Event and Comment

The King’s Illness

Almost on the eve of the coronation in London came the announcement of the serious illness of King Edward. Falling suddenly upon the people, as it did, the news put a stop to the preparations for a spectacular display seldom, if ever, equaled.

Thousands of carpenters, painters, and decorators were putting on the finishing touches all along the path of the triumphal procession. Sixty thousand troops had received orders to guard the route, while at Spithead an immense fleet was preparing for a grand naval review.

For a time following the announcement the world waited anxiously for news. Happily, the worst anticipations were not realized, and the recovery has been so speedy that already the time for the coronation has been decided upon. It will take place between August 12th and 15th of this year.

* * * * *

In comment of the occurrence we quote the London _Spectator_ as follows:

“While contemplating the events of the last few days, it is impossible not to be struck by the fact that the sympathy felt for the king will have a marked effect on the future position of the dynasty--an effect which will last far beyond the life of the king. It is a commonplace that men do not so much love those who confer actual benefits upon them as those with whom they have sympathized and suffered. The king will be more to the nation after his illness than he was before.”

The “Finland”

The largest vessel ever built in this country was the “Finland,” recently launched at Cramp’s shipyard in Philadelphia. Her length is 580 feet, while the width and depth are 60 and 42 feet respectively. The gross tonnage is 12,000 tons, or about 400 tons greater than either the “St. Paul” or “St. Louis,” the next largest vessels built by Cramps. The “Finland” will make her first transatlantic voyage early in the year 1903.

* * * * *

The “Great Eastern,” constructed some fifty years ago, had a length of 680 feet, and was finally destroyed for the reason that she was too large for ordinary use. The advance in the science of steam navigation, however, has been so great since that time that shipbuilders no longer have any fear of making vessels too large for use.

Philippine Affairs

Concerning the proclamation of amnesty issued at Manila on July 4th, we quote _Public Opinion_:

“It declares the insurrection in the Philippines at an end and peace established in all parts of the archipelago, except the country inhabited by the Moro tribes. Complete amnesty is granted all persons in the Philippines who have participated in the insurrection. This includes as well those concerned in the outbreaks against Spain as early as August, 1896, and extends pardon to natives who may have violated the laws of warfare, but not to persons already convicted of criminal offenses.”

* * * * *

The Fourth of July, 1902, will be well worthy of its precedent if it has brought with it a lasting and praiseworthy end of the Philippine trouble.

The King’s Dinner

One feature of the coronation festivities which was not interfered with was the king’s dinner to the poor. It took place on July 5th, and tables were set in four hundred places throughout the country. Here liberal provision was made for the banqueting of over half-a-million people. The greatest number gathered in any one place was 14,000.

* * * * *

It is very creditable to King Edward that in the preparation for festivities of such a magnificent nature, he did not forget the poor, but wished them, also, to join in the general celebration.

The Petrified Ship

A rumor which is beginning to arouse interest in the northwest, is founded upon a story told by the Alaskan Indians. According to them, they have discovered in the vicinity of the Porcupine river, near the Arctic circle, the remains of a gigantic petrified ship, whose length approaches 1,200 feet. It is situated upon a hill some thousands of feet above sea level. An expedition is now on foot to investigate.

* * * * *

Although there is little use in anticipating these researches, the rumor at least serves to remind us how much of the world is as yet unexplored and what great room there still is for new discoveries.

The two great aquatic events in the college world this season, were the Inter-collegiate regatta, at Poughkeepsie, on the Hudson, and the Yale-Harvard race at New London.

In the former, Cornell again demonstrated Coach Courtney’s ability to turn out a winning crew by taking first place. Not far behind came the sturdy Westerners, Wisconsin, followed closely by Columbia. Then came Pennsylvania, Syracuse, and Georgetown in the order named.

Besides winning the Varsity race, Cornell also carried off the honors in the Four-oar and Freshman races.

At New London, on June 26th, Yale won because of her greater endurance. For the first half-minute Harvard had a little the lead, but soon, in spite of her plucky efforts, the superior strength of Yale told. The latter then pulled slowly away from Harvard, gaining a lead which at the finish had grown to four lengths.

A fitting and interesting termination of the rowing season would have been a race between Yale and Cornell.

* * * * *

The deciding base-ball game between Yale and Harvard proved to be the most exciting one of the series. In the ninth inning, with the score tied, Yale’s men were put out in rapid succession, and Harvard, by some clever batting and base-running, enabled Mathews to cross the plate with the winning run.

* * * * *

In the Round Robin tennis tournament at the Crescent Athletic Club, Wright defeated Hobart by a score of 6-4, 8-6. In the other games, the Wren brothers, although neither of them were up to their usual form, showed that they will be a consideration in this year’s championship.

* * * * *

At the Traver’s Island swimming contest, E. C. Schaeffer established new American records for both the 220-yard and half-mile events. The time of the former was 1 min. 19 3-5 sec., beating the previous record, held by H. H. Reeder, by 2 2-5 sec.

