A moment later two men stood before him in rough sailor garb.

"We come to inform you that—" began one of them, who was no other than Shaky, when Allan Dilke interrupted him.

"If my son is with you," he said, firmly, "bring him to me. If he is dead, tell me so!"

Shaky at once left the room, and soon a little procession came slowly in. Two men were carrying a helpless body, while a woman and boy followed.

A wail of anguish sounded. A woman with white face and streaming hair knelt beside the slight figure which lay upon a sofa.

"Dead! Is my boy dead?" she sobbed. "Twice we have been robbed. Once, so many years ago, when our first-born was taken by the cruel sea, and now—"

She had spoken so hurriedly and with such an abandon of despair that Allan Dilke had failed in trying to calm her.

"The boy is not dead," said Shaky. "See, he is opening his eyes. He is only exhausted."

The mother fainted from excess of joy at this, and, when she had recovered consciousness, Jason was sitting up.

In the midst of their tears and caresses, Shaky spoke again.

"It may not be a proper time to say what I am about to, but something urges me on. Can you bear a revelation?"

"We can bear anything now," replied Allan Dilke. "Our boy is restored to us."

"You lost another child, did you not?" queried Shaky.

Allan Dilke made answer slowly:

"We did, years ago. But why refer to it now?"

"Because the boy is not dead," responded Shaky. "This is your son!"

As he said this, he drew Arno toward them. The boy met the eyes of Allan Dilke unflinchingly, while Jason exclaimed, joyously:

"Good, good, good! Then we won't be parted."

"Is this true?" asked Mr. Dilke, gravely. "Can you prove that he is my son?"

"As for proof," replied Shaky, "I had the honor of helping to steal him away myself more than fifteen years ago, though I did it unwittingly. You remember Bart Loring—that is my real name—and Martin Hoffman and his wife Judith, the deaf mute? They stand before you. We have ample proof."

"And, if I may ask the question, Mr. Loring, what prompted you to commit this deed? Who was the instigator?"

Allan Dilke spoke these words slowly, like one in a dream; but the answer of Shaky, or Bart Loring, came promptly:

"Your brother, Arnold Dilke. He it was who kidnapped the boy I have the happiness of returning to you to-night. I was a sailor at that time on board your brother's vessel, and did not know till afterward who the child was. I also learned later that you were robbed of a considerable sum of money at the same time, though I had no hand in this. Fear of being implicated in the robbery kept me silent, and I left this part of the country shortly after. I prospered, but thoughts of the great wrong done you haunted me continually, and when I returned, a few months ago, I determined to right this matter at the first opportunity, if it could be done. At this time I little thought he had stolen your second child, and it was only by the merest chance that I met your brother on the steamer. From that moment I entered into the matter heart and soul, and have the pleasure of restoring two boys, instead of one."

"And where is this loyal brother of mine, who came to me so repentant a few years ago and begged for an opportunity to retrieve a wasted life?" asked Allan Dilke, standing pale and erect, not noticing that his wife had sunk down on the sofa beside Jason, and that one of her hands was clasped in both those of Arno.

"He is a prisoner in the little sloop not far from here," replied Shaky. "McDougall here, Judith, the two boys and myself were on board a sloop which I am told was stolen from you by your brother and presented to Martin when the two latter personages overhauled us in the Petrel. I sent the boys into the hold, and, when Arnold came on board, we tied him hand and foot and put him in the cabin. I have not seen him since."

"I will send my man with you to bring him here at once," said Allan Dilke. "If he will promise to leave the country, never to return, I will let him go free."

Shaky, Sandy McDougall, Martin and Judith, accompanied by Jacob, left the house, and then Allan Dilke turned to Arno.

"Were you given to understand that this Martin and Judith were your parents?" he asked.

"Yes, sir; though I never could believe it. Once, I overheard Captain Dilke talking to Martin about me, and I knew from what they said that the captain was my uncle."

The tones of the boy were respectful, yet confident, and Allan Dilke smiled as he looked into the earnest eyes that met his.

"I can see the Dilke blood shining in your eyes," he said. "Who knows but what you are the son whom we have so long mourned as dead?"

"I feel convinced that he is," replied Mrs. Dilke. "Something tells me as plainly as words could do that he is our own flesh and blood."

They were talking in this way, when footsteps were heard at the door.

"The men have returned," said Allan Dilke, gravely, rising to his feet. "Now I must meet my brother who has wronged me so deeply."

Jacob entered the room, followed by Bart Loring, alias Jasper Leith, alias Shaky, the latter carrying a bundle.

"Your brother will trouble you no more," said he of the various cognomens. "We searched the cabin of the sloop in vain; but beneath the cabin floor, in a close compartment, we found him, his hands clutching a great quantity of gold, but he was—dead!"

As he spoke, he dropped the bundle upon the carpet. It fell heavily, with a metallic chink, which denoted the character of its contents.

Allan Dilke buried his face in his hands.

"Let the dead past bury its dead," he said, solemnly. "He needs not my mercy now."

"And what will we do with the money?" asked he who had been known as Shaky.

"Divide it between this man McDougall, Judith and yourself," replied Allan Dilke. "I want no portion of it, and I will provide for this brave boy whether he be my son or not."

From this day onward the recovery of Allan Dilke was rapid, and, after the body of Captain Dilke had been consigned to the earth, Martin produced proofs of Arno's true identity, which fully satisfied the happy father and mother that their little family circle was complete.

Martin was allowed to go free, and, in company with Judith, who was exceedingly loth to part with Arno, betook himself to Grand Manan Island, where he resides to this day, a reformed, repentant man.

[THE END.]



A FLOCK OF GEESE.

by W. BERT FOSTER.



"That Al Peck thinks he's so smart," remarked Nat Bascom, coming into the kitchen with a scowl of fearful proportions darkening his face. "Just because he's got a flock of geese, and expects to make some money on them Christmas. I wish I had some geese—or something, father. I'd like to make some money as well as Al."

Mr. Bascom looked up from the county paper, in which he had been reading a political article, and said, curtly:

"You make money, Nat! You haven't a money-making bone in your body. Wish you had. Last spring I gave you that plot of ground back of the orchard to plant, and you let it grow up to weeds; and, a year ago, you had that cosset lamb, and let the animal die. 'Most any other boy around these parts would have made quite a little sum on either of them."

"Oh, well, the weeds got the start of me on that ground, and you know that lamb was weakly. Ma said it was," whined Nat.

"It was after you had the care of it," reminded the elder Bascom.

"Well, pa, can't I have some geese, same as Al Peck has?" at last inquired Nat, desperately.

"You may if you can catch them," answered his father, smiling grimly. "If you can trap a flock of wild ones, I reckon you can have them. I ain't going to waste any more money on your ventures."

Nat flung out of the house in anything but a pleasant frame of mind and went over to stare longingly at Alvin Peck's flock of geese, securely penned behind his father's barn.

Until recently, the two boys, who were about of an age, had been the best of friends. But within a fortnight, Alvin's father had presented his son with a flock of thirteen geese, to fatten for market, and Al had, in Nat's eyes, put on the airs of a millionaire.

Alvin Peck may have had some excuse for being proud of his geese, for they were all fine, handsome birds, but, in his pride, he had filled poor Nat's breast with envy.

Nat wanted some Christmas money as well as his friend, and to hear Al loudly boast of what he intended doing with his was maddening.

Gradually the seeds of discord sown between the two boys had sprouted and taken root, and, being warmed and watered by Nat's jealousy and Al's selfishness, were soon in a flourishing condition, and before Thanksgiving the former chums refused even to speak to each other.

This state of affairs made Nat secretly very lonely, for Alvin was the only other boy within a number of miles, and, being without either brother or sister, Nat was absolutely companionless. But his pride would not allow him to go to his former friend and "make up." Even when Al's dog Towser came over to visit the Bascom's Bose, Nat drove him home with a club, thus increasing the enmity between him and Towser's master.

This deplorable state of affairs continued to grow worse instead of better as the holidays approached. One evening, a week or ten days before Christmas, it commenced raining, but, becoming suddenly very cold in the night, the rain turned to ice, and the following morning the roofs, sheds, fences, trees—everything, in fact—was covered with a coating of ice. With the beams of the rising sun shining over all, it seemed a picture of fairy land.

But Nat Bascom arose that morning with an uglier feeling against Al Peck than ever. Donning his outside garments, he went out to assist his father in feeding the cattle.

The hay-stack behind the barn had a glittering coat of ice, and, as he approached it, Nat discovered something else about it as well. Close to the ground, on the lea of the stack, were a number of objects which Nat quickly recognized as geese—thirteen of them.

"They're those plaguey geese of Al Peck's!" exclaimed Nat, as one of the birds stretched out its long neck at his approach and uttered a threatening "honk! honk!"

The geese tried to scuttle away as he came nearer, and then for the first time Nat discovered that they, like the inanimate things about them, were completely sheathed in ice; so much so, in fact, that they could not use their wings.

Nat stood still a moment and thought.

"I know what I'll do," he said, aloud, "I'll put them in pound, same as father did old Grayson's cattle last summer, and make Al pay me to get them out."

With this happy thought, he at once set about securing the geese.

One end of an old shed near by had in former times been used by the Bascoms for a hen-house, and there was still a low entrance through which the fowls were wont to go in and out.

Carefully, and so as not to alarm them, Nat drove the thirteen birds into the shed and clapped a board over the opening. The geese objected with continued cries to these proceedings, but they were too thoroughly coated with ice to get away.

"There, now, Mister Al Peck, I think I'll get even with you this time," he said, in a tone of satisfaction.

Hastening through the remainder of his chores, he started off in the direction of the Peck place without saying a word about the matter to either of his parents.

As he approached Mr. Peck's barn, he beheld Al returning from the direction of his goose-pen.

"You needn't look for them, Al Peck," remarked Nat, with a malicious grin, "for you can't find them. You ought to keep your old geese shut up, if you don't want to lose them."

"I haven't lost them," declared Al, with a somewhat puzzled expression of countenance.

"Oh, you haven't?" snapped Nat, angered at the other's apparent coolness. "You needn't think you're going to get them back for nothing. I found them all camped under our haystack this morning, and drove them into the old hen-house. You've just got to pay me ten cents apiece for them before I'll let them out. I bet you'll keep them to home after this."

Al opened his mouth and closed it again like a flash. He was evidently surprised.

Just then Mr. Peck appeared on the scene. Al repeated what Nat had said, to his father's very evident amazement.

"Why, I saw—" began the elder Peck, when Al interrupted him with a gesture, and whispered something in his ear.

