Adauis and (‘onnpanyy Publlshers, 9S \"llllanl Street. :3- i I llll lllllllllllllll H lllllllllllllllllllll ll .'i\\‘ Warm) IN 1878 in was asp Conrm. _.,.__. , . ., _, .___ . Anncmm ERT23, 1878. if mmhm ,_. IIIllllllllllllllllllllllllll '.' 7 L1“- llllllllllllllll lll ......o.a.oo...--.oon ensue-unco-o-oun¢tsun.u-..-¢.-o-csou-ooouoosooooe-oouognu-coou..-..o--o--on...-. e R New N au.--a.a.---.o....c...ooo.o.u.oo~ooo - $2.50 a Year. Single Copies. Five Cents. '1") ll lllll mr llll ,6- . ’/// (“4/ I. ’r‘l/ . y/' \‘ i 1? I. l 3: \Vffl ' - \. = _. ’3\\\ w; x «is... s v. . \ ‘o/\ ’ r k‘ The Pinnated Grouse, ()R PRAIRIE“ QHICKEN. A noon many of our readers have heard of ‘ grouse in this country. but very few of them are quite certain as to what is the difference be- tween a “prairie chicken.” "grouse." “part- ridge " and “ pheasant." having heard these dif— ferent names a )plied to the same bird in differ- ent parts of tie I'niou. \Ve pro iose to give them. through the columns of Tm: 'oi'xo NEW YORKER. such plain instructions on the subject ' that they need never be in doubt hereafter as to the kind of bird they have either shot or seen in the market. In the first place we must observe that it is no use asking a hunter or market—man the name of any of the game birds of this country which have any relatiVes in Europe. These men. in nine cases out of ten. only know the local name. which is generally wrong. _Secondly. we must answer the obvious ques~ tlon: " Why should we call a certain bird a grouse, and not a partridge or pheasant f" The answer is simple: I’artridges and pheasants are birds that have been known in Euro )e for hundreds of years. and have a right to their names. There are no game-birds in America at all like them. but the birds that go by their names in certain localities are like the European grouse. Therefore they should becalled “ grouse.“ and not either “ part— ridge" or “pheasant.” The next thing our young reader will ask is: “ “'hat is the difference between the birds above mentioned. and how can they tell a grouse when they see it .7" Luckily the distinction is plain: The grouse is the onli/ (mine bird Hm! is fcnfhercd to the heel. \ 'henever you see a game bird in the market feathered to the heels. it is some sort of grouse. Partridges are Enrolman birds. with bare legs. Pheasants are birds as large as some barnyard fowls. very bright in colors. and distinguished by long pointed tails. that stand out nearly straight and sweep the ground behind them. There are no wild pheasants in America. Of American grouse there are three kinds generally known. and others more rare. We will only speak of those which you are likely to see in the market or to get a chance to shoot when out on vacation. These are the Pinna— ted. Rnfl'ed. and Canada. or \\'m)d-gr011se. The Pinnated Grouse is sold everywhere as the “Prairie Chicken." but it is a true grouse. It is called “ Pinnated " from the Latin “Penna " —a plume—on account of the little plumes or tufts of feathers on each side of its head. Perhaps no game bird of the Union has such a wide distribution as the Pinnated Grouse. It is found in all parts of the country from Long Island to the Rocky Mountains. in a tract bound» ed on the north by the Great Lakes. on the south by Mason and IliXon‘s Line. This district takes in more than a third of the thickly—populated States of the Union. In the eastern part of this section. as a matter of course. the birds have been shot off till they are very scarce. but owing to measures taken by the various Sportsmen‘s PINNATED GIIOUSE. 0R PRAIRIE CHICKEN. Associations of late years their numbers are again increasing. The fact is. that with any Sort of a chance given them to breed. I’innated Grouse are so )rolitic that they soon overrun a country. In ong Island. tor instance. where they were almost extinct a few years since. the are now prospering greatly. Ihanks to a “ jubi- lee " or “ close season ” of tivc years given them in which to increase their number. In the New England States. owing to the character of the country. which is mountainous and Wooded. the I’innated (irouse was never plentiful: but in Pennsylvania it is still far from scarce. As We go “'est. through Ohio, Indiana and Illinois. toward Minnesota and Dakota, the “chickens.” as the people almost uniVersally call them, become more and more plentiful. In the memory of men not yet gray-bearded. they were once so thick within fifty miles of Chicago. that a s rtsman might stand at his own door and fill is bag with grouse without stirring a step except to pick up the dead birds. The ad— vance of population and market-hunters has driven them successively from one State to an- other. but wherever they h:ch rest from the thousands .of guns. they'are as thick as ever. Even now, if you go up the Missouri to Bismark. Dakota. and land from the steamer at nit-(ht. ‘ they can be knocked over with sticks by hun- dreds as they couch in the prairie. The )icture at the head of our article gives a good idea of the appearanceof the birds and the way of shooting them. The shooting season begins August 15th and lasts till February, when the birds begin to mate and build nests. The sport is excellent. for the bird lies well to the dogs as long as the Weather is warm In summer and fall its food is grasshoplwrs, oats. wheat. Indian corn. and grass-seeds: and in winter it feeds upon the acorns of the oak barrens. Its flesh is dark. gamy. a little dry, but tender and good. Shooting I’i'airie(‘liickciis over a good dog is delightful sport. The scent is strong. and your pointh or setter generally comes down at once, often on a still’ half—turn. with the bird not twenty feet from his nose. The game rises strongly with a loud wing—noise. and sweeps rapidly off in a right line. or nearly so. The cocks of the Pinnated Grouse are proud. arrogant fellows, and when they meet they sometimes have terrible fighting. especially at the dust-beds whither they go to wallow. \Vhile the Pinnated Grouse. being a large bird and lying close to do ., offers apparently easy shots. in the warm fal Weather. it is neverthe— less a very hard bird for a novice to hit. The best marksman is pretty certain to miss his first grouse on the prairies. There is something in the suddenness with which the game “ flushes" and the loud noise which it makes that is very trying to the nerves. and only practice over- comes the feeling. To be sure. in any grouse country. the birds are so thick that practice is plentiful: still. it is a matter of record that a young s )ortsmun, set down for the first time in a “chicln'en prairie." will waste a good many charges before he bags 8. single bird. on account of the cll’ect on his nerVes of the sudden flushing of the birds. The \Vestcrn men will this tremor ofth nerves “ chicken-agile." just us old deer» hunters call a similar tremor. which overcomes the novice at the sight of his first deer. “ buck agUe" or “buck-fever." Practice will over- ‘ come it, but it maybe conquered in a measure by cultivating habits of coolness and delibera- tion. qualities which young men seldom possess unaccompanied by laziness. The great secret of shooting game. as told by Hogardus and ( ‘arver. lies in acquiring a hrth of quick aim. aml ncrcr firing ICU/cold u sure aim. even if you have to let your game go a longer distance before tir- m r. It is better to let your bird get to a distance of sixty yards. and to be sure that you cover him with your sights. than to tire hastily as he rises before you. almost under your feet. A char re. once fired. can never be recalled. while a bad aim can be corrected any time before the trigger is pulled. One word more about proper nomenclature of American game. to supplement what We have said at the beginning of this article. and we have done. Our young sportsmen from the city ought to have noditlicnlty when they have shota strange bird indeciding on its kind. if it be of the grouse family. First. look at the head. If it have tufts behind the ears it is a “ Pinnatcd (irome " or “ Prairie Chicken." If it have a regular rntl‘ or collar of feathch it is a “Iiuil‘ed Grouse." called “ pheasant " and “partridge " in different localities. If it have a smooth head it is n “L‘mmdn Grouse" or “Spruce partridge." If you shoot. a little bird with bare legs and a white crescent under its throat. that is a "quail." and yet the hunters call Umf a " partridge" in Virginia and several other States. Thus it will be seen that the only way to pre— vent confusion in identifying a bird by its name is to stick to the proper one under all circum- stances. it 83.; an} ma "F" " v.“- ' 'aLi‘o'Vrm‘ 'a ~ I g i i i l l. i l 5 i ! l,- " .«.-.-,..-.- '. l i'; .. l. 2. a .-%i . i-‘Wiwmfif- 4"«4 """~' ~. .cm-i. _. ,‘u n'... G0 AHEAD 1 or 'r. c. nannxt'nn. Let me tell you, Lids“ and lassics, \Vhiii to do \‘v‘lia-n lessons hard lilSc lml’ol‘c ynll l1l.’«‘llu.‘lkiblcd Mountains of the eastern bard; llo not clusc the no k with l"ltli'llf :s, Nor lln- l. sson lx ave. unread; You will conquer, if you only (in ahead! When your playmates would persuade you Not to do thril \\lllUlll iromi Will u ihcy sun-er, and call you coward. \« ling not as playmaics rholild. H11, do nm unto llll‘lll hearkcn; Turn away from vile words :.:.id: 1n the noble path of duty Go ahead! \thn the temph-r would insnarc you \\ ilh lhc filial (‘irce'in bowl. I And with ple.‘ism-es wrong that rum The never-dying soul, Let your “ no ” be firmly spoken; Shun the nets about you spree. By the tcinpter. and absiainnrr, (lo ahead! If ‘otlr life path proves a rough one. ficuding up the mountain steep; Or descending into valleys bark. or lonesome chasms deep. Do not loitcr by the wayside; (lil, be not. by siren led Astruy. but onward, upward Go ahead! The Tiggfir Tamer: THE LEAGUE of the JUNGLE ‘ A TALE OF INDIA. BY CAPT. FREDERICK \VHITTAKER. CHAPTER XlV. A NIGHT OF DANGER. WHEN Charlton dropped into the moat beside the )alace \ 'all he heard the clatter of liorses’ hoo s in one of the streets of the city, and at once ran toward the sound, fancying it to be one of his patrols. He had only to cross about a hundred feet of open ground round the fort ere he came into the bazar, and soon perceived the torches of the mounted party he had heard, coming toward him from the gates of the city. As this party drew nearer, something in its ap- pearance made the soldier slip aside into a door— way and bare his sword. It was not any of his patrols: on the contrary. it was that eminently respectable old scoundrel Mirza Baba, on his donkey, followed by two men in the dress of Parsee scribes similarly mounted. while a couple of torch-bearers on foot ran ahead. Charlton settled himself into his doorway and waited, sword in liaud. He had resolved to ar~ rest this old Thug and find out whence he came: but as the party drew nearer he noticed that * both the torch-lwarers were armed, and he con- cluded not to risk anythingin the absence of the patrol. Presently Mirna Baba passed him, and ahnost at the same moment he heard the distant call of his own men answering each other as the differ- ent patrols met. Without more hesitation he sprungr out into the street, seized Mirza Baba’s donkey by the bridle, and shouted: “Halt, you villain! I arrest you! hither!" To his surprise Mirza Baba made no resistance of any sort. He simply sat still on his donkey 150nm Patrol ! '-“—-o»~ .. undo). .. u».‘-» s “Sahib, Sahib, are you mad? \Vhat have done!" The trotting of horses announced the ap- proach of the soldiers, and Charlton turned to the torch-bearers, (stout fellows.) who were be— ginning to move dangerously close. “Stand back!" he said: and to enforce his ‘ words made a cut at the nearest which induced the man to spring back in alarm. The other, at a silent Sign from Mirza Baba, also retreated, just as the patrol rode round the corner of the i street and crime cluttering toward them. "Take all these fellows in, and put them in . the guard-house." said Charlton. sternly. to the llfll'i/(II'/"il‘ sergeant in charge of the party. “ They are the same band of Thugs that nearly killed me to—day, and the Rajah will punish them." He said this stoutly enough, though in his heart he knew well that the punislnncnt was improbable, for Luchnicc had by her signal slio .\‘n him that the Rajah himself was in league with the Thugs. However, he was determined not to let slip the present opportunity for ex— posurc of the infamous practices of the sect. so he sent in Mirza Baba to the guard—house with his whole party. The old man was loud in his complaints oftlie Sahib‘s cruel treatment, and plead hard for his release when they were once inside the guard- 3 room. “Indeed and truly, Sahib, I never saw the Rance before to-day, and I know her not. If h! are not responsible for her." " Then why did you catch my arn: this morn— ing!" asked Charlton sharply. "Cease to tell lies. old man, for your time has come. Take him away. iron him well, and lock the cell door on him." One by one the prisoners, supposed to be Thugs. were brought forward and examined. while the guards were directed to look at them care— she be a Tlnrr she is a stranger to us. and we f fully so as to know them again. and then Charl- ; ion retired to his own quarters. tired with the day‘s cxcitcmentaiid wishing to sleep. He was not destined. however. to reach his couch that night without more trouble on his mind. for as he entered his room he found a note lying right 1 in the center of his table. ()peuing it, he was confronted by the follow- ing words: " You thin]; you are srvfc.