In the half-mile race Schaeffer broke five records--the 330-yard, 550-yard, 660-yard, 770-yard, and 880-yard. The time of the 880-yard, or half-mile, event was 13 min. 27 2-5 sec.

* * * * *

Most Americans were not surprised to hear the outcome of the polo games in England. In the last game the American team was defeated by a score of 7-1. This gave the entire series to the English. Sometime, perhaps, when polo is more widely played in this country and there are more candidates for an All-American team, we may make a better showing. Until then we must acknowledge England’s superiority.

ANSWERS TO JULY PUZZLES

1. Wisconsin, Indiana, Minnesota, California, Arizona, Louisiana.

2. Cat, mule, cow, lion, ox, ’coon, deer, moose, rabbit, wolf, opossum, rat, camel, pig, dog, ape, ibex, otter, antelope, kid.

3.

Y
B O A
Y O U T H
A T E
H

4.

=F=lylea=F=
=I=ndig=O=
=R=ondra=U=
=E=a=R=
=C=a=T=
=R=oac=H=
=A=ls=O=
=C=hie=F=
=K=ca=J=
=E=m=U=
=R=il=L=
=S=l=Y=

The first five perfect solutions were received from

Harry Yates,
Dora Makay,
Mary Folsom Pierce,
Ellsworth Wright,
L. M. Lawrence.

SQUARE WORDS

A mazazine.
A fine clay.
Radical.
A teacher.
Part of the body.

--_Katherine D. Salisbury._

HIDDEN BIRDS

In each of the following sentences are two hidden birds. Can you find them?

1. I see a gleaner, and he is her only son.

2. If Kit ever does mew, rent is due.

3. “I can spar, row, and fence, sir,” Ed Bird said.

4. Formerly all arks floated on the river Obi, now almost unknown.

5. Just hear! He always lieth! Rush him!

6. Laugh, awkward fellow, laugh, for this is your day, but, lo! on the morrow you will be in tears.

--_Charles C. Lynde._

PRESIDENTS

In the following are the names of two Presidents of the United States:

Nsncoowlnaglihnti.

--_Percival C. Lancefield._

DIAMOND

. A consonant.
. . . A vehicle.
. . . . . A beast of burden.
. . . . . . . A noted man.
. . . . . To set again.
. . . A quantity.
. A consonant.

--_Julia E. C._

THE ESCAPE

A Northern soldier was captured while visiting a friend in the South during the Civil War. He was tried and condemned to be shot at daybreak, as a spy, in spite of the protestations of his host. During the night a letter, after passing through the hands of his captors, was delivered to him. In the morning the room in which he had been confined was empty. He had escaped. The letter, which was in the handwriting of the owner of the house, furnished the clue to the escape. Can you see how? It was as follows:

“Kamby says Edith is worse. You asked me to write if she began to fail, and I am complying with your request. So, if the Union of the North can spare you, come. Do not delay, for Edith is very ill. Remember, she is waiting for you.

“Most sorrowfully,
“Adjutant Thomas.”

--_Leslie W. Quirk._

PARLOR MAGIC

By Ellis Stanyon

THE HANDKERCHIEF CABINET.--This very useful piece of apparatus should be in the repertoire of every amateur magician, as it is available for producing, changing, or vanishing a handkerchief. Its secret lies in the fact that it contains two drawers, bottom to bottom, the lower one being hidden by a sliding panel. When standing on the table the top drawer only is visible, and the cabinet looks the picture of innocence, but if turned over and stood on its opposite end, the sliding panel falls, exposing the hidden drawer, and hiding that which for the time being is at the bottom. (Fig. 12.) The cabinet is about two inches square by four inches high.

If required for production, you proceed as follows: Having placed a silk handkerchief in the concealed drawer, introduce the cabinet, take out the empty drawer, and give it for examination. Replace the drawer, secretly turn over the cabinet, and place it on your table. You now go through any form of incantation you please, open the drawer, and take out the handkerchief.

If you desire to vanish the handkerchief, you will have it placed in the drawer by one of the spectators, and while going to the table turn over the box. When the drawer is opened the handkerchief will have disappeared.

Should you wish to change one handkerchief for another, you will, beforehand, conceal, say, a red handkerchief in the cabinet; then, taking a white one, have it deposited in the upper drawer, turn over the cabinet as before, pull out the now uppermost drawer, and produce the red handkerchief.

From the foregoing description it will be obvious that the cabinet is capable of being used in conjunction with many tricks.

Transcriber’s Notes:

A number of typographical errors have been corrected silently.

Irregularities in closing quotes have not been modernized.

Archaic spellings have been retained.

The table of contents refers to a “With the Publisher” page that does not exist in the transcribed image so does not exist in the transcription.

“A Novel Weapon” was added to the original Table of Contents.

Cover image is in the public domain.