A broad grin overspread Mr. Peck's face for a moment; then he said, with becoming gravity:

"I suppose you've got the rights of it, Nat, but seems to me it's a rather mean trick."

Nat had begun to think so, too, by this time, but he refused to listen to the promptings of his better nature and said nothing.

"We'll come right over with the team for them," said Mr. Peck.

And he and Al at once harnessed up, and placing a large, strong coop in the wagon, drove over to the Bascom place.

"I should think you'd have your geese tame enough to drive," said Nat; but the Pecks paid no attention to the remark.

Mr. Peck pulled his cap well down over his eyes, put on a pair of gloves and entered the hen-house.

The ice had by this time melted from their backs and wings, and those thirteen geese were the liveliest flock of birds imaginable.

"Thirteen of them. All right!" said Mr. Peck, passing out the last struggling bird to his son, who clapped it into the coop.

A dollar and thirty cents was handed to Nat by Al's father, with the cutting remark:

"There's your money, young man! I hope you won't grow up to be as mean as you bid fair to be now."

Nat accepted the money, considerably shame-faced, and followed the Pecks back to their place to see them unload the geese; but he was disappointed, in that they were not unloaded, Al flinging some corn into the coop, which was allowed to remain in the wagon.

"Aren't you going to put them into the pen again?" inquired Nat, mildly.

"They've never been in a pen, that I know of," replied Mr. Peck, with a queer smile.

"I don't believe they'd get along very well with any other geese," added Al, reflecting his father's broad grin.

"Why—" began Nat, at last beginning to believe that there was something very peculiar about the whole affair.

"Why, it is just here!" explained Al. "They weren't my geese at all, till I bought them of you. They were a flock of wild ones, that got belated in the storm last evening, I suppose. I should think you'd have known them by their call. For once in your life, Nat Bascom, you've over-reached yourself. I shall clear as much as seventy-five cents on each of those birds."

Nat made for home at once, followed by shouts of laughter from the Pecks, father and son. He felt as though everything stable in the world had been knocked from under him.

Although he never mentioned the matter to his father or mother, the story reached them through other sources, for it soon spread throughout the community, and neither Mr. nor Mrs. Bascom had the least sympathy for him.

All that winter the nickname of "Goose" clung to him, and perhaps the jeers of his fellows did him some good; at least, it made a lasting impression on his mind, and when he was tempted to perform a mean act again, he could not fail to remember how he had once over-reached himself.



DRAWN INTO THE WHIRLPOOL

(A Norway Boy's Adventure.)

by DAVID KER.

Under the lee of a small island on the northwest coast of Norway a young fisher-lad lay sleeping in the boat in which he had been out all night, unconscious of the grim face and cruel eye that watched him from the thicket above with a look that boded him no good. Just then, two men came pulling round the point behind which his boat was moored, and one of them said to the other, loud enough to be heard by the hidden watcher overhead, though not to wake the sleeper:

"There's a rich Englishman come into Langeness, in his yacht, and he's offered a big reward to any man that'll find out what those letters are that are carved on the sea-king's grave."

"Why don't he offer a reward for the moon?" laughed the other. "Does he think any money can tempt men to go right into a whirlpool that would swallow the stoutest boat in these seas like a biscuit?"

"But they say that at the flood-tide you may go through it without harm, if you start just at the right moment."

"Aye! if you do. But who would be fool enough to risk it?"

Then they passed on, and their voices were lost in the distance.

The moment their boat was out of sight, behind the rocks, a wild face peered through the matted boughs overhead, and a bulky figure rose stealthily from the bushes and crept downward toward the sleeping boy, with a long knife in its hand. One quick slash cut the mooring-rope, and the boat slowly drifted seaward with its slumbering occupant.

"The current sets straight for the whirlpool," muttered the ruffian, with a cruel laugh, "and, when he's missed, they'll think the reward tempted him. I'm quits at last with his father for the thrashing that he gave me!"

Only a few miles from the spot, a small rocky islet had sunk down into the sea ages ago, creating by its fall one of the most dangerous whirlpools in northern waters, known in Norway as the "Well of Tuftiloe."

In the midst of the whirl stood up one dark, pillar-shaped crag, the sole remnant of the lost islet, which the Norsemen, believing it to be some ancient hero's tomb, called "The Sea King's Grave." And, in fact, passing yachtsmen had seen upon it from a distance, through their telescopes, traces of rude carving, and something that looked like the half-effaced letters of an old Runic inscription. But although the whirlpool, like its big brother, the maelstrom, was believed to be passable at certain states of the tide, no one had ever dared to try.

The quickening motion of the current, as it bore the light boat swiftly along, roused the boy at last, but it was too late. Being half asleep, it was some minutes ere he realized what had befallen him or whither he was going, and the first warning he had of this rush straight upon certain destruction was the dull roar of the distant whirlpool, which, the tide being now full ebb, was just at the height of its fury.

Fully roused at last, Mads Nilssen seized his oars and pulled till they seemed on the point of snapping; but all in vain.

Faster and faster the boat was whirled along—nearer and nearer it drew to the terrible ring of white foam that marked the deadly whirl. And now he could see plainly the grim crag that kept watch over that ghastly abyss, and now he almost touched its outermost eddy—and now he was dragged into it and began to spin dizzily round in lessening circles nearer and nearer to his doom.

And all this while the dancing ripples sparkled gaily around him, the sun shone gloriously in a cloudless sky, the white-winged sea-birds soared rejoicingly overhead and seemed to mock him with their shrill cries.

It was hard to die amid all this brightness and beauty; but die he must, for there was no way of escape. Even in this dire strait, however, with the hungry waves leaping around him, the brave boy did not lose his presence of mind. One faint chance was still left to him, and he seized it.

As the boat made its final whirl around the central crag before plunging down into the depths below, he sprang upon the gunwale, and, exerting all his wonderful agility, made a desperate leap that landed him on the lowest ledge of the rock, bruised, bleeding, dizzy, but saved for the moment. In another instant the deserted boat had vanished forever into the roaring gulf below.

To all appearance the bold lad had escaped one death only to perish by another more lingering and painful; but even now he did not despair.

He remembered to have heard that just at full flood tide the whirlpool was not dangerous, and he determined to watch for the subsiding of its fury and then plunge in and take his chance of being able to swim ashore or to fall in with a boat.

But what should he do to fill up the long hours that lay between? He felt that the dizzy dance of the whirling waters around him, and their ceaseless roar, were already beginning to unstring his nerves and make his brain reel; and he knew that if he could not find some way to counteract their paralyzing influence, he must soon become helpless and fall headlong into the abyss.

Just then his eye caught the antique letters cut in the rock above him, which no living soul but himself had ever seen so near, and the sight of them gave him an idea.

He knew nothing of the offered reward, but he did know that there were people who thought such things valuable and paid well for copies of them. If he escaped it might be worth something, and meanwhile it would divert his attention and keep him from losing his nerve.

So, turning his back resolutely to the mad riot of circling waves, he set himself to trace the letters with the point of his knife upon a small metal match-box which he had in his pocket.

It was a long task, but he completed it at last; and then he clambered to the top of the rock, hoping that the sight of his figure standing out against the sky might attract the notice of some passing fisherman.

For a long time he watched and waited in vain, and he was just beginning to think that he would have to try and save himself by swimming, after all—for the hour of flood-tide was now drawing near and the violence of the whirlpool was beginning to abate—when, far in the distance, he suddenly descried a tiny white sail.

No shout could be heard at such a distance; but the ready boy unwound the red sash from his waist and waved it over his head till his arm ached, and, after a pause of terrible anxiety, he at length saw the boat alter her course and stand right for him.

The skill with which the two men who handled her kept clear of the fatal current by which Mads had been swept away, showed that both were practical seamen, and, as he boat neared him, the boy's keen eye recognized one of them as his own father.

When the rescuers came near enough for a shout to be heard, the father called out to his son to climb down the crag again and stand ready to make a plunge when he gave the word, as the boat could not come too near, for fear of being dashed against the rock.

Just around the foot of the rock itself there was always a strong eddy, which might suck down Mads even now, if he could not succeed in leaping clear of it.

For ten minutes or more the two sailors kept "standing off and on," till the fury of the whirlpool should be completely spent, while the daring boy, perched on the lowest ledge of the rock, waited and watched for the signal.

At length his father's powerful voice came rolling to him over the water:

"Now!"

Mingling with the shout came the splash of Mads' plunge into the water. Exerting all his strength, the active boy leaped far beyond the treacherous eddy that would have sucked him down among the sunken rocks, and in another moment he was safe in the boat, which turned and shot away from the perilous spot as lightly as the sea birds overhead.

A few days later the young hero received the reward that he had so strangely won; and thus the would-be murderer, instead of destroying his victim, actually helped him to earn more money than he had ever made in his life. Nor did the villain go wholly unpunished, for the end of the cut rope having been found and suspicion directed toward him, he had to sneak away by night and never dared to show his face on that coast again.



THE BLACK HOUND.

by FRANCIS S. PALMER.

We first saw him on a snowy November morning. The Adirondack Lake, where I was staying that autumn, was not yet frozen; but a few days before there had been a light fall of snow, and on this morning the evergreens were draped in a feathery shroud. While I was yet asleep my guide, Rufe, had caught a glimpse of a deer, swimming near the shore. No hounds were heard; and, after an early breakfast, Rufe and I got into our boat and paddled along the water's edge to discover, if possible, the track of dog or wolf, which would explain why the deer had taken to the water.

As we came near the place where Rufe had seen the deer, we noticed a slender, black animal crouching in the bushes. It proved to be a tall hound, and, after some urging, he was persuaded to enter the boat.

The reason for the deer's early bath was now apparent; but Rufe was surprised that he did not hear the hound's barking, for, like all old hunters, it was his habit, in the deerhounding season to step into the open air and listen, at short intervals during the morning, for the barking of hounds.

This morning had been no exception to the rule; but neither before nor after seeing the deer had Rufe heard the well-known baying of a deerhound.

We took the gaunt animal into our boat and carried him back to the shanty. He proved to be half-famished and wholly exhausted, and, after a hearty meal, lay in a comatose condition before the fire. He must have had a long chase, probably coming from some neighboring lake, for Rufe, who knew all the hounds on our lake, had never seen him before.

When two or three days had passed and the black hound had recovered his strength, Rufe took him into the woods with our own dog and put them both upon the track of a deer.

The black hound followed the track steadily, but he uttered no bark, confining himself to a low, excited whimpering. Even when the game was roused and the hot scent gave ardor to the pursuing dogs, the black hound did not join in the frantic baying of his companion.