‘ you ‘ll'f'l‘l' new,“ in {/l'cHh'r peril of your life Ilutn you will he to- wig/Ill." There was no signature and nothing what- ever to point to the writer. Thclanguageof the letter was common Iliudoostauw. and'that was an additional mystery. Sir lhuiiglzis or (lovindzi—so Charlton thought—would have written in English. He sat and turned over this uiystei‘i ins niissivc. and his heart beat quick as he thought over its contents. It was past twelve o'clock; the palace as still as death: and there lay this menacing scroll. telling him that lie was already in imminent danger of his life. ' It was enough to frighten the bravest of men. and f.‘harlton felt decidedly nervmis as he glanced round. He had a large room. rather here. of furniture: with tiled floor, strewn with carpets and rugs: a table and two camp chairs: a divan running round the room. That was all: eXcept the antique lamp which swung from the ceiling by a brass chain and lighted up the apartment. There was no furniture behind which an assassin might secrete himself. only one small window. about seven feet above the floor. and a low dour. "' Nonsense!" muttered the young man tohiin- self. "This is some trick to scare me. Let them Come: I will be ready." chest and brought out his revolvers, which he He went to his i occupied himself in puttin into serviceable i order. and then sat down in his large camparin- 3 chair and began to read. . Like many another man in like case, (‘harl- ton forgot the effects'of fatigue on a person in a hot rooni._ Ills (:lianibcl‘was unusually warm owing to its having been shut up all day ard not allowed to cool oil at sumet. the print began to swim belorc hiscyes,liis head nodded and fell forward, and atlastho dropped l|i> book from his lillf'f‘S lo the floor “ill: a lou‘i bung which \xolge him up with a start. llislillcli\’l-l_‘.' lic snatched up his pistolsaud whccled round to look behind him. so much \\':!s be iin ircsscd with the idea of Thugs coming from the rear. lint nothing sa\'e the empty room met his vii w as be searched from wall to door. and he felt ashamed of his fears as he laid down his pistols again. ‘ peril. Nothing but the still more fearful men- hrcnsibly , ace of the tigl‘css outside drove her in. She knew that the Rajah‘s dancing. irls all hated her for he‘- beaut and the trium ishe had won that nightiand t t if one of t ieni naked she wou?d surely bee osed. She saw the slaves of the chana Guard \‘ing by the door u ilh their razor—like tulwars chained to thcir wrists; and although she didnot fear innulediata- death from them. she expected at least rcngh ireatiiient, ' and perhaps a seveie heating:- with bamboos; . This time he settled himself into a more com- . ? fortable position in his chair, with the idea of , taking a short nap, relying on his uickness of ear to inform him if anything Stll‘l‘t near him. , (:radually his eyes closed, and in a few minutes i he was fast asleep. his head lying on the back of the chair with the throat bare and exposed. E His hands had fallen by his side, and the pis- " .' tols lay on the table before him, when the door ‘ of the room opened slowly and noisclcssly, and . a dark i'ncc looked in. I The new-coinci- gazed at the sleeiing soldier for several seconds in silence, and t ien entered ‘ the room in bare feet as noiselessly as a cat, fol- for Namelegirls nu l-l with little consideration ' in lulllil. Her only reliance lay in hcr own silence and suil'tnessof mot ion. and she stooped downat the llll'lSllOld and look the little bells from her anklcls as she thought of this. as when she danced l» fore the Rajah. the girl stepped over the guards :11 the doorway and found herself in the riom Wbci'c the dancers lay on lhc floor, nuilllcd in their great night- cloaks and shawls. Lurlililee-passed between the sleepers till she came to the middle of the room where the an- cient hag, called the “ Mother of the Dancers,” slept onaraised couch. covered \\ ith soft cush- ions. At each side of the couch but below its level, lay an armed slave, black and hidcous, his naked Silent and agile . sword gleaming in the lamplight; but on the . couch itself, nestled up by the old woman, was little Ali, fast asleep. _ The child looked very pretty and innocent as j he lay there, with the traces of recent tears on his cheeks, but Luchmee only thought to herself 2 lowed by two others. Had Charlton been awake ; ' he would have recognized Khoda Khan, Mirza Hahn and one of the sullen torcli—beareis: but ‘ as it was he lay helpless before them, uncoir N'lflllS of evil. The dark, evil face of Khoda Khan was con- vulsed by a smile of triumph as he looked at his enemy asleep. He stole into the room to the l table and picked up the two revolvers so softly i that neither made any sound. 1 As he did so, Mirza Baba and the torch—bearer stole to the rear of the sleeping man, and the ; assassins were ready for their prey. l l l l l l Already Khoda‘s eyes began to flash, and he was getting out the fatal ruomal from his girdle, when the open note on the table can ht his eye and he snatched it up and read it. ‘he words Seemed to produce a great effect on him, for he shook all over and motioned to Mirza to read it. The old moonshec did so, and seemed equally troubled at somethino. He made a silent signal to Klioda Khan thattlie must lay down the pis- Eilslagain. but the vizier obstinater shook his ' em . i At this moment Charlton stirred in his sleep ) and his eyes opened wide with the fixed, vacant h ok of .‘i soninambulist. All three of the Thugs saw thc action, though all were out of the field I of vision; and all three immediately sunk to the. lh ml‘ silently and rapidly, like so many cats afraid of being seen. The soldier yawned and laid down his head on the table. resting on his folded arms, evidently unconscious that any one else was in the room. Then Khoda Khan rose up. and signaled to his two companions, who rose with him. It was evident that the work was to be done , The vizier held the fatal scarf . at once. if at all. ‘ in his hand, and motioned to the others. As 1‘ Charlton was sitting, it was not possible todraw 1 the noose round his head, and it became neces- sary to induce him to change his position. Alina Baba took his station at the right, the torch—bearer to the left, and both stood w't their long lean hands working nervously ’ aim-getting ready to clutch the arms 0 victim. Khoda opened the noose and poised hi behind Cliarlnm’s chair ready to cast, suddenly the long melancholy bowl of a echoed from the open space outside the _and quav in ,a d' r caden on t The effec was y on the Charlton. It woke the soldier, but it see strike the assassins with utter dismav. “ The chiniama .' the chimmna I” cri . three in tones of extreme terror. “ Thcg ' is angry!" Instantly the burly torch-bearer sprung for- ward and dashed the lamp to the ground, leav- what a nuisance it was that he was not awake. However, her quick wits deVised a way to wake him without alarming the rest. She felt a sort , of interest in the child. though she hated the ‘ , father bitterly, but just at that moment fear of the tigress was the most prominent feature in her mind. Goingto the foot of the couch she laid her hand on the bare foot of the little one, gave a slight pull and then stood up with her finger on her lips, ready to catch Ali's eye. As she expected. the boy woke immediately and looked up at her, wit iout crying, for his Bohemian life had sharpened his Wits. Luehmee si ned to him to rise and follow her, pointing to t e window as she did so. Silent as a cat, Ali left the side of the sleeping Dhya, and stood up at the end of the couch, ooking toward the window. The grim head of Seevah the tigress was there, as the huge creature, reared on her hind legs. with her forepaws on the sill, looked into the zenana. Ali smiled and held out his arms, for he saw the face of Govinda behind that of the tigress; and at that moment Seevah could contain her joy no Ion er, but uttered a series of loud roars and leape< into the room, waving her tail tri- umphantly. In an instant all was confusion. Guards and irls alike scrambled u , the women shrieking ngIllfllly and falling )ack on the floor, the ards running away in dismay, shouting for el i. Iiight through the press trotted the grim- looking beast till she came to the boy, noticing no one on the track. liuchmee had fled with the guards, and there was no one to interfere with Ali as the little fel- low climbed on the back of the tigress and seized the familiar collar in his chubby hands. vinda outside gave a whistle. there was a shuf- fling scramble over the floor, and Seevah leaped into the garden in triumph with her burden. antime, Luchmee, who had tied with the found herself alone in the corridors of er own troupe was not then .at Jagpore, y object in visitii timing to join in the ca 4 Khakis. Whig ‘most renowned lers in India. She was actuated in this y by hatred to Govinda, whom she had wed so long, and partly by the fascination h the murderous worshi of the goddess alee seems to exercise on al of that Singular ' body of devotees and criminals. the Thugs or ' Phanigars of India. N 0w she made up her mind toescape from the zenana: for, used to a free 4 ing the place in utter darkness, when all three I fled from Charlton‘s chamber silently and swiftly. as they did everything leaving the ' soldier by himself. bewildered an dazed. lie had seen a black. half-nu figure over- throw the lamp: had heard the.‘ tter of bare ' feet : but that was all. Instinctively he felt for ' his pistols. They were gone! ; Then he drew his saber. sharp as a razor, and began to whirl it in circles round his head in the dark. imagining himself surrounded. while he shouth for the guard. I He had not long to call when a light shone , from the passage outside. for his quarters were ' near the guard-room. The havz’ltlur ran in with several troopers, carrying torches and looking stupid as if just roused from sleep. ' which was the case. t‘harl‘wn's nerves were much shocked by the .suvlll. n event. There is something in h secret mysterious peril like that which threat- ened him which appals the bravest : and he , shook a good deal as he searched for traces of thc assassins. None were found. except his pis— . tols. laid down in the passage before the door: and the young man was ( uite puzzled. ' ,- “ “'hy in the world did they not kill me with , (71cm. if they wished to," he asked the havildar, e an old gray—bearded sepoy of many years' ser- yice. "Because they are Thugs.” replied the bld man gravely. " They do their work in silence, or not at all. Sahib. Praise the great gods that made the wolf howl beneath the window. for no Thu}.r will go on after such an omen." Charlton started. as a thought struck him. " Are the prisoners safe 5" heasked: and with— out waiting for an i nswcr he ran to the guard» room to look for himself. As he had expected. the cell doors were. opened. and all the prisoners were Lone. Tin-n. for the firs time since he. had been in : the :crvicc (f the. Rajah of Jagpore. Charlton began to suspect the fidelity of his own men. as he askc'l: " ll ho .s-fworl sentry! lvcrc.” The havilder trembled and turned pale under his dark skin as he pointed to a recumbent figure in thc corner. "It was Modurec Sing.“ lie faltered: "and here he lies." (‘harlton advanced and looked down. There lay the body of Molluree Sing. one of the best soldiers in his Irtxip. with features swollen and distorted. showing that the poor fellow had died of strangulation. After ti seriesof questions and cross-questions. he found that the men had all been asleep in the guard—room as Usual. Modurcc standing guard in the passage outside: that no one had heard anything till the howl of the wrilf awoke them. and that then they found the room looking the same as usual. Charlton. with the corpse of poor Moduree lying before him. could no longer suspect his own men. It was clear that the Thugs had been released by some person well acquainted with the palace. and his suspicions naturally rest-ed on Khoda Khan. as the person most likely to kiiOw. x CHAPTER XV. PLOT AND (‘01‘NTERI’LOT. ‘ \Viiux Imclimee entered the room of the : Nautch—girls, she knew that she was in grave Go—. and wandering life, she did not covet the favor . of the Rajah, and had only consented to dance . before him from a species of vanity common to her profession. the desire to score a new tri- , iiiii ll oreover, the dissolute and fickle creature had taken a sf range fancy to the young soldier whom she had failed to murder that very morn- ing, and had capricioust determined that, since she might not kill him, no one else should. \Vith this thought in her mind. Luchmec wan- dered through the zenana till she came to a side door which led into the men’s uartcrs, and this she quietly opened and lidedt rough. Behind her in the zenana she 'new there was a great commotion, but in the other half of the palace all was still as death, the courticrs asleep, the Rajah dead drunk and snoring. the guards ex- tended in the passages. oblivious to all cares of their watch in the absence of the Major Sahib. As Luchmce went on. however. she spied one moving figure which She soon found to be that of Khoda Khan: and instantly it flashed on her mind that he was probably after ('lial'lton. She knew that Khoda was ignorant of her own failure. that he himself had proposed L‘harl- ‘ ton as a victim. and that an ' person once doom- ed by the Thugs was sure to 2 followed patient- ly and relentlessly, for days, weeks and months, if it became necessary, till the opportunity of execution was found. Instantly. with all the caprice of her sex and ‘alling. the Nautch-girl made up her mind to bafile Klioda. " They gave the Sahib to me. and no one else shall have him." said the girl to herself. with a strange mixture of superstition and pity. " If the goddess wants him. I will give him to her, but no man shall take his life." Light as a tripping bird. she followed Khoda through a side postern into the tower. and saw. with him. the unexpected capture of )lirza llaba by (‘harlton “'hen the soldier seized Mirm‘s bridle. Klioda was not fifty feet behind him. and (‘harlton little knew how much he owed to the timely apiwarance of the patrol that night. The torch-bearers had seen Rhoda; and. obeying his signal. were about to seiZc the American. when his own vigorous cuts were seconded by the gallop of the troopers. All this was seen by Luchmee as she crouched in a neighboring doorway. and her admiration for Charlton increased when slic saw the dreaded Thugs quail before his sword. " He. is my Rustam. my hero great in battle." muttered the girl, proudly. " No one 511311 give him to Khalee but myself." She watched the capture, of Mirza and his party with perfect complacency therefore. and only turned her attention toward Klioda Khan. The wily Thug kept carefully concealed in the doorway till the patrol had passed up the street, when he stole out and .followed it in the black shadow of the‘ houses. As silent as himself, Luchmec pursued them all to the gates. and saw , with Klioda the entrance of the party. Then the traitorous minister of the Rajah turned away to the little postcrn from which he had emerged. and re-entered the palace: when Luclnuee. following him, found that he had bolted the postern door and that she was shut out. For a "It anent the Nautch-girl stood irresolute, and then she knocked three times on the postem, giving a signal peculiar to the Things, which she expected would be heard b ' Khoda. _ I As she had surmised, t'e llaliah's minister had iiot got so far away that he could not hcar her, and he l‘cl'll‘licd and opcncd the door in— slanll\'..lo lind Luchmee standing in the [noon— liglilNclosn-ly vnilcd. "\thi'c. in life name of Khalcc. hurl thou. bccn5" ask-«d the llujah‘s minister. anrixedl . “Thou war! to have killcd this American Salli ; and instead. he law captured all our party but thee and inc." " Let it “answered Luclunec. (nice because f-lii'za Ilaba was a fox l. man to me. and lvwill have him yet,“ “ Not so," rejoincd Rhoda Khan. firmly. " lie is toodangcrous now. He knows the faccs of all but me in our band and he will tell the old gray lngluz Sahib that he has found a Tlmg band in the palace at Ja “‘1‘. The man must die tiHiiglit. or we are all ost.“ “And I say." responded liuclimcc, angrily. “that his death was confided to me by Miran Hahn. and that he shall die by no other hand than mine. Try and sec.”' As soon as she had spoken she turned and fled away down the dark iassagcs till she was lost to sight in the obscurity, leaving Khoda Khan gnashing his teeth. “ \Vt‘ billed licavc [he i if”. "The ('openhag1 n—in want of water and provisi:dis—scurvy bad on board." . " Mart in," said Captain lC—w» t, addressing 5 our first lieutt'anant, let: Mr. Edwards take my #illlt‘y, and board the bark, to N1: what rllt‘ may rcouii'c. and haVe the cutter ready to N nd \\ hat ll" Will“ "my he wanted. llr. Trimblc bad b‘cb lcr accompany him, and see to the sick. 'lcll ' l'ldu aids to ct 'me to me for orders, before start— Thc minister was the more angr ' because he , felt that the Woman was right. e recognin‘d her only by her figure and voice in the moon- , light, for he had not seen her face at the sacrl- , lice, and was still entirely ignorant that the ( ueen of the Nziiitcli-girls and the Rance were t ie same. ceived him, was at the moment in prison with his comrades: and Khoda knew that if he him- self madc any attempt on Charlton’s life that night, it would be a breach of the customs of his order which could only be excused by SiICcesS. However, he was doggedly determined on his purpose, first to release his fellow Thugs, and afterward, if possible, to dispatch the only man who knew the secret of their calling. His man- ner of proceeding was vexiy simple. As irime minister of the Rajah of a )02‘9, he hf“ free access to all posts occupi troops: and the sentry at Charlton‘s guard- Mirza Baba, who might have undc- . . u mg. _ *' Very good. sir.“ replied Martin. Thesc orders directed me to go on the duty. which led to the eyents I am about to narrate. In accordance with them the captain’s private six~oarcd boat was mama-it. and the assistant- surgcon and myself. having received instruc- lions from our respectch chitin; rocccdcd to board the Copenhagen. find out ,at she want- ed. and signal hack to the ship, when the he: ccssary articles Would be sent ai‘tcr Us in oize of the large bouts. . I carried with me, howeverha few pounds of pork, some biscuit, a little rum and lime pnce, as well as some Vegetables from the olhccrs mess, the doctor taking also along with hnn a few medical comforts. The (‘op nhagen was'aboutiwo milcs off. and as we had our fires banked, and were under canvas only, our captain made. no attempt to “close” the merchant vessel: besides, it was only a short pull in his fast galley. As we rowed toward her we were astonished at the Dane inakin r no attcm t tot-lose us. “ Have on ever cn in tlnspart of the \Hn‘ld before, E1 wards!" asked Trim ile of me, as we were nearing the bark. “ No; why!" I returned. “ Then you have never experienced the effect of the Gulf Stream!" " No. I have not; though I have read a good deal about it." “ I have seen its evaporation so ‘eat as tobe- ‘ come a thick fog, though you con (I hardly call l by the Rajah‘s: it a fog, for it was more 1i '0 an ininn nse vapor bath, and a very handsome mirror in our mess- room was Com )letely destroyed by it." As he said tiis, we had reached the Danish vessel, and I gave no more thought to the sub- ject of our conversation. Once on board, a room made no difficulty in passing him to the most wretched Spectacle came under our eyes. prisoners when all the rest of the asleep. he resumed his walk up and down the stone cor- ridor, that he had admitted one Thug to help only man with s guards were , The vessel was a fine, well-found craft. Poor Moduree Sing little thought, as l deck lay the helpless crew, in the last stage of others. He suffered for his error very soon, ' _ . ’ . _ when he found himself seized by strong arms, , Ireland during the famine of 40, when America i so nova and generously sent assistance in the est cry, and the stranglers executed their work ' frigate . acalvuian: and again, at the Cape (if while the fatal roomul choked down his slight- with the peculiar savage dexterity of their sect. ‘ 900d Hope. Each had his pOst, and all stole up behind the unconscious sentry as silently as cats. In a mo- inent his arms were clutched by two. while a third seized his ankles, and Khoda threw the fatal noose. There, in the darkness and silence. died Moduree Sing, the first victim of the terri— ble goddess Khalee, and then the whole party of Thugs stole away to Charlton’s room, with the result previouslv described. The surprise of billet warning Charlton of his danger was due to two thin s: first, it told him that there wasa traitor in t ie paiitv, who must be the unknown vailed woman; and. second, it told him that she was no Rance. but a Nautclrgirl. This may seem strange, but it must be remembered that in India, women are not allowed to acquire any learning whatever. the only eXCcptions to the rule being the Nauh-h-girls, who are taught to read and write. Thus, strange to say, in Hin- 0n the starvation, her ca tain being apparently the cient energy to speak to us. have seen starvation in many forms: poor when the ("‘affres destroyed their ‘ cattle and would not till the ground, because a hoda Khan at reading the ‘ dostan, education is thought to be a degradation . toa woman, the res table lady looking: >011 the reading andwruing of die Nauich-gir as . ., gm. p part of her arts. How Luchmee had managed trance to the room was a mystery to Khoda; but, dogged as ever, he persisted in is . He did not see, ring into the room in limb windqw‘ flee - asthe girl sat onthefla roofdfanoighhow part of the palace, to which she had chm , and looked down into the room. Nevertheless it was Luchmee who was the and it was her lips that framed the lifelike iniI-' tation of the chimamu or howl of the wolf. the most fatal of all omens in the list of Thuggee superstitions. She laughed to herself as she to...“ m» lva i saw them run away in such haste, and mur- , . mured : “ Khalee? none shall take him from me but thee. As she spoke. she glided away ()V( r the roof to a-staircase leading to the zenana which she had found. and up which she had fled. She knew that the zenana was full of her enemies. but she also knew that Charlton would proba- bly search the roofs around his guard‘rixnn and she preferred falliu into the hands of the zen- ana guards to meeting Charlton‘s rough troop- ers. She had already done so much toward exploring the palace in the darkness that she feared nothing more, and soon found herself again in the xenana, which by this time had re- sumed its wonied quiet. Luclunee hastily traversed the sil.’ ut passage until she entered the gallery from which the Rajah had witnessed the taming of liurrhca. the previous day. The moonlight shone into the court and on the iron doors around the side. Before the dark entrance of one stood (lovinda. and the door was wide open. hid behind ‘a pillar to watch the tiger-tamer, lie disa peared into the passage. [TB BE CONTINUED—COMMENCED IN No. 1.] He is thine, but mine as well: and ‘7 The lSIricken Erew. An Adventure that can be Vouched for. RY \V. F. DENNY. ON a fine morning in the fall of 18031. the frigate "Mclpomene," one of her Britannic Majesty‘s finest screw s. in which I was lieuten- ant. left Halifax. N. S., under orders for the Rernmdas. there to refit. preparatory to pro- ceeding to the coast of America. to watch UVcr English interests: her appointed headquarters to be Fortress Monroe. her captain being al- lowed to take his time on the passage. What a change it was, getting into the quiet monotony. the regular routine. of a inan-ofrwar at sea, after several exciting months spent in Halifax: where there was as much interi st taken in the great struggle going on between North and South. as in New York. \Vashington. or Richmond: it being still a doubtful question what course England and France would pursue toward the two parties of belligereuts. Indeed there were two parties in the capital of Nova Scotia. whose feelings were as bitter againstone another as those of the Federals and Confeder— ates. lVe had entered the Gulf Stream. and were sailing quietly along. when our signal midship— man re mrted to Captain E w—t. "A anish bulk in distress on the weather bow‘" . envelo Then as Luchniee . ; into a Turkish bath. prophet had told them that a mighty spirit \vould come among them, to lead t mm to victory and the extermination of the white man. '1 have witnessed these and other sci-ms of famine suffering, but nothing to compare with that, presented by the scurvy-stricken crew of the ( ‘openlmgen. "Hand up the provisions—«puckI quick!