The deer did not enter the lake at the runway where I was watching, but with my spy-glass I saw it plunge into the water a quarter of a mile away. A boat happened to be passing at the time and the deer was killed. A moment later the black hound appeared on the shore. He could not have been forty rods behind the deer, but no bark betrayed the eagerness of his pursuit. I heard the baying of my own dog, as he slowly followed the scent, away back among the wooded hills that rose on all sides of the lake.

This, then, was the reason why Rufe had heard no baying on the morning when we had found the black hound. He was silent, and as swift as he was silent.

As I looked at him that evening, I noticed he did not have the long ears and heavy jaws of the common American deer or foxhound. His long, sharp nose and slender proportions indicated the blood of the Scotch staghound, or that of some large breed of greyhound.

But this cross had not made him more delicate or less fierce. Even Rufe was afraid to handle him roughly, for, unless treated with every consideration, the great hound snarled, and showed rows of savage teeth. He ruled over the other dogs with a cool assumption of more aristocratic breeding.

The morning after the deer was driven to water and the black hound had proved his swiftness and persistence, Rufe again went into the woods for the purpose of starting deer with the two hounds, or "putting out the dogs," as it is called; but this morning it was the guide's intention to put the dogs on separate tracks. They differed too much in speed to be useful when following the same deer.

I took my station at my favorite stand, a runway which reaches the lake where a deep, narrow bay collected the waters before they were discharged into the river which flowed into the St. Lawrence.

One side of this bay was nearly separated from the lake by a long, sharp point of land, and near the bay's farther shore was a little island, a green, bushy spot amid the blue waters.

The bay was a favorite place for the pursued deer to take to the water in their endeavor to baffle the hounds following their tracks, and from my station on the long point I could watch and command the entire bay.

Before daybreak Rufe had led the hounds into the wood, and it was not much later when I pushed my light boat against the point, and sprang ashore.

It was a still, crisp, November morning, and the rising sun had not yet melted the hoar-frost from the alder bushes that grew at the water's edge.

Gauzy wisps of mist hovered by the shores, and shrouded the evergreens on the little island. The snow-sprinkled forest looked white and weird through the veils of mist.

Small flocks of ducks threaded their way across the foggy surface of the bay, going from their resting-places on the river to feed among the wild rice marshes of the lake.

I built a small fire to deaden the morning chill, and amused myself by aiming my shotgun at the passing ducks.

The birds, in their low, drowsy flight, offered beautiful wing-shots, and as I glanced along the polished gun-barrels, I imagined the sharp explosion followed by the heavy fall of fat mallards into the water.

But I fired in imagination only, for it would be a grave breach of deer-hunting etiquette to discharge a gun at anything less important than the antlered game.

The sun rose higher, the mists disappeared and flying ducks no longer relieved the monotony of my watch. The forest was seen more distinctly and grew less weird and interesting.

I was beginning to wish for a book to while away the long hours which would elapse before the strict rules of custom would permit me to return to the shanty, when I saw a deer jump from the bushes which bordered the shores of the bay nearest the island.

I knew the black hound's peculiarities, and was prepared for the appearance of a deer, unushered by the baying of hounds, but I had not expected the game to come so quickly, for Rufe had hardly had time to start the dogs.

Hidden in the bushes of the point, I watched the deer as it stood upon the shore, and glanced its keen eyes around.

The bay seemed devoid of enemies, and the animal plunged into the water and swam toward the island.

As yet I did not dare to move, for the deer was not more than forty rods distant, and a glimpse of me would send it hurrying back to the shore.



The animal swam straight to the island and landed there. At my hiding-place I waited for it to appear on the opposite side of the island and swim across the bay. When it got well out into the open water I could catch it with my boat.

But the deer seemed contented to remain on the island, for it did not again show itself. It evidently thought it could thus baffle the nose of the pursuing hound, and escape the danger incurred by swimming across the bay. I made up my mind that in order to capture the deer, I must in some way get into the narrow channel between the island and the main shore; but with the deer watching me from the island, this would be almost impossible.

Carefully I crept across the point to the spot where the skiff was moored. My moccasins made no noise as I stepped into the boat.

With silent paddle I propelled the little craft around the extremity of the point, and again looked into the bay.

Another actor had appeared upon the scene. At the spot where the game had entered the water stood the black hound, sniffing the air for some taint of the lost scent.

A breeze from the island and crouching deer must have been wafted to his keen nose, for I heard him give a whimper of satisfaction, and the next instant he leaped into the water.

A deerhound dreads going into the water, and the proceedings of the black dog therefore surprised me.

I let the boat float quietly. It was hidden against the dark background of the point, and I decided to stay there until the hound should frighten the deer into swimming across the bay. When I first saw the deer I thought it to be a large doe, but, as it was swimming to the island, I saw, with the aid of my glass, that it was a "spike-horn" buck.

These spike-horns are quite common, and do not seem to be a distinct species of the deer family. They only differ as to their horns; instead of the branching antlers of the ordinary buck, they carry sharp spikes of horns from two to six inches long, varying with the age of the animal.

I watched the black hound swim directly to the island, and every moment I expected to see the deer dash into the water on the opposite side. A deer is a much faster swimmer than a dog, and, when both are in the water, can easily escape.

When the dog reached the island he shook himself, sniffed the hot scent and then sprang forward, growling savagely. The deer must have been taken completely by surprise. I saw it jump from the bushes and turn to escape, but already the hound's teeth were fastened in its flank.

Wheeling, the deer gored its pursuer, and the hound let go its hold. For an instant the two faced each other. Then the dog sprang at its opponent's throat, but was met by the sharp spikes of the buck. The spikes were much more effective weapons than broad antlers, and again the hound was tossed back.

Made more wary by experience, the dog again darted in, and this time caught the deer's neck, but not before the spikes had entered its black sides. The dog did not relax its hold, and the combatants seemed bound together.

I saw the hound was in danger, and rowed rapidly toward the island. When I got within shooting distance the deer had fallen to its knees, and I dared not fire for fear a scattering buckshot should strike the hound.

My boat grounded against the island, and, gun in hand, I sprang ashore. But neither creature moved; the fight was over. The hound's sharp teeth had done their work, and the buck's spike-horns, hardly less sharp, had done theirs. As I stood watching them both animals expired.

The next day two men drove over the rough wood-road, and stopped at the shanty. One of them left their buck-board and stepped to the door to speak to me.

He was evidently an educated man, and I detected traces of a German accent.

"I hear that you found a tall, black hound," he began. "Such a dog left my shanty on the Lower Saranac nearly a week ago. He looked a little like a greyhound, and I never knew him to bark."

I told him such a dog had been with me, and described the animal's death.

The stranger walked with me to the back of the shanty, where Rufe had nailed the dog's pelt against the side of a shed.

"Poor Wolfram!" he exclaimed. "Who would have expected that a hound from the fiercest pack in the Black Forest should be killed by one of these little Adirondack deer?"

It was far to the nearest tavern, and the young man seemed so dismayed at the dog's death that I urged him to spend the night in my shanty. In this way I might satisfy my curiosity about the dog.

The Bavarian—for he told me he was of that nationality—gladly accepted my invitation; and, after he had dined off the venison which his hound had pulled down, I asked him to explain the dog's peculiarities.

"Both Wolfram and I," he said, "came from Bavaria. The family estate was at the edge of the far-famed Black Forest, and my father, with his pack of black hounds, killed many a wolf that lurked in the dark shadows of the fir trees. But hunting was not a profitable business, and there was nothing better for me, a younger son, to do than to become a soldier or to emigrate.

"While a mere lad I came to America, and, as an importer of German goods, have been fairly successful. My inherited love of hunting has not been lost, and I spend a part of each autumn in the Adirondacks.

"A year ago, my brother, the present head of the family, sent me a pup from his kennel of wolf-dogs. For the purpose of giving the poor animal a change from city streets, I brought him to my cottage on Saranac Lake. But I did not expect to hunt with the dog, for I supposed he had a spirit above the game of this region.

"Several days ago a deer was chased near my door, and Wolfram put after it. We could not tell which way he had gone, for my father's wolf-dogs were not taught to bark, as among the great firs of the Black Forest horsemen can follow the chase, which seldom goes out of sight.

"The day after the hound disappeared I set out to find him, and now you tell me that one of the dogs which my father considered able to battle with a wolf has been killed by the thrust of a deer's horn!"



AVERAGE

A very common word, to-be-sure, and well understood as to its application. But after fair translation of its old French body—"aver"—into English, and only "horse" is found, and the word becomes "horsage," the change tends to confusion. None the less, "horsage" and "average" are identical, since in the old-time French an "aver" was a horse. It was also a horse in the Scotch dictionaries, and in one of Burns' poems, "A Dream," he alludes to a horse as a "noble aiver."

In olden times in Europe a tenant was bound to do certain work for the lord of the manor—largely in carting grain and turf—horse-work; and in the yearly settlement of accounts the just proportion of the large and small work performed was estimated according to the work done by "avers" (horses); hence our common word "average."



[This Story began in No. 43.]

LELIA'S HERO:

or,

"We Girls and Boys in Florida."

by ELSIE LEIGH WHITTLESEY,

Author of "My Brother and I," "A Home in the Wilds," etc., etc.

CHAPTER XXIX.

Gloomy Forebodings.

"Oh, please, do hush, Bess! You chatter so I can't hear myself think," said Lelia to Bess, one afternoon, about two weeks after their early morning visit to the suffering turtles, as the dear innocent was telling Phil some childish nonsense about a great snake Ben had once seen in the swamp, that was as long as a ship's mast and had a mouth big enough to swallow a giant. "We are going home to-morrow, and I don't see how you can laugh and tell such horrid stories when that's to happen to us so soon."

And she sighed dismally and looked out at the sea as if she never expected to behold it again.

"But I am not going home," replied Phil. "I'm going to stay with Mr. Herdic, and he has promised to take Thad and me to Key West and the sponging-grounds before we return home, or before Thad does, for I never expect to return to Oakdale."

"Then only Uncle Aldis and Aunt Marion and Bess and I have got to go home?" she replied.

"That's all," said Phil, cheerfully.

"Well, I think you might be sorry, or pretend that you are, anyway, if only for look's sake," tartly rejoined Lelia, with another wandering glance at the sea.

"Oh, I am sorry!" said Phil, with honest quickness; "but still I'd rather stay here than go back to Oakdale, where nobody likes me, and I'd never amount to a hill of beans."

"But I liked you when you were at Oakdale," gravely reminded Lelia.

And the tone in which she said it smote Phil to the heart.