“l cried. and began myself serving out the small supply we brought with us. There was a strange. eager silence as each man‘s wunts were attendcd to. The doctor went on to examine the wretched crew. and ap ily such remedies as he chanced to have. while 1i signaled the ship for what pro- visions were needed. So much taken up was I with these occupa- fions that I paid no attention to anything e se, till. having completed what Iwas about, my attention was drawu to a strange haze forming to windward. Then I recalled the conversation which had been commenced between the assis- tant-surgeon and myself. Calling him to me, I 'd: “ 'h'imble, is that anything like the kind "’ ~ 2 ~ spoke of .5” . ...» Ipomtedto the baby appearance .” ( . ’ ;., '-~ y‘o , keep the ship in sight.” . ' aking, old Davis, the cox- of our 1:, came up. “ Please sur," he said to me touching his hat, " that there haze towind’ard bean’t- a. good sign. There be one 0‘ them there nasty fogs a-coming on. mark my word. sur." “'ithout replying to his remarks. I ordered him to send our men to the ropes for trimming sails. as I now understmxl why the bark had not closed us. Not. one of her crew had suflicicnt strength to move. with the (‘X(‘l'])ll0ll of tl.e skip— icr. and he was too weak even to manage the iclm, having barely strength to make the sig— nals to us. As he afterward told me, he had these ready bent on with weights, so that they would run themselves up. Taking the helm, and directing Trimble to note the )lelpomene’s bearingsd shaped a course for her. The haze had already begun to form into a dense fog: hilt, as the frigate was in full View of 11s. I had no anxiety or fear that any— thing unusual would occur. I have often thought since. that my mind was distracted. and its power of reasoningdullcd. by the wretched misery around me: but be this as it may, in ten minutes from the time I had lllSt noticed the misty appearance. I found myself (I in a dense fog. or rather vapor cloud. which mug round the bark and brought on a feeling similar to what one experiences in going Our thermometer leapu ‘ up fifteen de recs. and our respiration was paiir “ Mr. Haines." commanded the captain, “ask ‘ her name, and iow we can assist her." “ Ay, ay, sir," answered the officer. In a few minutes the bunting fluttered at our mast-head, and all eyes were brought to bear on the stranger. There was some delay. as merchant vessels are not generally very smart at communications by signal: at last, however, the midshipman re- ported: 0.9% , JG ‘ must wait till evening for our first mea 1 though only for a time. as in a few hours the feelin wore off. In the meantime, endeavored to communi- cate with the Melixmiene by a system of sound signal similar to that invented by Morse. I first tried with a fog—hom belonging to the bark. but as it had not been taken care of. I could only get a grunt out of it; 1 next experimented on the bark‘s bell, but it was a miserable article—— cracked and a‘inost soundless. All this tin e we could hear the frigate‘s steam whistle. with which she was signaling to us. But we not only could not return it. but had the further iiiortification of discovering. by the sound of the \yliistlc'growing fainter. that she was leaving us. . Such being the state of affairs. I proceeded to see how matters stood. in the wayof provisions. and on inquiry found that there m-re thirty pounds of biscuit and two gallons of water in the gig. beyond what we had brought with us by special design for the sufferers of the (‘opciiha- gen. Men-of—war boats. when at sea. always carry a small supply of provisions. 8 bottle of lime juice. and a little rum: and as none of us had had our dinners. there now see-mu] a chance of our having but a Very poor one. “ “'hat do you think of this state of affairst“ I asked of Trimble. " My opinion." he answered. “ is. that this fog may last for the next twenty-fourhours, and during that time we may lose our ship: so I would husband such resources as are left us. But what on earth are we to do with these unfor- tunatesr" he inquired. with a pitying glance at the faniished crew of the Copenhagen. " l'pon my word. I don‘t know. I suppose we must share our biscuit with them." “ Of course, we must," replied Trimble. “Luckily. I have my cigar case. I hope, old fellow. you haven’t forgotten yoursf' “Nof1ikely'." I said. “ You know I never stir a step without it." I now called Davis, and directed him to put a trusty hand in the gi * and dro ) her astern. at the same time telling iim that t e Melpomencs fully affec .Am man .4 A ‘ ‘59-? M,” .A s <:b, . v... “ \Vell, sur: I thinked there wor sum’at wromr when I left the frigate. I wor on the con n aii‘lI see’d the beromiter a—goin’ up werry fast: so 1 knowed some nat’ral feenoniinhon wor a-goin’ to take lace." “ l by did you not mention that before, Da- vis!“ I demanded. ' Because, sur, I thought you ’ud larf at me.” . “ “'ell, it‘s a pity you did not; it might have , saved us from being in this fix. But, Davis, we T must take good care of what food we have left: the frigate has eviden y parted from us, though Ihave no doubt but hat she will be insight when the weather clears. ” As I spoke, a gun boomed through the fog, but it was difficult to make out its direction. The bark had on board of her an old Danish brass six-pounder, but not a thimbleful of powder: so here. again, I was prevented from exchanging ‘ communications with the frigate. Under these circumstances, feeling no anxiety, and only that, should the worst come, we might experience the inconvenience of empty stomachs for a few hours, I determined to lay the bark to, asI felt certain that our captain would do the same with the frigate. and that we should find her at n-> great distance when the fog lifted. By this time, it being four o’clock in the after- noon. I ordered my boat's crew to haul u the gig. and served out a biscuit and a half, With a little rum and water to each man, Trimble and myself taking part with them in their frugal re- past. We were not troubled by the merchant sea- men. as whatever medicine or stimulant the doctor had given them had )ut them into a sound sleep long before our dinner hour, from which they did not awake till late in the even— iii r.- Iiut, when they did. they were in the most ravenous state, loudly demanding food. \Vhat was I to do.’ Give them our remaining biscuit! There was only a small quantity. and what would it be among thirty men—the num- ber of the bark‘s crew! Onlya niorsel to each. As they had eaten a hearty meal so recently, I thought they might go without anything more till we got the promisedsupply from the frigate: so I told them, through their captain. who spoke French. that I had nothing to give them. They Would not believe in statement. Food we liad~they knew it——aiit We must share it with them. They were hungry: I had only seven men: I must supply them. Food they would have. I again told them. more firmly. that I had no— thing for them. They reiterated their disbelief, and said they would search my boat. I now directed the boat‘s crew. in a low tone. to be on the alert, and that they must. at all risks, prevent their provisions from being taken from them. I added that we might be in a fog for perhaps another twenty-four hours, and so so )aratcd from the frigate. Vhether the Danish sailors understood me or not. I cannot say; I have thought since that they did: but. at any rate. it was evident that they believed there was a good stock of provi- sions in the boat: indeed, their captain himself hinted that he knew as much. To pacify them, I iromised if they would wait until morning they should see what we had got, and that then we would share it with them. I said this, being satisfied that there would be no need to keep our few biscuits from them in the morning, as in all likelihood we should be alongside the frigate. But it was all to no purpose. Have the pro- visions, they declared, they would; and at once. So I had to say, determinedly, no! There were thirt of them to e' ht of us; but we were in good ealth while e appeared feeble and scurv «stricken. y . Still the spiri which the doctor - batedtotbe had imbued , _. u; likelihood of trouble, and it would to act promptly and energefichthoug violence might be called for. “ ' “ "' At this crisis a thought struck me. “’atch- in; for the most prominent of the a 'tators. my eye fell on one why to this day, believe to have been an Englishman. Stepping quickly up to him, I seized him by the collar, and the next moment he was a prisoner in charge of my b iat’s crew. I then told the others. that I would instantly h-m; their shipmitc to the yard-arm. if they nndc any movement toward searching our boat. Of course this was only a threat: and l scarf-c knew how it might result. Fortunatclv it had an effect that in the cud perhaps proved the sul- vation both of mysclf and boat's crew. The Dani-s showed dissatisfaction at their comrade being arrested—almost threatening a rescue: but. after clamoring awhile, they went forward. and below, into the forc- ieuk of the bark. But I knew itwas onlny deli crate, and. )erhaps, return more determinate than ever. nngvr was urging them to desperation. And thedread of what might ensue now urged mc also to adopt. a desperate course. An idea had suggested itself on seeing them go below: and hastily, but silently, hurrying forward, with Davis by my side. we clapped on the fore- castle hatch, and at once secured it with the combing bar. \Ve had them now safe as in a trap. \ 0 could hear their throats and loud clamor, but heeded neither one nor the other. I now divided my men into two watches. Trimble taking command of one. myself the other: Davis being placed in charge of the pro- visions. as I knew him to be a trustworthy man. Morning broke. with the fog still enveloping us. and I began to feel our )osition really peril- ous. particularly as Trimble reported that he had not heard a single gun from the frigate dur- ing the whole of his watch. The last one that had been heard was about half-past eight the cVenino‘ before. Still. judging from appear— ances. I had hope that the breeze would freshen, and clear the fog by noon. Nor was I disap ointed. About half— )ast eleven A. M. it lifter . and we could see the or- izon all round us. The horizon —but nothing more! No Melpo- monc! Here we were on the wide ocean, in the same situation as the “ Stricken Crew " We had come to rescue from distress and starvation. And, if anything, We were in a worse position; for “'I' knew not what these desperate men might be tempted to do. Perhaps fire the shi ! A moment‘s reflection brought up before me the real peril of the situation. It was truly appalling. \Ve had still left a few biscuits—about fifty in all. The food we had given the unfortunate Danes had only increased their sufferings: and their cries, coming up through the closed> hatch, were heartrending. But what could we do for them? To have released them would have been to seal our own destruction. Under the delusion that We were well provisioned, and half-insane with their sufferings, the might have set upon, torn us. and, perhaps, ( one worse. Their captain. and two or three others. were still on deck, a guard of the Melpomenes keeping watch upon their movements. All day long we kept a look-out for the frig- ate, but she was nowhere to be seen: and as the sun went down our hearts sunk,along with it. ‘ We ourselves began to realize the pain of hun- ger in all its dread reality. ‘. l Another night passed; again the autumnal sun rose in its glorious splendor, ushering in to many a day of pleasure, but to us one of hunger and desolation. The unfortunate crew of the bark had for some hours been silent. tired out: the poor . wretches had, ,we supposed, fallen asleep. My heart smote me as I thought of their starv- ing condition. But the safety of myself, and those intrustcd to my care. should be thought of before any- thing else; besides, we had nothing to satisfy their hunger, and were helpless to assist them. At this crisis the look-out man, who had been placed at the royal-masthead, sung out in a clear voice, that rung checrily in our ears, the startling words: “Sail, ho!" - Every one seemed silence-stricken at the cry, and I, seizing my telesCope, rushed to the mast- head. For a moment, my eye was dazzled by the bright noonday sun but as I became accus— tomed to the glare, could make out the ship‘s royals, on our lee-beam. My experience told me she was a man-of—war. Hailing the deck, I directed Davis to trim sails. set studdin" sail, and keep the vessel three points free at the same time sending the look- out on deck to asist in working the ship, and taking his place myself. In about an hour, I could distinguish our " chase.” to the first reefs of her tops-ails, and now. I was certain from the rake of licr masts. and my knowledge of the movements of our fleet. that she was a frigate. Just {IS I made this discovery. 8, Cry ascended from below. and looking down. I saw my men endeavoring to prevent the bark's crew from coming on deck. through the cabin hatch rib-1ft} Not waiting to ask mysclf how they had thus reached the after part of the ship, Iscizcd the mainroyal back-stay, an I in an instant was up- on deck. The struggle for a time was desperate, but the poor. starved remnants of humanity could not withstand the strength of the Melpon encs which. if anything. was increased by their late abstinence—and. in a few minutes, we had the Danes secured. hand and foot, and once more stowed away. I now sent Davis to the iiiast-head, with orders to keep a sharp look—out on the strange ship. From this time. all was anxiety as to whether we had been observed by the frigate. How I longed for a gun. or some other means of com- municating with her! Suddenly.a hail came from Davis. aloff: “ By the Lord. sur! tlioru gocs a gun 5“ As he spoke. a dull booming came across the ocean waves. and we \Vci‘c sighted. Then another gun. and another, till by sound signal the frigate had spelt her name. She made out " Mam yin-Lyn.“ The scene that followed is beyonddescription. IVe. the officers. for rot our position. and so did the men. We only 'llcw we were human be- ings. with brothcrly feelings, and that salva— tion from a fearful de 1th was near at hand. We laugth we sung. and Trimble would have at. once released our priSoncrs. thinking as they were now assured of safety. there was no need for keeping them any longer in confinement. But I believed it bcffcr—as they would have only a little while longer to suffer—that they should remain where we had made them fast, cite general admiration. After a little galloping to show its paces, the horse, with its fair rider. goes off with the liuiitsnicii and hounds in pursuit of a fox—that was also a taught actor in its way—which leads the party through a variety of difficulties. such as climbing n ) rocks. leapiiiir over hedges, and so forth. fill at length. w icn on the point of being run down. it dashes into the cottage of a poor old woman, who humanely gives it shelter. She takes up the fox loving y in her arms, and saves it from scemingly impending destruction. That may be called the first stage in the horse’s -areer. during which Prince was well attended to and happy. At the beginning of the next act. the horse is to appearance several years older, and is no longer fit for racing or hunting. The lady, its first owner, had from some circumstanccs been coiiiiwlled to part with it. From its swiftncss in running, it had been purchased to run at celebrated horse-races, at which it had on several occasions won prich. and its sprightliness obtained for it the name of the high-metilcd racer. After this it was trans- ferred from one owner to another. always in a descending scale. until p0or Princo is seen in the condition of a cab-horse in the streets of London. It has somewhat the look of its for— mer state. but is terribly broken down in figure and spirit. lis plump and glossy appearance is gone. It hangs its head droopineg down. It is dirty and dejected. Its ribs shine through its skin. Its joints are stiff. It stands on three legs. With Ibo other leg resting on the point of tlic foot. just :is wc see cab-horses trying to rest thcir aching limbs when standing in a row for hire. \Vhaf :i \vrctclied d0wncomc from that which Princc had enjoyed in “ life‘s young dreamt" Thcrc awaits it. however, a still lower di-ptli of miscry. In the following act. Prince is l't‘fluf‘f‘fl t0 the forlorn condition of drawing a mud—c-irl . when it can hardly draw its own legs after it. To ap- pearance. it is half—starved. A child ofl'v-is it a few straws. which it is glad to out. It so cins to be little beftcr than skin and bone. Thc cart in which it is yr dud belongs to a rude jobbcr whose objcct is to “‘1'ng the utmost possible w. u-k out of the animal bcfore selling it to be killcd. A feeling of horr ir and compassion thrills through the spectators. They can hardly believc they are only lookingr at a play. for the simulation is porfcct. Staggering along with its draught un— dcr the cruel urgingr of the whip. the moment arrives when l’rincc (an 20 no further. lts un» happy span of life is terminated. It suddenly drops down undcr its weary load—to die. and be relieved of all its troubles. Unyoked from the cart. and rciicvcd of its harness. therc it is. stretched out. with a crowd of idlei‘s about it. scemingly at thc last gasp. and offering in itsfate a dreadful instance of undeserved cruelty to ani- mals. There is a concluding scene in the lifo of the llnl‘re we havc liocn describing, which must on no account be omitted. While lying in the st rent in its «haul-struggle. and when prepara- ti: ms were making to drug it off tothe shambles, ’ a lady who is passing recognizes the dying ani- until the frigate's boat boarded us: and this plan was adopted. How different were our feelin under the set- ting sun to those we experience at its rising! \ ’e were once more on board the Melpomene. of it. IV , been in real danger, and were quite ; We had been not only threat— ‘ ened with starvation. but had also risked a san- ‘3 collision with the already famished i chew of the Danish vessel. who, as before stated halt mama from their suflefings, and seemed to think that we, instead of coming to 1 their rescue, were in some wa or other the * cause of their distress. At all vents, they be- "Themed we had plenty of provisions, and could " hel them, had we wished to do so. ll ost undoubtedly we had been in aposition of real and almost hopeless peril. from which accident alone now rescued us: for it was slicer accident our owe more crossing the track of the frigate. Had she stcamcd on to Bermuda. no other vessel might have appeared in time to dclivcr us from a fate to r f'earful to be contem- plated. ()ur joy at finding (Hirsclvcs once more on the deck of the Mclponione may be imagined. but not descrilxsd. The (‘apfain of the f ‘openliagen was our g‘ilcsf. and a little doctoring soon gave him srrcngfh enough to .-nnblc him to communicate the p'll'- ticulars of how he and his crew had got into their disfrcssv‘d situation. The bark had taken dc )zll‘tlll‘l' from Falnioufh for Boston with a fill cargo. and was in lici‘ ('If/hflfSl’l'd’Hfh day out when we boarded her. She had been dc— tained by rough weather, with a succession of adverse galcfi, until her )rovisions had given out and the men got sfric 'cn with scurvy. In all proluibility, had the )lelponicne not sighted the bark. all on board of her would have perish- (WI. flu asking the Danish skipper. how his men had come up abaft from the fore-peak. liccx— plained it by saying. that the cargo Consisting partially of dry goods. a kind of "wing-pas— " had been made for the supercargo. and through that they had found their way. As the captain of the bark spoke a language with which many of us were acquainted, we had a good deal of conversation with him. Bof li be and his chief officer were intelligent gentlemcu. as indeed are most of the officers of Danish and Swedish ships. Before leaving us, there was an interchange of national toasts between old Dcn- mark and old England. After having provisioned the Copudxagx-n. we sent lll‘l‘ on her way rejoicing: and a i'cw months afterward, Trimble and myself received a handsome pair of epaulettes. and the men five sovereigns each, from the owners of the bark. An Eqiflre Artist. FORTY years ago Astlcv's Amphitheater in London was known as the home of the “ lit ucs- trian Drama," where horses figured not on _v in the rin but on the stage in situations as flnc as those given to men and women to portray. In one of these plays a very wonderful piccc of actin bya white horse named Prim-c. \vns offered or ublic entertainment. in a play called the “ igh-inettled Racer.” The play was in several successive acts. and designed to represent different stages of degradation in the ‘ai'eei‘ of a horse from youth to old age. The spectacle was painful but touching, and unfor- tunately in too many cases true to nature. \thn the piece opens, we have a View of an English country mansion. In front thcrc are several mounted huntsmen in scarlet coats ready to set out on a fox-chase. Thev are waiting till a young lady comes out of the mansion to accompany them. We see the ladv, who is pro— perly equipped for riding, descend the steps at the doorway. mid by the aid of a groom mount a young and bcautif'ully-shalwd white horsc that is in readiness for hcr. She speaks to it alfcctimh atelv, and calls it her dear I rince. The elegant, form of the animal. its proud bearing, its glossy coat. and the spirited way it prances about. cx- icr favorite horse Prince, which At lifting its lll‘ll as being she had ridden years ago at the fox-chase. the same time the poor beast faint] head, recognizes its old mistress, an with fail- ing cyes seems to implore her com ion. In a state of distraction, the lady knee 5 down, takes the horse’s head in her lap, speaks to it consol— ingly, and once more calls it her dear Prince. Oh, what would she not do to revive the dying animal, and give Prince a new lease of exist- ence? Just at this juncture, in the manner of the old plays, when something supernatural was required to get over a serious difficulty. a sylph- like being, in the character of a benevolent fairy ap rs on the stage carrying a magic wan . er mimion, she says. being to redre wrong, she touches the dying horse With the wand and bids it rise. In an instant Prince starts up from its recumbent position. and to the delight and amazement of ever 'body. it is as fresh, plump, glossy and beautifu as when it went out with the hounds in the fox chase. The lady springs upon its back, and ofl’ Prince goes at a splendid gallop. The applause was, of course, immense! Perhaps in the whole annals of liorscmanship there was never demonstrated a more Wonder— ful case of acting. The horsc had all along~ bchl feigning for piilIlicaniusemcnt. It had f'ciuncd tobea cab-horsc. It had fcigncd to bc fircd when it stood on three legs. If feigncd to be dying when it dropped down in the sand-curt. The Whole affair was a piccc of simulation. and by means of some adventitious aid in discolor- ing the skin, the deception was complete. A hasty rub with a cloth puts it all to rights: and instead of dying. I’rince gallops off in the con- sciousness of having pcrfoi‘mcd a brilliant piece of acting.—Chambcrs’s Journal. A SAILOR’S SWEETHEART. “God blessyon. lass!" once more the-y kiHs‘i-al. And straight aboard lie sprung: The sails shook out. the glad waves his-sud. The quivering cordag» sung. She watched the vessel round the pin-r. And waved hcr last good-bycs, And turned away with spirit drear, And hard, unnioistened eyes. She sat within. forlorn and weak—- There came not any sound. And yet his kiss was on hcr cheek. His strong arms clasped licr round. “ All. little heart I lch tlic bv-sf. No more we part for aye i” She lv-anf hcr hcad against his breast. And let the tears have way. Jim/l ll owls. Winter Sports o_f New England. BY REV. EMORY .l. “A YNES. LET us begin in Noveinbcr. The snows have not yet fallen, and the lcavcs, crackled and broken into frac‘nicnfs, are being hustled along bcforc the wimf until they sail through the air like. snow. For the most )art thc trees are de- niided and their fruitage ies on the ground. or is harvested into the barns f r the winter SI'J‘C son. Even while we are talking we see flic iii- closures about the barns iillcd with pumpkins, luscious golden fruit. and while we look we see the boys, with their pitchforks. tossing them ovcl‘ the fences to the 'attlc. Thc hours of sun— light are not more thin nine: the temperature is not more than thirty dcgrccs. If we listen. we hear the rcport of the riflc. or other firc- arms coming down to us from the hills. The): are hunting “prayers.” The New England gray Squirrels are stalwart crcutures, large as kittens, who know what the ' arc about, and if is a pleasure topursuc tlicm. Thc marksman who fired at the " grayer " and lost his charge might say. “I won the prize at (‘rccdnioon“ At l'recdnioor he wound his limbs fliirtccn fiimcs about the. stock of his picCc and pulled the frig— gcr with his cars. but it fakes a man on two fccf to shoot a “ gi‘aycr" in the Now l‘lngland woods. Within three wccks from Novombcr the gunning in the woods will be differcnf. Everywhere a carpet of beautiful white. clean as when God niadc it, lies over the earth and over the fzillcn lcavcs. If you will hunt the fox well you will gct up at five o‘clm'k in the morning. EVcry- where on the snow you scc fhc bcnufiful two— toe marks. the three toe-marks and the four— toe marks. tclling of the belated “graycr” get- ting honic with his winter store: of the mink down there by the brook: of the wily fox and of the panther, or the catnmount of the north. Then there is the track of the gray bear. which ‘ you will find among the hills. If it is in the early morning you will hear the whack. whack, whack of the woodchoppei' cutting his three or four cords a day—a sound glorious to the hunter who has lost his way, for he knows he can now get a picce of bread and salt mcat where— with to stav the craving of his hunger. Then you hear the buying of the trusty hound and the yelp of the pup. and you have the best duct that chr fell on mortal ears. Thc fox is crcep- ing on. following tllf‘ brook. and now and then springing into it. The dogs follow. They have lost the trail, but they find it again, and at last the fox is killed—and it is right to kill him be- cause he kills chickens. “'ould you like to hear about a regular old— fashioned Thanksgiving: It's half—past twclvc o'clock, and anticipation is at its liight. The savory dishes are almost here exhaling. Grandma sits in her spliiit-lmttomcd chair, wiping the haze often from her spectacles, thinking of many a lull: day. Thcrc is such a noise of children. for \Vill is here with all of his. and Susan. tlic whilcni school tcacln 1' who went \Vcst. is home showing off hcr husband and the babies whom they have never Sccn beforc: and Abigail. dczir old Abigail. flic eldest sister of them all. \\ ith her wavy hair turning grav. for all tll('\\'(ll'lfl just like her mother: with her grown-up daughter l~‘lorc‘:‘7':1:‘.. I‘cady licrsclf to be wed. drcsscd in the latest Boston fashion. :1 copy of Dantc. and Ralph \ando Emerson in citlicr pocket: ('iiarlcs is here with thc bride of yestcrday and Daniel “’cbster in :1 natty suit from fhc choicest shop in (‘bapcl sfrccf’. There is mother. " handsnmcrihan ever. mothcr dean" so say thcy all. while her grown-up offspring seize licr round about and kEss hi-rcvcry now and then. bustling: in and out. Now. father. standing in tIlf‘ doorway. a little older. but young in spirits as the y<.iiiiigi-st boy. just in from a round of thc farm buildings which he has been showing oil‘: his g‘r‘zod clof‘lzcs cow-red over with his ion; blue frock and lllslmt'kt ts full of (eggs. "('omc. cliildi'cn." and he begins to call the roll. in ving made a momcnf's pi‘c— paration. " lloid. boys. lwf'orc we ask a blo ss- ing: I s’posc you‘vc all looked upon the wall." and