"So did I," calmly avowed Bess. "I did really, Phil."

"No, you didn't!" sharply contradicted Lelia. "You never liked anybody but yourself and your dear, lovely Rosy!"

"I say I did!" stoutly declared Bess. "I liked Phil before I was born."

And she nodded her little head complacently, as if this last were a clincher that no one—not even Lelia—could have the hardihood to doubt.

Phil burst out laughing, and Lelia flung down the book she was reading, or trying lo read, when Bess began her marvelous "snake-story," and stared at her cousin in speechless disgust.

"I never did see such behaviors as those," said Bess, with awful gravity and a marked consideration for the English language not common to her.

"Such behaviors as those!" repeated Lelia, with peppery sarcasm. "My goodness, Bess, how finely you talk, and how truthful you are this afternoon!"

"You shan't scorn at me," sturdily retorted Bess. "I will cry if you do, and then Phil will take my part, and won't like you one bit."

"As if I cared for your crying, or your being 'scorned at,' or Phil's not liking me!"

And Lelia sailed out of the room, crossed the piazza and ran down the japonica-bordered path to the garden.

Seating herself under a crape-myrtle tree, its pink blossoms glowing amid the deep, glossy green of its leaves, like the blush of the sunset on an April cloud, she rested her chin in the palm of her hand, and looked, half-thoughtfully, half-defiantly, at the ground.

So Phil was not going to return to Oakdale; he did not care for any of his old friends; and this was gratitude. Yet what had he to be grateful for? The debt was all on her side, and the affection, too, for that matter; and the one, she thought, ought to balance the other.

"Lelia!"

Phil had contrived to elude Bess' fox-like vigilance, and when she was busy with her tea-set, followed Lelia into the garden, to try and find out what it was that had so mightily offended his old playmate.

"Well?" she said, shortly.

"I've something to give you," Phil began, in a business-like tone—"not to give you, exactly, but to return to you."

And he put in her hand the identical little white envelope she had given him at Oakdale the evening before their departure for Florida.

It was worn and soiled, and all its former freshness gone; but it contained five crisp ten-dollar notes, every penny of Phil's small earnings since he had been in Mr. Herdic's employ, and "squared accounts between them," as he said, with a satisfied smile.

Lelia was in one of her grand, womanly moods, and seemed to put her childhood and childhood's tempers and jealousies away from her as one might an outgrown garment.

She looked as she did the day she had urged her uncle to befriend Oakdale's "bad boy," and her hand closed over the envelope in a slow, proud way, as if she hated, yet strangely valued, the few poor bank-notes it held, hoarded, she knew, with so much self-denial and miserly care, that "accounts might be squared between them," and Phil no longer her debtor.

"It's all there," he said, after an awkward pause, seeing that she did not seem inclined to take any further notice of it.

"Of course it is. Don't I know that?"

"But you have not counted it."

"No; but haven't you said it was all there, and isn't that enough?"

Phil unconsciously drew himself up, and a glad light shone in his eyes. He was proud of her confidence in his word, and prouder still to feel himself not altogether unworthy of her good opinion.

"The time we have been here, and all the queer things that have happened to us since we left Oakdale, seems like a dream," he said, presently—"a strange, exciting dream."

"Does it?" She looked up at him in undisguised surprise. "It does not seem so to me; it is all real—as real as my life, as the sea, as the earth—but that is because I am a girl, I suppose, and girls are not so forgetful as boys are, so I've heard people say."

You would never have thought her a child to look at her as she spoke. Her eyes were so earnest, her voice so grave, her manner so composed and considering.

Her fun and prattle with Bess, her little quarrels and tart replies, her generous, happy, winning, self-willed ways, were as if they had never been, and in their place came resignation, reserve, pride and a little—only a little—regret and sorrow.

"I have something for you," she said, after another awkward pause—"something that will help you to remember me when I am gone."

"Then I shall not need it," said Phil, quickly.

"Oh, yes, you will! You confess already that Florida, and all that's happened to us since we've been here, seems like a dream—so how can I hope to be remembered unless I leave some reminder of my naughty little self with you? I asked Uncle Walter to get it made for me when we were last at Jacksonville, and he did, and here it is, and it's yours to keep always, if you care for it, Phil."

She took from her pocket, carefully wrapped in pink tissue paper, a purple velvet box, opened it and took from it a beautiful blue-and-gold enameled locket, set round with pearls, and as perfect in every respect as the jeweler's art could make it.

"It has my picture in it. I thought you might like to have it, though it's not much, and I am nobody in particular."

"Nobody? Why, you are everybody to me, Lelia," he said, taking the locket with a kind of reverent hesitancy and opening it with as much care as if he feared it might fall to pieces in his grasp or vanish entirely, like the enchanted ring in the fairy tale.

The lovely little face it portrayed was Lelia's own, and when he had looked at it for fully five minutes, with eyes expressive of the most unbounded delight, he shut the glittering cases, replaced the locket in its little velvet box, and said, very earnestly:

"The money I borrowed, and it's now paid; but the picture is mine. Your gift, Lelia, and yours alone?"

"Yes, I thought of it. My gift alone, and I'm glad if it pleases you."

"Well, it does—lots, and I shall keep it as long as I live."

"And this money," turning the envelope over in her hand, and regarding it curiously "what shall I do with it, Phil?"

"Oh, that's for you to say!"

"So it is; and it's for me to say, also, that it is getting late, and I want to see the sun 'set in the sea,' as Bess calls it, this last evening of our stay at Cedar Keys. And there's Bess now, little plague that she is!" turning to meet the flying figure that came tearing down the garden path, with hair streaming in the wind, and sash untied and trailing on the ground in dreadful disarray.

Phil walked off, whistling, with the locket in his hand; and the last of the many childish confidences that had taken place between Lelia and her playfellow, preserver and hero was at an end.

CHAPTER XXX.

The Wreck of the OspreyY.

Thad, it was agreed, should remain a month longer with his Uncle Walter at Cedar Keys before joining his parents, sister and cousin at Oakdale. Mrs. Leigh's parting words to her brother was a tearful request that he would take good care of her only son, and send him safely home to them by the latter part of June, or the first of July, at the latest—a request, of course, which Mr. Herdic solemnly promised to bear in mind; for, however unfortunate he had been in his guardianship of girls, he felt quite sure he could manage boys to his own satisfaction and that of their mothers, and not only keep them out of mischief and danger, but teach them at the same time something useful and proper for them to know.

So, one fine morning, two days after bidding his sister and her family good-by, Uncle Walter, with his handsome nephew, Thaddeus, and sturdy little Phil, set sail for Key West and the sponging-grounds, it being their purpose to take passage to the latter place on some one of the numerous fishing-crafts that were constantly passing to and fro between Key West and the scene of the hardy sponge-gatherers' daily toil.

The steamer Osprey was not a very fast sailer, but she was staunch and trim, with fairly good cabin accommodations for a vessel of her size and build.

Mr. Herdic and his nephew had state-rooms on deck, while Phil's was below; but he rarely occupied it, for he did not much like such close, hot, dark quarters, when there was plenty of fresh air, light and space to turn around in above.

The morning of the second day out was unusually sultry, even for that tropical latitude. There was not a breath of wind, nor a ripple on the surface of the sea, but toward noon a breeze sprung up, which, before dark, threatened to become a hurricane.

Rain squalls were frequent, and vivid flashes of lightning and deafening peals of thunder added to the wild uproar of the elements, and sent Thad, trembling with fear, to his state-room, which he wished for the time being was below, and not so uncomfortably near the straining and creaking mast.

But Phil really enjoyed it, and sat on the capstan, watching two grizzled old sailors heave the lead with unmoved interest.

"By the deep nine," sang out the elder of the two seamen, as he reeled in his line and took a weather-wise look over his shoulder.

"Just so," said Mr. Moore, the short, red-whiskered mate of the Osprey, who stood by the skylight, with his lantern under his arm, carefully directing the business of taking soundings. "We ought to make Largo Light in an hour, if she keeps on at this rate."

"Aye, aye, sir! But it's a rough night for knowing just where we are, or the rate of speed she's making," responded the sailor, as he went forward, followed by his companion, both drenched to the skin, and their gray beards and brown faces wet with the pelting rain.

The cargo of the Osprey was of a decidedly mixed character, consisting mainly of cotton bales, coffee, "canned goods," small merchandise, and, among the rest, a lot of cattle, a dozen or more horses and two mules, which set up such a braying, bellowing and neighing, as the storm increased in violence, and the ship began to roll heavily in the trough of the sea, that the din raised was appalling, added to the wild shrieking of the wind through the cordage and the rush and roar of the towering waves.

Besides Mr. Herdic and the two boys, there was only one other passenger on board the Osprey—a small, middle aged man, evidently of Spanish descent, dark, clean-shaven, nervous, and not remarkable for either sociability or good manners.

His name was Paul Casimer, his destination Havana, by the way of Key West, and his wealth—if rumor was to be relied upon—considerable.

Officers, passengers and crew, all told, were just nineteen souls, counting the colored cook and cabin boy, the former of whom was especially liked by Phil, for he was a good-natured fellow, with the thickest lips, the kinkiest wool, and the biggest white, rolling eyes that Phil had yet come across in all his Florida wanderings.

The mate still stood by the skylight, with the lantern in his hand, when Paul Casimer made his appearance on deck, wearing a long sea-coat that reached to his heels, and with a slouch hat drawn low over his eyes and violently pulled down at the back, to keep out the weather.

"A rough night, Mr. Moore," he said, rather crabbedly. "What are our soundings?"

"Nine fathoms," answered the mate, with no very evident desire to be communicative.

"And little enough it is, too!" grumbled Mr. Casimer. "We will be on the reefs the first you know, if you keep her going at this rate—twelve or fourteen knots an hour, and the wind tight after us."

Mr. Moore made no reply, and when he had made two or three turns of the deck, with every appearance of having very little confidence in either his legs or his stomach, Mr. Casimer sullenly retired, and Phil and the mate were again alone.

"Our friend, Don Casimer, seems to have a rather ugly twist in his temper to-night," laughed the mate, as soon as the object of his remarks had disappeared. "If a shark were to dine off him, it would not much matter, for he's the sort of a fellow that hates himself and everybody else. He's in the Cuba trade, and thinks— Eh, by George, boy, look out, or you'll be overboard! That was a thumper, and no mistake!"

The tremendous wave that struck the ship, and jerked the word of caution from the mate's lips, threw Phil violently against the nettings, deluging the deck and sending a shower of blinding salt spray as high as the smoke-stack.