tho cldcst daughicr fairly carcssns :1 phovo- graph. fndcd in the ycril's'. of a youthful form in rcgimo-iitals. lcaning on a sword. Sonic one says. “ poor boy." and s ibs of ci'ucl fh-flysbui‘g. and the ‘c arc chokings in the throats of all. es- pecially the sirc‘s as in simple accents he rc- turns thanksgiving unto God. Now. such a feasting. and :1 clatter. and such a spatter. but ’tis no matter: and such a talking and such a laughing in high glee. and such a bul'bccuc of good things more and more. A little pig all done to the turn: a turkey like an ostrich: such apple pies. and pics of pumpkins too; and noth— ing worse than cider freshly madc but yester- day: and fleccy dumplings. fattertlian a feather bed: great doughnuts, which the gentilcs do call crullers: and fl:ipjacks with the maple sugar on: plum puddings from receipts one hundred years of agc: pop-corn and hickory nuts, and good old biiftcrnuts as well: something for every taste that all the wide world ever grew for man. All the. while the back-log flames and roars. while the storm is beating vainly at the windows. After this we can attend an apple-paring bee. The word is given out that there is to be an ap- ‘ ple- iaring bee down at Moses Bascom’s. IIav— ing card the notice we intend to be there. You ‘ fihoultgssee the arrivals. Every young fellow as .' colt. Proud .creatures of the Jurest '1 00d that flows in horses’ veins. Roun as a l 53 cask, so that you could almost clasp them with ; Slender legs. those steeds, like your arms. Eyyoung fawns. and wavy trimmings, on which no Cockney bangs have. ever worked their in— ' stilt to good taste. No Vermont boy would , eVL-r live without his colt. He raiscd him. Broken: “'0”. yes: the colt has possibly had a girth and check on roimd the yard for a couple of hours, but the real breaking is on such sleigh- rides as these. Your city brcd would as soon think of pleasure with a young volcano. I‘ll warrant each couple that dashes up to Busco'n's door has bccn dumped into the snow at least once. but oh. it is proud sport, with plunging and foaming and jingling of bclls and steaming in thc frosty air. 'l‘hcrc ll.‘.l~ the top. gag, - a; v “gun-u. .. ; Ana-gt, ...._,.._..a.»....... < ‘ “super—Hora ~ Ii: 4'»;- k'V—‘V‘SflW‘Mfi’o war-1* " s.‘ . .w 3-in— mo 5- - _, . .... _ ..rx-..y...m.: s.‘ wig:- . v.- a.-.» - a. fi‘ .1... —-h.‘l 'WWJM‘. .- "--"-—- “a...” u» " ‘ ungoq.‘ :- . _ ,,-.|~. -.-. 30 1,-1.1“: «fin—hrarwfi 4-'-“ "" \~ V!“ . MONDAY. INCL'EMBER 73:}, 1575'. Terms 'l‘o Su bscrlbers. One copy, six months. . 31.9.5 " “ one year. 2.50 Two copies. one year. 4.50 Address all remit 'anm-a and ('fllllllllllllcilllt ms to ADAM.» AND L'l’))ll’.\.\'Y, Publishers, {is William Street. N. Y. “-i/l 0(//-([0(I/' (/mnes. (I’lllt’lli’ sports, I'm/'iug. bull (yo/m, do, HIV/[IT ’1'(/ [IE fi‘.\‘('0('l.’.-i/y'l:‘l), for [/H‘ Hike of (In hum/1 which 0103/ 12/01/10’6."—annv WARD BEEClll-IR. The Bicycling Revival. TWENTY years ago—nay, even ten—the asser- tion that a man could go a thousand miles in a single. week on a velocipcde Would have been laughed at in America. “'hile great expectations had been raised with regard to these velOcipedes, the experience of this country showed that. as then made, they were of little use, except on a smooth floor. The trials made on trotting tracks against horses, while very exhausting to the men. al- ways resulted against the velocipede: and the result was that our impatient Americans threw aside their machines as toys, and “velociped— ‘ ing” went entirely out of fashion. The sport had been tried and was disused, except for small , boys in the city parks. The English, not so rapid and energetic as Americans, have nevertheless one virtue, which we, as a people, might imitate. They are slow up new notions. If they attempt a new sport, they are sure to attain a certain degree of pro- ficiency therein, and then the game becomes a national institution. Americans are too apt to rush into and out of new sports without ade- quate reasons, merely because they are popular in foreign countries. without inquiring whether they will suit our own. So it has been with “ velocipeding,” or, as it is now», called, fi“bicycling.” It flourished in France and England because e roads in those countries were, as a rule, excellent, smooth and hard. The old velocipedes worked very well on these roads. then they were brought to Amer- ica, it was found that the dirt—roads, which are the rule here, were too heavy for the machines. Our men worked hard, made poor time, and grew disgusted with the sport. In a couple of years it had almost entirely disappeared, and velocipedes were selling for almost nothing. ' Meantime the English kept on with the old machines, and as years passed, with those of new and improved patterns. They increased the size of the driving wheel to get more speed; placed the man‘s seat directly over the wheel to give him more reach: abolished wood, and made the “driver ” of steel wire spokes, with a steel tire. To give the wheel a better hold and di- minish the shock of rough ground, they put on an extra tire of india-rubber, about an inch thick, and finally they produced a nearly per- fect bicycle. “'hat can be done with these machines is shown by the report given in our Athletic columns of the bicycling tournament at Agricultural Hall, London. last week. The winner, ' Cami, riding for six days, eighteen three others beat nine hundred; and the poorest of the riders who persevered made seven hun- dred miles and over. These feats were performed, it is true, on a hard. smooth track. but they show what it is possible to do. Making every allowance for rough roads and hills, it seems by no means un- likely that ere long, we shall have plenty of amateur bicyclists who can do their two and three hundred miles a week on the public high- way. Base-Ball. THE Utica Observer in an article on baseball recently commented on the game as follows: “ Not unfrequently the criticism is made that the newspapers devote altogether too much space to the sub ect of base-ball. We are rudely reminded that at t e best the game is onlv boys' play, that it chiefiv engages the attention of idlers, and t an the mass (If matter printed in regard to it is unintelligible as well as uninteresting to the majority of readers. But there are two sides to this question—as to most others—and having given the substance of the com- plaints. it remains to consider the arguments in favor of baseball. “ Great skill in any pursuit is never to be despised. If the pursuit is unworthy. those who practice it may be condemned, but if they are exceedingly ro- fiCient they will still be admired. Base-ball is a manly game, and the rare power and endurance dis- )layed by trained players not only excites wonder, ut roduces a very wholesome effect. The puny boy ooks on and becomes possessed with a desire to excel in the same line of endeavor. It isa healthv impulse, and it leads to good results. If the game be nothing more than boys' play. it needs only that to recommend it. Play which calls for clean mus- cles, strong hands, clear eyes. trained limbs and de- veloped lungs is good play: and if it also demands from those who engage in it quick perception, fair understanding. ready obedience and strict discipline. it is verv good The boy who ranks first in the ball- ileld will. other things being e. ual. rank first in larger fields of competition. Werltnow that physical prowess is no measure of mental strength. but we also know that it is no drawback to intellectual ef- fort. A sound mind in a sound body is greatly to be devices to stimulate the mind. Let us have a few games to encourage the body." The Observer is sound on the base-ball ques- tion, and We are glad to see a non-professmnal 1' take this ground. For the rest, base- llgl is an American game, popular in every respect. The boys like it; young men like it: the ladies love the excitement of the game; , and as for the dyspeptic persons who condemn it and growl over the space it occupies, they, would be all the better for a good game them- selves. sore all user for a Week, but the second game would make. new men of them, and if they kept at it for one summer the would find out for It might tire them out and leave them , living it lulls the craving of a hungrystomach Without in any degree feeding the animal sys- tem. Men who hap nod to be inclosed iua coal mine, and were perishing for lack of food, are stated to have rotracted life by a few consol- ing whifi's of to cco. In cases of this nature, smoking may be allowable as a positive necessi- ty; but we cannot perceive the shghtcst reason for this ind once in ordinary circumstances. As usual] 0 Ned, smoking is a vice, like dram-drin 'ug. It is taken up in a spirit of idleness, withouta vesti e of excuse. \Ve need ‘ say little of its wastefu ness of means, though the first time the meaning 0 the word “ Health.” ‘ Stick to your colors and clubs, boys. Mrs. Lincoln’s Lions. THE Boston correspondent of the New York 1 worth of cigars, and doubtless there are many Sim sends the following remarkable story. He 1 says: A! 54 Howard street, is a most remarkable exem- plification of the subduing power of kindness upon dumb animals. In an apartment about ten by twelve feet. separated from the sitting-room by an ordinary partition wall and a slight barred door. are the only pair of African lions ever raised in this country. Their owner is Mrs. M. E. Lincoln. the oc- cupant of the house. She was formerly connected with an itinerant troupe to which she loaned money, and look as security a bill of sale of six lions—four of one litter and two of another—and they were never redeemed. Thev were then, twenty-nine months ago, infants. and she becamelothem almost a mother. She brought them up in her arms, feed- ing them from an ordinary nursingr bottle. which ex on now the two survivm's will suck with the great- (-sl apparent pleasure. Until a little more than a year ago they remained in the room With her. and were there exhibited in the presence of visitors; but at The request of the city authorities she then shut them up in the apartment described: Four ofthe original lot died at various ages, leaving a survivor of each litter. Their names. to which they readin respond. are “'illie and Martha. Willie weighs abCut 32.5 pounds. and his companion will probava tip the beam at 275. For several months past “1 - lie‘s mane has been darkening. and will soon be ver neariv black. )Irs. Lincoln gossips about her chi - dren with all the freedom and interest of a natural mother. often pausing to answer the inquiring l0ok of Willie. or to speak to Martha as sliesrands at the grated door. They both know her _v0ice, and give ready sign of recognition. The sun )le ‘quesuon, spoken in the most quiet manner. ‘2‘ illie. do you want some water?" is responded to. if he is thirsty. bv his iumping in glee about his room: if he_is not dry he pays no heed to the inquiry. Mrs. Lincoln goes into the cage wlth them, armed With nothing but a little wand hardly more than a foot in len rth, which she seldom uses except to pat them affection- atelv. At the word of command. spoken firmly but quietly. they will lie prostrate. roll over. place their paws in her hand. stand at_full hight, and even put their faces up to hers and kiss her in as affectionate a manner as would a dog. Martha is less active than her male companion, and is always silent, while he growls good-naturedly at the mastery which )Irs. Lincoln exerciSes over him. Both seem to cultivate the society of acquain- tances. but take no notice whatever of strangers ex- cept to stare at them. So keen is their sense that they instauly recognize the step of the b0 .wh‘o brings for each the six pounds of raw beef w icli is ; their allowance, upon_cvery day but Sunday. On to let go an idea that they have once entertain- 1 ed. It is equally true that they are slow to take 3 this day they fast, and so accustomed have they be- come to this that they manifest no impatience, nor even a desire for food when the noon of that day arrives. Some two hours is occupied in their eatin , the bones being picked as clean as though the fies was boiled from t iem. “ Once in every day, when the weather is suitable, Mrs. Lincoln takes her “ children," as she calls them through the sitting room toan open yard, inclo by the high walls of the adJoming buildings, where they remain for an hour or more, enjoying air and exercise. Here. last summer, they were photo- graphed, without the intervention of any bars or other screen, between the artist and themselves. Here, too, several of the Art School students;have made studies from nature, and to some of thesq par-I ticularly one lady who s nt some time' in the rtrait of Willie, they ave become mu attac ed. ‘ 11 these peculiarities are mm. of threateni gesture, no _ no exhibition of unkind f . g is ever allowed in their presence. Their every Wish is gratified by their mistress so far as her careful and practiced eye can detect their desires. They are shielded from cold and from the rays of the sun, neither of which they can bear, with religious care. Their room, or cage, is kept scrupulously neat, and they are petted from morning until ni ht. So fond are they of Mrs. Lin- coln that the ex 'bit the greatest sorrow at her ab- sence, and