Phil righted with the ship—that is, he scrambled to his feet and shook the brine from his eyes, as soon as the gallant little steamer got her propeller again in the water, and had settled herself for another shock.

"I should say it was a thumper!" gasped Phil. "It seemed to walk on board and grab at everything within its reach. It's got my hat, and would have got me, if I had not clung for dear life to the nettings."

"It's a way these heavy cross-seas have of introducing themselves, lashed by such a wind as is blowing now," said Mr. Moore. "I think you must have been cut out for a sailor, you take so kindly to the rough side of a sailor's life."

"Oh, I don't know!" replied Phil, diffidently. "I like the sea. I haven't seen much of it, but what I have seen has been pretty rough—an experience that I'd not like to live over again."

He thought of Lelia, and the time they were adrift together in the little pleasure-boat; of their awful landing in the cold, gray dawn of the early morning, on that strange, lonely coast; of their subsequent wanderings, hungry and weary in the swamp—but this was so different!

He was on board a stout steamer, commanded by good, capable officers, and really had no fear as to the vessel's safety, though it was blowing a hurricane, and the locality a particularly dangerous one.

While these reflections were passing through Phil's mind, Captain Barrett, a coast-skipper of the old-time sort, approached them, his rubber storm-suit glistening in the weird light of the lantern he carried, his weather-beaten face wearing an anxious expression, and his brows closely knit in a searching look leeward.

"It's so confounded dark, and the mist and drizzle so thick, one can't see the ship's bows; but we ought to make Largo Light soon, if I am not far out in my reckoning. But you can't tell, in these chop seas, where you are. The wind drives you ahead and the current pulls you back, and the first thing you know you're on the rocks, and the deuce and all to pay," remarked the captain, his sharp, gray eyes still searching the rainy darkness. "I estimate our speed at fourteen knots—what say you, Mr. Moore?"

"Not so much. Twelve knots, I think a fair calculation."

"Then we must be not far from Devil's Rock," said the captain, thoughtfully. "According to my reckoning, we should have passed it an hour ago; and the Devil's Rock it will prove, indeed, if we are so unlucky as to strike it such a night as this."

Phil, who was near enough to hear every word of the above conversation, began to feel a little alarmed, in spite of himself.

It was past midnight, the waves rolling mountains high and the ship laboring heavily. He wondered if Mr. Herdic knew how hard it was blowing, and, if he did, how it was possible for him to lie calmly in his berth and listen, undisturbed, to the tumult raging on every hand around him.

"A light!" shouted the lookout, from the maintop.

"Where away?" cried the captain.

"Broad on our weather-beam."

"Right you are!" was the quick response, just as there loomed through the darkness a lurid red light, like the eye of some huge sea-monster, that had reared its head above the boiling waves for a momentary view of the wild scene.

"That must be Largo Light," said the mate, somewhat doubtfully.

"Yes," replied the captain, with a look of great relief. "Now we know where we are, though it's not often I am so far out in my reckoning. Tell Mr. Rolf to keep her close to the wind, and I'll go forward and take a look at the chart."

So saying, Captain Barrett went away to his cabin to consult his charts, while the mate hurried to give his instructions to the man at the wheel.

An hour passed—an hour of darkness, storm and gloom.

Phil was beginning to feel very chilly in his wet clothes and started to go below, when the ship suddenly seemed to rise in the middle and then pitch forward again, with a dull, grating sound, the meaning of which he knew only too well.

"Breakers!" shouted the voice of the mate, from somewhere near the companion-way. "We are on the reef!"

As he spoke the red light went out, as if swallowed up by the angry sea, and then they knew the nature of the false beacon that had lured them on to destruction.

Phil was making his way as fast as he could to Mr. Herdic's state-room, when that gentleman himself appeared on deck, with Thad, half-dressed and in a terrible state of excitement, following him.

"What is it?" cried Uncle Walter. "What has happened?"

"The ship has struck! The infernal wreckers, with their misleading false lights, have brought us on the rocks," replied Captain Barrett, who stood near, perfectly calm in the midst of the indescribable confusion and the wild howlings of the storm. "Lower the life-boats, Mr. Moore, and God be our trust, for it's every man for himself now; but steady! Life is life, and he who saves his must be brave, cool and stout-hearted. The rockets, boatswain. It may seem a vain hope, but help may be nearer than we think."

Two boats were lowered, but who got into them, or what became of them, Phil did not know. In far less time than it takes to relate it, he had pulled off his coat, vest and boots, put on a life-preserver and stood heroically awaiting his fate, whatever it might be.

He was pretty badly scared—there is no denying that—and he felt a little weak in the knees; but when the struggle came, and the battle waged was for life, he felt quite certain of making as brave a fight as anybody.

"Good-by, Mr. Herdic!" he said, extending his hand. "It's a chance if we live to see each other again."

"Good-by!" replied Mr. Herdic, in a choked voice; "and God be with and care for you, my dear boy."

Thad's deathly pale lips tried to form some intelligible sound, but failed, and, with a kind of dumb entreaty, he put his arms around Phil's neck, and dropped his head despairingly on the other's shoulder.

"Lelia did better than this," thought Phil, but he was too generous to say so, and when Thad sobbed out, "Will you stay by me, Phil?" he answered, quickly, "Yes, I will, upon my honor!"

In that moment of supreme peril, Thad seemed to prefer the help and protection of his brave young enemy to that of his uncle—strong man and good swimmer as was the latter.

The boom of a minute gun rang out above the roar of the tempest, and a second after a rocket went whizzing into the inky blackness, to burst into a shower of blue fire and fall hissing into the sea.

Another and another followed in quick succession; then came a mighty crash. The mast went by the board, carrying with it four sailors who had sought safety in the rigging.

The vessel broached to, lying broadside on the reef, the waves making a complete breach over her, and leaving her at the merciless sea. Thad uttered an unearthly shriek, and clung to Phil, who, in turn, clung to the iron grating of the companion-way. The cook had secured a mattress, the cabin-boy a door, and Mr. Herdic—but Mr. Herdic was gone; so, too, was Don Casimer, the captain, and Mr. Rolf.

The doomed steamer broke in two amidships, and all her upper works floated off, with such of her crew and passengers as had not already been engulfed in the pitiless flood.

The harsh rending asunder of strongly-riveted iron-plates, the surge and jar and strain of breaking timbers, was the last sound Phil was conscious of before he found himself thrown bodily into the sea, with Thad held in such a way in his arms as to keep the poor boy from grasping his neck, in his frantic struggles to keep his head above the waves.

Phil was stunned, breathless, half-strangled, bruised and beaten by he did not know what; everything, it seemed to him—dead and drowning bodies of men and cattle, boxes, furniture, spars, cotton-bales, pieces of the wreck of every conceivable kind and shape, trunks and sea-chests.

A portion of the saloon cabin floated within his reach; Phil clutched it, but the succeeding wave tore it from his grasp, and he went down, down, down to an awful depth.

The roaring in his ears was maddening; his brain felt as if it were on fire. How long did it take one to drown? Was there no end to the agony? But Phil came up again, and so did a Florida steer right under him, kicking, bellowing and plunging in its convulsive death-throes, like some dying leviathan of the deep.

Phil did not get out of its way, for he could not; but, just as the animal was rolling upon him, a great wave lifted him high on its foam-white crest and hurled him against a cotton-bale.

He caught hold of it with the desperate strength of one fighting for life, and held on with might and main. His companion, if not dead, was utterly unconscious, for when Phil called to him he did not answer, and lay a limp, lifeless weight on his shoulder.

The gale appeared to be subsiding, for the cotton bale became more steady, and the rain had ceased to fall some time before.

The clouds broke away at last, and in the speck of blue peeped out a star. Yet the swells were terrific, and carried them onward with fearful velocity—where, only the All-seeing knew—and when the dawn appeared in the east, exhausted, chilled to the heart, bruised and nearly naked, Phil and his insensible companion were flung ashore like two poor fragments of stranded sea-weed. He had just strength enough left to crawl up out of reach of the breakers, and that was all.

His grip on Thad's arm had not relaxed for a single second since the time he seized it at the moment of the ship's final going to pieces. His fingers seemed to have stiffened around it, and it was only by a sharp effort that he was able to force them away.

"Well, dead or alive," he murmured, "I stuck by him, as I said, upon my word and honor, I would! Thad! you can't speak? Then over you go!"

And Thad might have been a barrel by the way Phil rolled him about and shook him up.

"Thad!"

This time, Phil got an answer—if a groan can be called such—and it encouraged him mightily.

"You are coming to?"

Another groan.

"You feel better?"

"Yes," with ghastly faintness.

"Any bones broken?"

"No-o; I can't tell. Where are we?"

The very question Lelia had asked him on a like terrible occasion.

"That's more than I know."

It was now broad daylight.

Phil looked around him, and his countenance fell. They were on a barren rock in the Gulf Stream.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

* * * * *

PUZZLEDOM.

*No. 613.*

Original contributions solicited from all. Puzzles containing obsolete words will be received. Write contributions on one side of the paper, and apart from all communications. Address "Puzzle Editor," GOLDEN DAYS, Philadelphia, Pa.

ANSWERS TO LAST WEEK'S PUZZLES

No. 1. Knee-pen-the (Nepenthe).

No. 2.

V A F V A N I L L A F I N E E R L E G E R L E E W A Y A R R A Y E R Y E R

No. 3. This—'tis.

No. 4.

L I T H A N T H R A X T R A C E R I E S I R O N I S T P R I E S N A R S

No. 5. Water-melon.

No. 6.

C H A R I V A R I H E B E T A T E A B I L E N E R E L U M E I T E M S V A N E A T E R E I

No. 7. Isinglass.

No. 8.

P O O A S L R L S A R I I I I R T G O G T I I N N I I C N S E S N C T T E

No. 9. Alco-ran.

No. 10.

R A B R E F E R R U M O R E D R E M O R A T E S A F O R E T I M E B E R A T T L E S R E T I L E S D E M E S S E S

No. 11. Con-cent-rate.

No. 12.

M G A L S A L I S S A L I N E S G A L I N G A L E M A L I N G E R I N G L I N G E R I N G S E A R I N G S L I N G E N G G

NEW PUZZLES.

No. 1. CLASSICAL CHARADE. (By sound.)

"One more last glorious day for him," Says the king of the blessed gods. And he looked with love on the warrior grim, While the world shakes as he nods.

And well the hero fought that day Around the god-built wall— Fought as a tigress fights at bay, Roused by her young whelps' call.

His brazen mail on his broad breast rang, As before the host he came; When there, through the foeman's first all sprang Like a lurid tongue of flame.

But no mortal hands could have saved the town, Or averted the fatal hour: And from glory's fair ambrosial crown Death last that brightest flower.

Iowa City, Iowa. Irish Foreman.

No. 2. INVERTED PYRAMID.

Across: 1. Tending to recede from the centre. 2. Hernias of the thigh. 3. A little volume (Rare). 4. A kind of woolen cloth. 5. Musical syllable. 6. A letter.

Down: 1. A letter. 2. A type measure. 3. A snare. 4. An old woman. 5. A species of silk fabric. 6. One who deals in ice. 7. A genus of quadrupeds. 8. Mexican trees. 9. To become. 10. A Roman weight. 11. A letter.

Newark, N.J. Joe Hootey.

No. 3. RIDDLE.

When I was young, my parent old I bore within my circling arms; When I grew fat I wore no hat. But being old and pale and thin, I wear a dainty, golden brim.

Madison, Wis. C. Ash.

No. 4. DIAMOND.

1. A letter. 2. A rod used by masons. 3. To hinder. 4. Patched (Obs.) 5. Those who accomplish. 6. Nuptial. 7. Benzoinated (Dunglison.) 8. To cut deeper. 9. To suffer. 10. Bad. 11. A letter.

Washington, D.C. Eugene.

No. 5. APHERESIS.

Sweetheart, good-by! How quickly to two loving hearts The ones seem to fly; Though all unseen, time fast departs, And, sweetheart, I Must kiss thee once before I go, And say good-by!

Sweetheart, good-by! Oh, love, thy cheeks with tears are wet, You sadly sigh That I—I may thee soon forget; Love, I reply By kissing such foolish doubts away, And then good-by!

Sweetheart, good-by! One last look at thy fair, sweet face— Nay, do not cry— One lingering kiss, one sweet embrace. Then, sweetheart, I Must part with thee for one long day— Sweetheart, good-by!

Washington, D.C. Guidon.

No. 6. PENTAGON.

1. A letter. 2. A boy. 3. Put in tune. 4. Certain candlesticks. 5. Yellow dyeing matters. 6. Mocking. 7. One made a citizen. 8. Parts. 9. Faculty by which external objects are perceived.

Cincinnati, Ohio. Green Wood.

No. 7. CHARADE.

(By sound.)

"I've cut my one! I've cut my one!" Cried Mrs. Murphy's eldest son: He nursed the one and hopped about— His mother from the house ran out; "Oh, two the blissid saint presarve!" The frightened widow cried; "My darlin' b'y how did ye carve Your last so deep and wide?" "Oh, mother dear! I came out here To hoe the totals without fear; But fortune frowns against your son— His hoeing for this day is done."

Mexico, Mo. Wanderoo.

No. 8. HALF SQUARE.

1. Makes lawful. 2. Active principles of elaterium. 3. Followers of Galen. 4. Repeats. 5. States of holding the best and third best cards (Whist). 6. Certain minerals. 7. Costs. 8. Certain insects. 9. A river of Mongolia. 10. A plural affix. 11. A letter.

Jefferson, O. Majolica.

No. 9. ENIGMA.

I'm first in the alehouse and third at the dram, In midst of the breakfast, dividing the ham; I'm first in the army, second in battle, Unknown to the child, I'm found in his rattle; I'm found in all waters, but never in wells; I'm mixed up with witchcraft, but never in spells; On lassies and ladies I wait all their lives, But quit them the moment they call themselves wives; Though strange contradictions in tales may be carried, Where virtue prevails, I am found with the married; With the grave and the gay I number my days, I mix in their prayers and join in their praise; I'm never in liquor—but once in the year, Then with statesmen and gamblers and rakes I appear; I'm not in this world, I'm not in the next, But in the old saying, "between and betwixt;" I mount with the atmosphere, taking the lead; I visit the grave and am found with the dead; I'm ancient as Noah, was first in the ark; Unseen in the light, yet, I shine in the dark; I shall last with the earth, with nature and man, I was sketched with the draft and was found in the plan; When nature and earth from existence are driven, The angels will guard me eternal in heaven.

——— A Lady Reader.

No. 10. NEWARK ICOSAHEDRON.

1. To rest. 2. Small pieces of artillery (Rare). 3. Fixed deeply. 4. The girdle of a Jewish priest. 5. A constellation of the zodiac. 6. A long cloak extending from head to feet, worn by women. 7. To counterfeit. 8. A genus of lamellibranchiate bivalves. 9. A state of quiet or tranquility. 10. To throw back. 11. A sixpence. 12. Restrains. 13. A cave.

Stone, Ala. R.E. Porter.

No. 11. CHARADE.

Nothing purer than the first was ever seen, Or more lovely, colder, brighter, e'er I ween; If you make a second of me, surely then With practice you might hit a dozen men; Lo! total, with its leaves of darkest green, In some gardens, in summer, may be seen.

Washington, D.C. Waldemar.

-> Answers will appear in our next issue; solvers in six weeks.

SOLVERS.

Puzzles in *Puzzledom No. DCVII* were correctly solved by Stocles, Helio, Carl, O.B.J., J. O'King, Rosalind, Charles Goodwin, Khaftan, Legs, Joe-de-Joe, Marcellus, Hercules, Spider, Romulus, Dovey, Theo Logy and Fred. E. Rick, Night, Windsor Boy, Claude Hopper, Janet, Goldey and Pen Ledcil, Stanna, Addie Shun, Osceola, Flora Nightingale, Katie O'Neill, Willie Wimple, Pantagrapher, Weesie, Lowell, May Le Hosmer and Magnolia, Horace, Carrie Wilmer, Green Wood, Mary McK., John Watson, Mary Roland, Rose Bourne, B. Gonia, Theresa, Brom Bones, Brig, Herbie C., Cartoon, Dorio, Little Nell, R.E. Flect, Mary Pollard, M.E.T., Joe King, Conpay, Eben E. Wood, Parus, Olive, V.I. Olin, Irish Foreman, L'Allegro, Jejune, Tam O'Shanter and Beta.

Complete List.—Stocles.



QUEER WRINKLES.

—The progress of the fall season is measured by the golden-rod.

—Said an absent-minded school-teacher: "I hear a quiet noise in the right-hand corner of the room. I know very well who the guilty party is, but I will not mention his name. It is Tommy Jones."

—You can hail a street car, but you will be arrested if you stone one.

—Mr. Gummey: "Why do you call your dog 'Hen?' Is it an abbreviation of Henry?" Mr. Glanders: "No; I call him 'Hen' because he is a setter."

—The counterfeiter is satisfied if he can spend money as fast as he can make it.

—Baby choked in his sleep, one day, Only a harmless choke, 'twould seem. But Marjorie settled it in her way— I 'spect," she said, "he swallowed a dream."

—No fiddler ever gets tired of his own music.

—Benny: "Papa, I was playing with the sickle this morning, and I fell down and cut a finger." Papa: "Did you cry?" Benny: "Nope, but Willie did." Papa: "What did Willie cry for?" Benny: "It was Willie's finger I cut."

—One peculiarity of the skin on an animal is, that the fur side is the near side to you.

—Mr. Staggers: "What a gross man McJunkin is!" Mr. Sumway: "Yes, but you ought to see his brother. He is a grocer."

—It is the easiest thing in the world to borrow trouble and return a visit.

—"Now," said the professor, "I want you to illustrate the difference between music and noise." "Your own singing and somebody's else," replied the pupil, confidently.

—"This is a regular sugar loaf," said the candy-store clerk, when business was dull.

* * * * *

The Fierce Old Cat and the Clockwork Rat.



* * * * * * * * * * * * * *



A.E.B.—Extract of witch-hazel is made by distilling the leaves of that shrub, the scientific name of which is Hamamelis virginica. To do this, it will be necessary to secure apparatus especially adapted to the purpose.

CARRIE N.—Polish the horns according to the directions given in Vol. 5, No. 43. They are very ornamental, but there is no great demand for them. You might be able to dispose of a pair or two among your friends.

J.N.D.—Stamp dealers usually begin as collectors, and thus gain an intimate knowledge of the various issues, colors, varieties and prices of all the stamps issued. Numerous illustrated catalogues are issued by the principal dealers in this country and Europe.

J.H.S.—1. When recharging a battery it is only necessary to remove any parts that may have decomposed and then add water. 2. The outfit requisite for producing the electric light described in Nos. 1 and 2 of the last volume will cost two or three dollars.

OLD SUBSCRIBER.—Narrow shoulders may be strengthened and straightened by judicious exercise, and by walking and sitting erect, throwing them well back and never allowing them to droop. It is very doubtful, however, if their breadth can be increased to any appreciable degree.

H.B.—Vols. 1, 2, 3 and 4 of this paper cannot be furnished complete either bound or unbound, but from 6 to 12, inclusive, they can be supplied in either shape. A very limited number of bound copies of the fifth volume remain to be sold at the usual rate of $4 each, but in its unbound form it is incomplete, one number being out of print.

E.F.W.—White ink is made by mixing flake white with gum arabic and water. It should be sufficiently fluid to flow easily from the pen. Another mixture, erroneously called white ink, but which is in reality an etching fluid, and can only be used on colored paper, is made by adding 1 part of muriatic acid to 20 parts of starch water. A steel pen must be used.

A.G.D.—1. There is but one way to improve the memory, and that is to concentrate the mind upon but one subject at a time, never allowing it to wander off to some other idea. At first, this is a difficult matter, but in a comparatively short time the mind can be brought under control, and the memory will, in many instances, become far more retentive than ever before. 2. The growth of hair on the face cannot be checked, but can be controlled by the regular use of a razor.

UNUS PLURORUM.—Pilot charts may be obtained at all the branch hydrographic offices in our large ports, but the coast survey charts are not intended for general distribution. Every Congressman is allowed a limited number, and may, if he pleases, distribute them among his friends, and they are also furnished to schools, scientific associations, libraries and the like, when application is made for any special map. In all other cases they are for sale at stated figures, varying according to the size of the chart desired. A catalogue of all the maps issued by the Coast Survey is procurable from the chief of that office in Washington, D.C.

GEORGE C.W.—In mending crockery, one of the strongest cements for the purpose, and one which is easily applied, is composed of lime and the white of an egg. To use it, take a sufficient quantity of the egg to mend one article at a time—easily gauged by the extent of the break—shave off a small quantity of lime, and mix thoroughly. Apply quickly to the edges and place firmly together, when it will soon become set and strong. The reason for mixing a small quantity at once is that it hardens very quickly and then becomes useless.