Willie. actually cries for her. Last sum- mer she was in the country for several Weeks, and upon her return a large company gathered to see the meeting between her and her pets. The animals seemed to vie with each other in the effort to show joy at her return. The pushed each other aside in the fear that one won d bestow or get more atten- tion than the other, and fawned upon her with the playfulness of young spamels. "Outside the grating is an ordinary door which 0 us into the sitting-room, and unless this is bolted illie will not allow it to remain closed. but with his paw he raiSes the latch and pushes open the door, so that he may watch his mistress. When the door-bell rings they both approach and watch for the entrance of the visitor, but quietly retreat if it happens to be one they have never seen before. Visitors come by 1 thousands in the course of a twelvemonth, and a , though no price is charged, Mrs. Lincoln reaps a : for the future in regard to them. She has ha small income from the gifts of those who come to this novel exhibition. She has not as yet an ' plan some offers to purchase them, but she has become so at- tached to them that it is probable that she will not part with them." It must be remarked on this story that Mrs. ; Lincoln will probably be unable to keep her pets hours a day. made more than a thousand miles: ; as tame as they are now for another year. Lions have been tamed in the same manner be- fore now by being taken as cubs and kindly j treated, but as they grow older they are sure to become more or less dangerous, if not to their im- . mediate master or mistress. to their friends. In ‘ playful and affectionate. the life of Gerard, the Lion Killer of Algeria. is a very interestin story of a cub brought up by him and called ubert. but even Gerard could not keep Hubert peaceablefor ever. Gerard‘s diary of Hubert records that he was suckled by a she-goat and was very As he grew older. he } commenced by eating his foster-mother—this at eight months. At eighteen months he finished an Arab robber who was trying to steal Gerard‘s horses. word, that must bevery considerable. The govern- ment duties alone exigible on the tobacco used in the United Kingdom amount to about nine millions annually; and if we add the cost of the , article, the yearly tobacco bill to smokers pro- . lVe bablv reaches the sum total of twent millions. have heard of instances of yout sin fash- ionable life who yearly smoke fifty pounds whose outlay must be far greater. Among the 3 less afilueut classes, the habitual expenditure on tobacco cannot but encroach on available means of living, and often when the outlay canbe ill spared.’ Throwing aside the question of economy the 3 habit of smoking in youth lays the foundation At two years he killed a soldier and i ‘ at three they had'to put him in a cage an send j ‘ but stran rers became his aversion. desired. We have schools, colleges and a thousand _ him to Paris. He was fond of Gerard as ever, Poor Hu- bert final y died of grief at the separation from his master. Boy Smokers. OXE of the most injurious habits incurred ‘ by our city boys is that of tobacco-smoking. It has become much more frequent recently since the introduction of the Spanish custom of cigar- ette smoking inasmuch as the habit is less pain- fully acquired by smoking cigarettes than by using the stronger cigars. Chambers” Journal has the following article on boy smokers which is worthy the attention of our young readers. That paper savs: “ A learned professor of medicine in one of , the Nationals our universities some time ago made the remark . to us that those students who passed through his hands rarely succeeded in distinguishing themselves if they were habitual smokers of tobacco. The smoking of cigars or pipes seems to dull their faculties, and to have the effect of preventing them from sedulously gathering facts sufficient to excel at examinations for ‘ degrees. “'e repeat the remark as we heard it. and submit it for consideration. Perhaps other rofessors equally candid and observant might iave a similar a e to tell. " Asis )retty generally known. the smoking of tobacco ias a certain intoxicating effect. It soothes the nervous system, and in cases of poor i ‘ of many cases of chronic dyspepsia, besides other disorders. It poisons the system through i the introduction of nicotin besides greatly in- juring the nerves. It. is bad enough when rac- ticed by adults, but it is still worse for goys. N o wise or judicious parent would allow his sons to smoke. Three Great Pedestrians. says of the Bridgeport \Vonder, Campana: "'Sport,’ is a quaint character. He does not, E die; he possesses a g THE N'w York Herold, which seems to be- ‘ lieve in givmg every new-comer a fair show, i b3 ms surround” 1’ value money and.his only stimulus is ambition. His : heart is set on excelling all, and, mild and childish } as be isto the ordinary observer, he has the pluck ‘ and determination of a lion, or, better still, an old New York fireman, and, as he expresses himself, ‘There’s no telling: a man may die, but I‘ll never quit while I‘m alive,‘ and those who know him are readv to testify that this is no empty boast. “ ()‘Leary is, perhaps, the shrewdest as well as the best of the few celebrated long-distance pedestrians, : and he evidently reasons thus: Satisfied that ‘Sport ’is a good one. and that he must meet him sooner or later, he will give him a match before ‘ Sport ’ has had time to learn more. “ O‘Leary made a statement recently, which was published, that he is willing to w 33,010 that he can walk 510 miles in 144 hours, fair heel and toe at that. and his recon! is sufi‘lcient to make it more than probable that he can do what he claims, O'Leary speaks from experience, thorough- ly sure of his )owers after repeated trials. ‘ Sport’s ’ experience is imited to the one trial at Bridgeport, but in that he has satisfied himself and many friends that with better advantages he can do much more, ager $2,000 against ! the ease with which their man gets over distance at a jog trot and frequent running spurts, which do not appear to distress him any more than an eflort continued for the same period on the part of a walk- er. “ ‘ S mrt’s ‘ condition during and immediately after is performance at Bridgeport, which was closely Observed by a number of experienced gentle- men, proves him another of those human enigmns which occasionally peifl'filex science, and it is hardly possible that the man ould not do better and suffer still less under proper handling. “ When \Veston first astonished the world with a erformance of four hundred and thirt odd miles, {lie entire medical fraternity was at his ect begging o portunities for scientific observations, which were given to the public in an extended series of most in- teresting apex-s, and the subsequent trials of Wes- ton and 0t erg enabled scientific men to solve many interesting problems as to proper diet, effect of stim- ulants, and, more than all, the possibility of human endurance. “ Weston isa very moderate drinker, O'Leary does not drink to excess and Campana does not drink at all. All three of these men ossess wonderful recu- rative povrers, and, despi e the fat' no and ex- ggustion attending their prolo ed t of endur- ance, can do without sleep for a ength of time which i in itself would be an astonishiu performance. or the three,Westi m undoubtedly su ered the most by- sical lain, and the peculiar contractions to whic he is subject, and the nervous irritation which assails him, generally on the third day, require the best and kindest attention to enable him to continue with any prospect of success, and some believe to this day, ; of trap and bans used distance of "he bouudur‘, i 7 i o ‘ ‘ rules lgoverning, and weather. N. notwithstanding his recent defeats, that if \Veston was surrounded by those in whom he has confidence, and had. besides, the care his physical system re- (uires, the influence of an equable and firm and at the sametime kind and gentle temper tocontrol him, he would yet be a match for the best; but, lv constituted as he is, his task too easily disagreeable to him as well as painful. " O‘Leary, on the contrary, is an easy man to ban- and sunny temper, is easily satisfied with ordinary attention and is not disturbed culiar- omes “ Campana has so far proved the easiest subject of the three to take care of. This may be accounted for by the fact that he never in his hfe has had any reason to expect to be cared for by any one, and his experience ( uring the maintenance of a most pre- carious existence in his youth. his constant wakeful- ness during the many years of service with the old volunteer re department, the hardships of war. etc., none of which appear to have impaired his stron constitution. have, on the contrary, strongly fitt him for just such tasks, as these. ‘Sport’ has no idea of nausea. and while his appetite is good in pros- perity his stomach has become patient and submis~ sive through adversity; and used, as he has ever been, to be aroused for dutv after a short nap. the want of proper food and sleep have become com- paratively insignificant considerations with him, and as running speed has ever been the characteristic by which he has won distinction, it but remains to be seen whether it is not too late to combine these many de- sirable requisites in the new career which “Sport “ has chosen." “'hatever be the result of the coming match. Cam na will always be remembered as a won erful case of mental courage triumphing over physical obstacles, and well worthy of and the hopes of the ‘Sport ' party are based upon imitation in that particular. A.G. SPALDING. BY HENRY CHADWICK. THE second on the list of our illustrated sketches of noteworthy base-ball players is that celebrated strategic pitcher of the professional class of the fraternity familiarly known as “ Al Spalding." who was in the champion nine of the Boston Club from 1871 to 1875, inclusive. and was the pitcher and manager of the Chicago nine when they won the championship pennant in 1576. Since that year he has been practicallv out of the arena, being now the proprietor of an excellent sporting goods establishment in Chi- ca 0. 5Al ” be an pla ing ball in a junior nine at Rockford I 1., in 1 , and he played as a junior until 185d, when he was chosen pitcher of the Forest City nine of Rockford, then the amateur rivals of the Chicago Excelsiors. “'e first saw Mr. Spalding pin in the contest which took ilace at Dexter ark, Chicago, July 25, 1867 tween the Forest City nine of Rockford and the Washington Nationals, then on a tour through the West. In the former nine Spald- ing was (pitcher, Ross Barnes acted as short-stop, and Ad y plumat second base. Previously easily defeated the clubs of Columbus. Cincinnati, Indianapolis and St. Louis. A special interest was taken in this ame by the Chicago people inasmuch as the xcelsiors of that City—the rivals of the Rock- ford nine—were to lay the Nationals the next day. To the rise and chagrin of the Na- tionals they were defeated by the Forest City nine, by the following score: Forest City.....2 8 5 0 1 8 0 1 4—29 National . . . . . . ..8 5 0 3 0 7 3 0 2—23 Base hits—Forest City. 17; National. 21. Earned runs—Forest City. 4; National 3. The victory was largely due to Spalding’s pitching. The success of the Excelsior‘s rivals set the latter wild to duplicate the victory, but the next day the Nationals played a splendid game, and won by the following score: National. 7 521 5 1 8 1 0 1—49 Excelsior....... 0 0 2 0 0 0 1 0 1—4 Base hits—National, 37; Excelsior. 6. Earned runs—National, 9; Excelsior l. _ It was. this vicmrynghich brought Spalding into. notice. Harry right soon saw into the merits of Spalding, and after Al had still more distinguished himself as pitcher of the Forest City professionals of 1870. he was sele by Harry as the pitcher of the new Boston nine of 1§71, and it was in this club that Spalding won his reputation as the most succesful strategist 1n base-ball pitchin ever known to the profes- sional fraternity. r catamaran see Commodore Wil t was Spalding who visited 1 3d- A“ for a ” forty’ England early in the spring of 1874 as the (want i courier of the Boston and Athletic Clubs, and was noteworthy. We quote from the descrip- tion of_the players of the visiting teams con- {gained in the base-ball book of 875, as fol— ows: “Spalding is 'ustly regarded as one of the most successful of t e strategic class of litchers. In judgment, command of the ball. pluck. endurance and nerve, in his position he has no superior; while his education and gentlemanly uah'ties place him above the generality of base-bal pitchers. As a batsman he now equals the best of what are called ‘ scientific " batsmen—men who use their heads more than their muscle in handling the ash. His forte in de- livery is the success with which he disguisesa change of pace from swift to medium. a great essential in ‘ successful pitching. S )alding is a thorough repre- sentative of the spirite young men of the Western States, he being from Illinois.‘ This does but simple justice to this model pro— fess10nal pitcher. w o is one of the most gentle- manly and intelligent players of his class. 