TIGER TOM.—1. According to the game laws of California deer may be shot, in some parts of that State during the months of July, August, September and October, except in Siskiyou and Nevada Counties, where the open season begins in August and ends on the last day of January. Quail may be killed there in January, February, October, November and December. 2. Each State makes its own laws regulating the term of imprisonment for a specified crime. 3. One series of articles on making traps for small game is out of print. The only numbers in print containing such directions are 52, Vol. 6, and 1, Vol. 7.

SAILOR.—The Philadelphia, Newark, Miantonomoh, Kearsarge, Concord, Chicago, Atlanta, Yorktown, Boston, Bennington, Petrel, Baltimore, San Francisco, Yantic, Thetis and Ranger are the United States war vessels that are available at the present time, or could be put in commission in the course of ninety days. A complete list and description of all the vessels comprising our naval force can be obtained from the Secretary of the Navy, Washington, D.C., but we cannot afford the space in which to give in detail such a mass of measurements, the number of guns, etc., as would be required to satisfy your wants.

W.H.K.—1. John Greenleaf Whittier, popularly known as the "Quaker Poet" and the "Bachelor Poet" resides at Amesbury, Mass. "Maud Muller," "Barefoot Boy," "Cobbler Keezar's Vision," "Barbara Frietchie," "In School Days" and "My Psalm" are the most popular of his short poems. "Snow Bound," written in 1866, is undoubtedly the best of all his poems, and is, in one sense, a memorial of his mother and sister, having been written after their death. He was born near Haverhill, Mass., on December 17, 1807. 2. Get a setting of bantam eggs from a local bird dealer.

CONSTANT READER.—1. All the foremost juvenile writers of the day are engaged on GOLDEN DAYS; therefore, in our opinion, there are none better or more popular. 2. The various officers in the United States navy rank as follows: Rear admirals, commodores, captains, commanders, lieutenant commanders, lieutenants (two grades), ensigns (two grades), and naval cadets. Rear Admiral Walker is the head of that branch of the service at the present time. 3. They were published in a magazine bearing his name. 4. See the naval pay-table in the Letter Box of No. 15, Vol. 12.

A JAY.—1. Martin, the winner of the six-days' bicycle race at Madison Square Garden, New York city, last October, rode for 127 hours of the 142 allotted to the race, covering 1466 6-10 miles during that time, showing an average speed of 11-1/2 miles an hour. His record is the best ever made, far exceeding any previous attempts in a six-days' match. 2. There are probably several bicycle clubs in your vicinity. Make inquiries, and, if so, you should experience no difficulty in being elected a member of any one of them.

AN AZTEC PRINCE.—The largest tunnel in the world is that of St. Gothard, on the railroad line between Lucerne and Milan. The summit of this tunnel is 990 feet below the surface at Andermatt, and 6600 feet beneath the peak at Kastelhorn of the St. Gothard group. The tunnel itself is 26-1/2 feet wide, and 19 feet 10 inches from the floor to the crown of the arched roof. Its length is 9-1/2 miles, while the Hoosac Tunnel, on the Fitchburg Railway, is 4-1/2 miles long. The Mont Cenis tunnel is one and five-eighths miles shorter than that of St. Gothard.

IMPATIENT.—1. All communications intended for this paper should be addressed to "James Elverson, Publisher of GOLDEN DAYS, Philadelphia, Pa." If they contain queries intended for this department, that fact should be indicated by writing in the lower left hand corner of the envelope the words "Letter Box," and the real name of the writer in addition to the assumed title, should be placed at the end. 2. A chapter on polishing horns, bones, shells and stones was presented in Vol. 5, No. 43. 3. Oiliness of the skin may be remedied by washing with water containing a teaspoonful of borax or a tablespoonful of alcohol.

W.M.R.—Boys ranging in age from fifteen to eighteen years, from any part of the country, may enlist as naval apprentices on the U.S. training-ships, but not on the school-ships Saratoga or St. Mary's, which are, in reality, local institutions, supported by New York city and Pennsylvania. An excellent idea of the requirements in either case may be gained by reading the articles headed "The Nautical School of New York City," in No. 35, Vol. 8, and "Uncle Sam's Ships," in No. 18, Vol. 10. The school-ship boys serve but two years, while the naval apprentices remain until they reach the age of twenty-one, unless sooner discharged for misbehavior or disability.

134.—1. In military or naval parlance, a ration is a portion or fixed allowance of provisions, drink and forage, assigned to a soldier in the army or a sailor in the navy, for his daily subsistence. Its component parts are established by law, but may be varied by the Secretary of War or of the Navy; or, when necessary, by the senior officer present in command. The latter may also diminish the allowance, in case of necessity, but of course the persons whose allowance is thus lessened are reimbursed according to the scale of prices established at the time of such diminution. 2. The regulation chest measurement required of a seventeen-year-old applicant for admission on a training-ship is 29 inches.

F.B.H., MIDSHIPMAN and W.H.E.—1. As there are but two schoolships in the United States, and none but New York and Pennsylvania boys are admitted on them, non-residents' applications for enlistment would not be considered under any circumstances. Boys desiring to enter the U.S. navy can do so by enlisting on a training ship, which is a government institution, and intended as a means of fitting our youth to perform the duties of sailors and petty officers in the regular navy. The schoolship boys, on the other hand, are trained for the merchant service. The Chief of the Bureau of Equipment and recruiting, Navy Department, Washington, D.C., is the one to whom all applications for enlistment on the training ships should be made. 2. No premium is offered for U.S. pennies coined in 1858.

GENERAL NAPOLEON.—1. A graduate of the schoolship Saratoga might be able to obtain an appointment as quartermaster on an ocean steamship at a salary of about $30 per month. The other officers on these vessels are shipped on the other side of the Atlantic, and have to show a certificate of service before being appointed as mates or to any other official position. The schoolship boys should experience but little trouble in getting some minor berths on coastwise vessels or other crafts sailing under American colors. The chief idea in establishing the two schoolships, St. Mary's and Saratoga, was to fit boys for the mercantile marine, and probably, if ever the trans-Atlantic liners sail under our flag, they will be given appointments on them. 2. The pay of the officers on steamship lines varies so greatly that no general average can be given.

CURIOUS READER.—1. There are several colleges in this country in which poor boys are afforded an opportunity of putting into practice legitimate plans for raising sufficient money to pay for tuition and other expenses. This subject was treated of in a very interesting and instructive article entitled "Working One's Way Through College," in No. 15 of the volume just ended. In it will be found many such plans, which will prove of great benefit to those intending to thus gain a collegiate training. 2. The Constitution does not require candidates for government positions to possess a college education—in fact, comparatively few heads of departments, commissioners, etc., are thus equipped. 3. There are no "free trade" colleges in the United States. We do not know of the existence of such institutions in any part of the world.

L.G.C.H.—1. In soldering, the edges of the metals to be put together must be perfectly clean, to insure which, as well as to counteract the oxidization which most metals undergo when heated, a flux is used which neutralizes these otherwise serious impediments, securing a firm joint. Borax, rosin, sal-ammoniac, common salt, limestone, glass and several other substances are used for this purpose, according to the nature of the metal used. Rosin or oil is usually employed in soldering tin and lead, while a mixture of muriate of zinc and sal-ammoniac is used with steel. 2. A complete outfit for printing an amateur paper such as that you describe will cost at least $200, and can be purchased from any dealer in printing materials. 3. Construct the camera according to the plans laid down in Vol. 9, No. 34. The cost of that issue will be 6 cents, postage free.

J.H.R.—Numerous articles on how to construct cabinets, bookcases, etc., have been published in previous volumes of this paper. Among these are the following: "How to Make a Refrigerator," "Cabinet-Making for Beginners" and "Screens and How to Make Them." Nos. 35, 47 and 48, Vol. 5; "How to Make a Desk," "Hanging Bookshelves" and "Corner Cabinet," Nos. 7, 15 and 22, Vol. 6; "Hanging Cabinet," No. 16, Vol. 7; "How to Make an Amateur Carpenter's Bench," No. 36, Vol. 8; "How to Make a Portable Bookcase," No. 2, Vol. 10, and "How to Make a Bookcase and Cabinet," No. 8, Vol. 12. These numbers will cost six cents each, no charge being made for postage. It is our intention to publish such articles in this and succeeding volumes, whenever the opportunity is presented of giving the boys novel and useful ideas in the "how to make" line.

M.S.S.—1. The sun's average distance from the earth is about 93,000,000 miles. Since the orbit of the earth is elliptical, and the sun is situated at one of its foci, the earth is nearly 3,000,000 miles further from the sun in midsummer than it is in midwinter in the northern hemisphere. In the southern hemisphere, these conditions are exactly reversed. 2. U.S. Senators are elected by the legislatures of the States they represent, while members of the National House or Representatives are elected by the people. 3. It is not considered improper to write a short message or letter on a half-sheet of paper; in fact, some styles of writing paper consist of but a single sheet. 4. The use of a moderately stiff tooth-brush, clean water and castile soap will keep the teeth white and in good condition. Tooth-powders are injurious. 5. Nickel-plating should not be exposed to dampness, and must be kept bright by wiping with a soft rag.

CAPTAIN CHAP.—The total population of the earth is estimated at 1,480,000,000—of which Europe has 357,000,000; Asia, 826,000,000; Africa, 164,000,000; America, 122,000,000; Australia, 3,500,000; the Oceanic Islands, 7,500,000. The density of population is greatest in Europe—Belgium standing at the head, followed by the Netherlands, Great Britain and Ireland, Italy, Japan, the German Empire, China, British India, Switzerland, France, Austria, Denmark, Portugal, Spain, West Indies and the United States. More than one-fourth of the human race is found in China and Japan, the former counting 350,000,000 and the latter 40,000,000; more than one-fifth is in India, 324,000,000, of which 286,000,000 belong to British India. The only one of the chief European States that exceeds this country in population is Russia, with 93,000,000. The others range thus: German Empire, 49,000,000: Austria-Hungary, 41,000,000; France, 38,000,000; Great Britain and Ireland, 38,000,000; Italy, 30,000,000; and Spain, 17,000,000.

LELIA and PHILIP.—1. A high-class eight-wheel passenger locomotive engine costs about $8500. 2. The strength of a steam engine is commonly marked by its horse-power. By one horse-power is meant a force strong enough to raise up 33,000 pounds one foot high in a minute. James Watt, the noted mechanician, engineer and scientist, famous as the improver, and almost the inventor of the steam engine, established the horse-power unit, and the figures were fixed in the following curious manner: He found that the average horse of his district could raise 22,000 pounds one foot a minute, and that this was the actual horse-power. At that time, however, Watt was employed in the manufacture of engines, and customers were so hard to find that it was necessary to offer extra inducements. So, as a method of encouraging them, he offered to sell engines reckoning 33,000 foot-pounds to a horse-power. Thus he was the means of giving a false unit to one of the most important measurements in the world, as, in reality, there are no horses to be found that can keep at work raising 33,000 pounds one foot a minute.

INEZ and C.A.S.H.—Miles Standish was a Puritan soldier, who came to New England in the Mayflower in 1620. He was born in Lancashire, England, about 1584, and served as a soldier in the Netherlands. He was chosen captain of the New Plymouth settlers, though not a member of the church. In stature he was small, possessed great energy, activity and courage, and rendered important service to the early settlers by inspiring Indians, disposed to be hostile, with awe for the English. In 1625, Standish visited England as agent for the Plymouth Colony, and returned with supplies the next year. His wife, Rose Standish, was one of the victims of the famine and fever of 1621. Five years later, he settled at Duxbury, Mass., where he lived the remainder of his days, administering the office of magistrate, or assistant, until his death on October 8, 1656. A monument to his memory was erected several years ago on Captain's Hill, in Duxbury. Longfellow has written a beautiful poem describing the captain's second wooing, when he desired to make Priscilla Mullens his wife, entitled the "Courtship of Miles Standish."

DISTRICT COLUMBIA.—No vessel has ever been built that exceeded the Great Eastern in size. Her dimensions were: Length, 680 feet, between perpendiculars, or 692 feet upper deck; breadth, 83 feet, or 118 feet over paddle-boxes: height of hull, 60 feet, or 70 feet to the top of the bulwarks. The paddle-wheels were 56 feet in diameter by 13 feet in depth, with 30 spokes in each wheel, and the coal-bunkers, to supply all the engines, could contain 14,000 tons. Her propeller-shaft was 160 feet long, with a screw propeller at one end 24 feet in diameter. She had 6 masts, carrying 7000 yards of sail, as auxiliary to the steam power: 10 cables, some of which weighed 10 tons each. She had facilities for accommodating 800 saloon passengers, 2000 second class, 1200 third class and 400 officers and crew; or 5000 might have been placed on her, if emigrants or troops. She was used for several purposes, serving as a troop ship in 1861, as a passenger vessel, and then was permanently chartered for laying the Atlantic cable, all of the passenger fittings being removed in 1867. In this she proved a success, having been used, not only for the laying of the cable named, but also for several other important lines, in the Mediterranean, in the Red Sea, across the Indian Ocean and elsewhere. Then she was laid up, and the last report concerning her was that, after being run for a short time as a coal ship, she was sold and broken up, having outlived her usefulness. The enormous expense attendant upon the maintenance of such an ocean monster proved a drawback to continued success from the day she was launched, at Millwall, England, January 31, 1858.

HARRY and JAY. Two exchange notices from one person are allowed in each volume, thus giving all our readers an equal chance.—HENRY M.S. Your query was answered in No. 51, Vol. 12, in its regular turn.—F.H.G. Addresses of any description are never given in this department. —BILLY. Commodore George Dewey is Chief of the Bureau of Equipment and Recruiting, Navy Department. Washington, D.C.—INQUIS I. TIVE "Electro-Motors and How to Make Them," No. 3. Vol. 12.—W.R. No premium.—STUDENT. The book may be procured from a local dealer.—H.G.B. It is supposed to be a reliable institution.—CHAS. McG 1. The course pointed out is the only one to pursue. If you allow a false modesty to deter you, nothing remains to be done but suffer. 2. The exchange notice is too trivial.—WEEKLY BUYER. Stove trimmings are nickel-plated in the regular way. Read the article on electro-plating in Vol. 11, No. 23.—EDWARD B. Selling cheap jewelry and novelties on the street corners may net a living income in large cities to those who are experienced in such work, usually called "faking." It is not at all probable that it could be made a profitable calling in Texas.—X.Y.Z. Perpetual motion stands at the head of the absolute impossibilities of life; therefore, the government has never offered a prize for the solution of this mythical problem.—RANGER. Nitro-glycerine is one of the most dangerous explosives known; consequently, we cannot conscientiously describe its manufacture in this place, thus jeopardizing the lives of thoughtless persons who might attempt to make it if such a formula was furnished. —E.C.S. If in first-class condition, the three-dollar gold-piece of 1878 might be sold for $3.40.

-> Several communications have been received which will be answered next week.

* * * * *

Not a Local Disease

Because Catarrh affects your head, it is not therefore a local disease. If it did not exist in your blood, it could not manifest itself in your nose. The blood now in your brain is, before you finish reading this article, back in your heart again, and soon distributed to your liver, stomach, kidneys, and so on. Whatever impurities the blood does not carry away, cause what we call diseases. Therefore, when you have catarrh in the head, a snuff or other inhalant can at most give only temporary relief. The only way to effect a cure is to attack the disease in the blood, by taking a constitutional remedy like Hood's Sarsaparilla, which eliminates all impurities and thus permanently cures Catarrh. The success of Hood's Sarsaparilla as a remedy for Catarrh is vouched for by many people it has cured. N.B.—Be sure to get Hood's.

Hood's Sarsaparilla

Sold by all druggists, $1; six for $5. Prepared only by C.I. HOOD & CO., Apothecaries, Lowell, Mass

100 Doses One Dollar

Sold by all druggists, $1; six for $5. Prepared only by C.I. HOOD & CO., Apothecaries, Lowell, Mass

100 Doses One Dollar

* * * * *



BAD COMPLEXIONS, WITH PIMPLY, blotchy, oily skin, Red, Rough Hands, with chaps, painful finger ends and shapeless nails, and simple Baby Humors prevented and cured by CUTICURA SOAP. A marvelous beautifier of world-wide celebrity, it is simply incomparable as a Skin Purifying Soap, unequalled for the Toilet and without a rival for the Nursery. Absolutely pure, delicately medicated, exquisitely perfumed, CUTICURA SOAP produces the whitest, clearest skin and softest hands, and prevents inflammation and clogging of the pores, the cause of pimples, blackheads and most complexional disfigurations, while it admits of no comparison with the best of other skin soaps, and rivals in delicacy the most noted and expensive of toilet and nursery soaps. Sale greater than the combined sales of all other skin soaps.

Sold throughout the world. Price, 25c.

Send for "How to Cure Skin and Blood Diseases."

Address *Potter Drug and Chemical Corporation*, Proprietors, Boston, Mass.

Aching sides and back, weak kidneys, and rheumatism relieved in one minute by the celebrated *Cuticura Anti-Pain Plaster*. 25c.



The Dancing Skeleton.

A jointed figure of a skeleton. Dances to music and performs various tricks. When placed in a chair or on a table it will begin to move, stand up, lie down, &c., to the great astonishment of all. More fun than a box of monkeys. Just the thing for social gatherings. Sample by mail, *10 cents*, three for *25 cents*, one dozen *50 cents*. Stamps taken. Address HOME NOVELTY Co., Providence. R.I.

*In Luck Certain.*

After trying to sell books, pictures and wringers, and nearly every contrivance imaginable, I became discouraged and thought there was no chance for a poor man to earn a living. There was nothing to do on the farm, and I could not get a job in town, when I happened to see how a teacher made money selling platers, and thought I would try my luck. I bought a $5 Lightning Plater from H.F. Delno & Co., Columbus, Ohio, and from that day my luck seemed to change. I carried the plater from house to house and plated knives, forks and spoons right before the folks, and it is surprising how many want their things plated. I made $3.70 the first day, and in one week $28. I can plate with nickel, silver or gold. The work is fine, my customers are pleased and I am happy. I hope some other fellow who is down on his luck will see this, and do as I have done and get up in the world. WILLIAM EVANS.

* * * * *

From Uncle Sam, El Dorado Springs, Mo.

Our opinion of GOLDEN DAYS is very plain and straight as follows: It is one of the purest publications to be found in the hands of the reading young people of the present day. It is full of short sketches that are interesting and instructive to the young and the old as well. The serial stories are all perfectly pure and are very interesting, besides setting good examples and morals for all who read them. I have read Golden Days more or less for seven or eight years, and I unhesitatingly pronounce it pure and instructive enough to be in the home circle of every family in the reading world. One fine feature is the International Sunday-School Lesson to be found in each number, about one week or so in advance of the time when it is to be used, thus giving an opportunity for thorough study.

From the Christian Advocate, Richmond, Va.

Any boy's or girl's days must be golden who reads that charming paper, published in Philadelphia, styled GOLDEN DAYS. The day it comes, and every day after while its contents are not exhausted, will be golden with the charming adventures, incidents of travel and thrilling stories of childhood and youth. The children of every family should have it. Parents cannot make a better investment than to subscribe for Golden Days for their young folks. It is sent to any address for $6 per year. James Elverson, Publisher, Philadelphia, Pa.

From The Argus, Ashton, Dakota.

To the young people of Spink County who enjoy first class reading we can truthfully recommend GOLDEN DAYS, published by James Elverson, Philadelphia. It is a weekly publication, and filled with the purest of reading matter, and yet the well-known desire of the young for stories of adventure is not forgotten, for while the interest of the reader is held by the power of the writers, yet there is nothing at any time that could offend the most fastidious, while the youthful mind is led on to emulate the good acts portrayed. Write for sample copies.

From the West Philadelphia Press.

GOLDEN DAYS is far ahead of any weekly paper published in the United States having for its object the culture and amusement of the youthful mind. Now, in its Twelfth Volume, it exhibits every sign of strength, permanency and progression. Mr. Elverson, the proprietor and editor, is one of those men who believe it a duty to do what they can for their race, and wisely he is doing for the "rising generation" a work which, for him, is "a work of love." Aiming to benefit our youth, through history, science, philosophy, geography, mechanics, etc., in a manner easily comprehended, he has made his journal the efficient instrument of his noble purpose. Could he see the anxiety on the faces of his young friends awaiting the arrival of Golden Days by the mail or the news agent, he would feel that his efforts to please them were not in vain, and that the running of his great presses, day and night, at Ninth and Spruce Streets, was indeed to them a gratification and blessing.

From the Teachers' Journal, York, Pa.

GOLDEN DAYS.—One of the most perfectly beautiful weekly magazines for boys and girls we have ever seen. It is published weekly and bound monthly. You can get the four weeklies bound together, if you prefer. Each monthly contains eighty large four-column pages, beautifully illustrated, with illuminated covers and the very best reading matter for the young. It is heartily indorsed by the best religious papers, and should take the place in our households of the injurious stuff that will find an entrance, if nothing better is supplied.