0f thorough inte 't y of character, quiet demeanor, and of marke executive ability, even outside of i his special position he stands as a most credit- able exemplar of the national game. . E w his able management of the affairs of the team 1 ego“ or “the i natured to inpuirlng boys. Special Modem—Tux Youxo an Yonkza is prepared to answer questions on all the subjects rented of in the paper. Competent writers iave been eng ed for our (19 ment: of sports, pas- times, ath etlcs, etc., so t at our readers may de- pend on correct information. We shall be receive accounts from school and college clubs of contests in athletics of all sorts, of shooting and fishing excursions, whether of parties or of single persons, and to publish the same if of interest to our era. We will add some special requirénents in reports of matches. We want to know: 1. Place, name and date of match. 11. Conditions in full, rules, etc. III. Prizes in order. IV. Prize winners and their time, distance, or score, according to contest. V. Description of match. These to lcs should be in separate paragraphs. plainly w tten, especially as rds names and numbers. The description should short. For shooting contests at glans balls give always place, date. ,name of club. name of competition, kind .—We do not undertake to decide wagers, nor to deal with an 'thin involving the elements of gambling and be ting any form. Address all communications to EDITOR Youxo an Yonxnn, 98 William street, New York City. W The publishers of the Yorxo an Yonxna will always be glad to receive and consider contribu- tions from authors of well-known reputation on sub- jects suitable for, and congenial to. boys and young men. Such contributions will be given early atten- tion, and early use when found available. ISAAC SPICER, Harrisburg. Pa... asks: “Is it true that an ice-boat can run 60 miles an hour, and are such boats of any use in ca ing loads on the ice?“ ANSWER. With a strong win and smooth ice an ice— boat can beat an expiess train. Has often done so on the Hudson river. They are used in Sandusky Bay, Ohio. to carry grain and passengers whenever the ice and wind allow. Yorxo Rowan, N. Y. city, writes: “Please tell me where can I get a catalogue of rowing suits? 2. How many yards is there in a mile? 3. How manv miles is it around New York by water, and is it safe to go around in a row-boat?" Answnns. 1. Peck & Sny- der. N. Y. city. 2. 1,760 yards. 3. About 16 miles with the turns. It is only safe in a row-boat if you are a good rower and accustomed to the water. The tide runs very strong in the East river and steamers are thick. C. F. R. writes from Sharon. Nov. 29th. 1878: “ Will you accept a story from me to be published in Tm: NEW Yonium, if it will suit? If you will accept stories I will semi you some. Please let me know through the columns of the said paper." ANSWER. We hardly think it would pay you to send us a story till you have more ex -rience in writing for the press. We are only In ing matter from authors of acknowledged reputation, who make a specialty of writing for boys. lsnnrzxnrxr Gunman. Erie, Pa., Dec. lst, asks for the address of Mr. S. B. Luce, in the employ of the U. S. Navy, and says: “I am a young man of 19 years, and desire to enlist on some vernment ship?“ Asma. Captain 8. B Luce. whom you probably mean can be addressed care of Navy De- ment, W ngton, D. C., or U. S. S. Minnesota, rooklvn Navy Yard. You can enlist at an time by applying at the Brooklyn, Philadelphia or ash- ington navy yards. YOUNG Ann, Philadelphia, asks: “Isa e—hen agmuse,andisagmuseapheasant;and owdoeoa pheasantdlfi'ertromapartfl Y onthuenamesand birds. I‘m rather mixed I ' ‘ A ,mumknow—“mu WWW" “w” ~ is made yphcug olong slender canoes side by aid a few ect a united b a. platform which hol a must ' The mmer the canoes’the faster soils the catamaran. .No yacht, however swift, has a chance against a well-made catamaran in a race. They are almost unca ble. The natives of the Feejee Islands and the tes of the Malay Archipe use these craft of large size. Fora full description of the Fee es‘s Exploring - ltion, in the Astor, Mercantile, and most public ibraries. Cums Rim. Indiana lls, Dec. 9d, writes: “ Heat-in that the U. S. S. nesota will arrive at the Brooklyn Navy Yard and that they want about 100 boys to enlist. 1 would like to enlist, but 1 don‘t know how to work it, therefore I wish you would give me a little information on the subject. I find your paper a ve agendid one, having already got several of my en to take it weekly. I have the ' consent of my parents and am of the age required.“ Answnn. You must go to Brooklyn with your par- ents and apply in persop on board the Minnesota. If you cannot do this, write to Captain S. B. Luce on that ship—let your to join in the letter—and ask to be examined or admission. Joan Curr,N. Y.ci writes: “lst. What do sdid June 5th, 18m, March 1 th,1872, and Ma sum 4,1311 on? 2d. Can a man marry his cousin i he wants to? 3d. What is the ht time to get married? 4th. Is it right to marry a 1 older than yourself?" Answnn. lst. June 5th, I , and May 8th. 187-! fell on Friday; March 16th, 1872, was a Saturday. . He can under the law, but if he wishes to be the father of a healthy family, he will not marry his first cousin, . As soon as on can comfortably support a Wife. 4th. If the d' erence is not more than a year or two and if both parties are good tempered and sensible, yes. If either of them is ven to fault-findi . no. As a rule. the wife shoul be the younger by wo or three years to make a happy home. Cmvcs, New York, Dec. 2d, writes: “ lst. Is there a place near Islip, L. I.. where deer can be found, and ifany one can shoot them in proper season? 2d. Gan you still hunt without a tracking snow? 3d. What is the right kind of rifle—I mean as to bore—— to shoot deer with? 4th. What makers manufacture the .22 calibre rifles you speak of f I am filing your paper to bind. It is AAl. Axswm lst. We do not think there are an wild deer on Long Island. The Adirondacks and cks Co., Pm, are the nearest gliaces to go for deer. The season lasts till March. Still hunting can be done at any time of year. It does not require sn0w. though snow makes it easier. The principal thing is to approach the deer to leeward and keep out of sight and hearing till within shot. This uirea caution and experience. " or "forty-seventy " rifle —that is .40 calibre, and either fifty or sevean cartridge chamber. S ‘s, Remingto rd, n‘fles ave these call res now. 4th. Remin on an Pollard certainly, the others we think. Mu obliged for your praise. A file of Tax hYorxo wa Yonum isa good thingto keep in the ouse. Ancmx Hosan, Troy. N. Y., asks: “What is the coat of a nice tool-chest: how manv tools does it contain and can I do real work with such tools?" Axswm The outfit need not cost over $10. but you can go to 3%. For this. urchaae a square, tick-plane, smoothing-plane, ban -ax, hammer, raw-shave, some dividers, a bit-stock and half a dozen hits. a half dozen Chisels, a bench-screw, a few files, a Whetstone, a hand—saw, a rip-saw, a screw—driver. Then pur- chase a little wire, an assortment of screws, a few of a kind. an assortment of nailfiland a small quantity of pieces of boards of various 'mensions. e tools should be of good quality. With these tools 'ou can do auvthing. Better buy the tools and ma 'e your own chest and bench for yourself. .00 to some car- penter, if you know one, and get his advice on the quality of the tools. If he Will go with vou and help vou buy them. you will save money. 1' you do not know a carpenter, try and make the numce of the one who lives next to you or does obs for your family or friends. As a rule nters are good- Boys tool-chests con- taining a kit 0 miniature tools are sold from 81 up to 310. For 35 you can get a very nice little kit sun- able for light work. g Area 1‘ .n. A JAGUAR ASTUNISHED. “CAPT.MAYNE REUJSIMEH‘BOYSEWORYY .. “WM—i; T GASPAR, THE Gin CHO: LOST ON THE PAMPAS. A TALE OF THE GRAN CHACO. ‘ it before. and he can only account for the change 1 work to wade through the sticky slime. ‘ , they might have accom lished the crossing with- 1 ‘ out accident, and doubt ess would have done so, ' a ; riders giving utterance to excited eXt-lamations. ; Ludwig looks a picture of astonishment; while, . strange to say, on ‘ expression is more one of alarm! BY CAPTAIN NIAYNE REID, AUTHOR or “THE HEADLESS HORSEMAX,” “THE BOY HUNTERS,” “THE SCALE-HUNTERS,” “AFLOAT IN THE FOREST,” ETC., ETC. CHAPTER XXIII. ihorses’ feet, where they slipped in steppino ATTACKED BY ELECTRIC EELS. ' down to the stream. Quite plain they are; I GASPAR’S romise to give them a dinner of ' could distinguish them some way off, and with the three ort odoxc ,flesh, and fowl ‘: half an eye, as I was hauling. in the soldado. ~._“,_T___,.i —was only meant in a jocular sense. For the a flesh, their stock of charqui is not drawn upon; I and as to fowl, the soldier-crane would be a still more un alatable morsel. So it results in their dining Simply upon fish; this not only without , sauce, but swallowed at second-hand! While they are occupied in the eating it, the gaucho, seemin more cheerful than usual. says: “ I’ve a bit 0 good news for you. hijos mius.” “ Indeed! what 3" is their eager inquiry. “ That we are still upon the right road. The red-skins have gone past here, as I supposed they would." “You’ve discovered fresh traces of them, then?” " 1 have: ever so many scratches of their Good news, I call it; since we won’t have to take the back track anyhow. What’s before 'us remains to be seen. Possibly, on the other side we may light on something else, to tell the di- rection they’ve taken. So, we’d better lose no time. but cross over.” Hurriedly finishing their primitive repast, they spring back upon their recados, and ride down to the ford. Once in the water, they find it not quite so shallow, as they had supposed from seeing the garzones wading about with but the slightest portion of their shanks below the surface. For at the bottom is a substratum of mud: a soft slimy ooze, firm enough to support the light birds, but through which the heavier quadru- THE SOLDIER CRANES. . The unseen, but dangerous, monsters are de- pt ds. further weighted with themselves and their baggage, sink to their bellies. Gaspar is surprised at finding the ford in this condition. It was not so when he passed over by the dust from the tormenta having been blown in large quantities into the stream, then carried down by the current, and settling over the shallow crossing-place. “'hatever the cause, they find it awkward V Still, i but for an impediment of another kind—one i 1 not only altogether unexpected. but far more to be dreaded than any danger of their going head 1 and ears over into the ooze. For just as they have reached mid-stream. and are splashing and i floundering on, Gaspar, who is riding ahead, 1 and shouting back directions to the others. all at once finds his attention fully occupied in , looking to himself. or rather to his horse. For i the animal has come to a stop. suddenly and j 1 without any restraint of the rein, and stands ut- ’ 3 ternig strange snorts, while qmvering through- , out ever fiber of its frame! 1 . . l (dancing over his shoulder, the gaucho sees that the other horses have also halted. and are behavmg in a pi-et-iscly similar manner, their Cypriano‘s countenance. the 5 And the same on the face of the gauche himself: for he, as the young Paraguayan, comprehends the situation. and well knows what has brought their horses so abruptly to a halt. , " “hat is it. Gaspar?” questions Ludwig. now also alarmed at seeing the others so. ‘ " Eels !" ejaculates the gaucho. “Eels! Surely you‘re jestiiigf" queries the incredulous youth. “No. indeed." is the hurried rejoinder. “I only wish it w ere a jest. It‘s not. but adire. dangerous earnest. Santiasima I" he cries out. in addition. as a shock like that of a galvanic battery causes him to shake in his saddle. "that's a lit/liming eel. for sure} "liey’re all romid us. in St ores, hundreds. thousands! Spur Force them forward. anyway! your horses! On out of the water! A moment wasted, and we‘re 10st 2 \‘Chile speaking. he digs the spurs into his own animal, with his voice also urging it onward: . they doing,r the same. But spur and shout as they may. the terrified quadrupeds can scarce got to stir from the spot where first attacked by the electric eels. For it is by these they are assailed, though Gas— par has given them a sh ‘htly different name. And just us he has sait , the slippery creatures seem to be all around them, coiling about the horses legs. brushing against their bellies, at iii- tervals using the powerful, though invisible, weapon with which Nature has provided them; while the scared quadrupeds, instead of dashing onward to get clear of the danger. only pitch and plunge about, at intervals standing at rest, as if benumbed, or shaking as though struck by palsy—all three of them, breathing hard and oud, the smoke issuing from their nostrils, with froth which falls in flakes, whitening the water below. Their riders are not much less alarmed: they, too, sensibly feeling themselves affected by the magnetic influence. For the subtle current passing through the bodies of their horses, in ike manner. and almost simultaneously, enters their own. All, now aware that they are in real danger, are using their utmost efforts to get out of it by spurring, shouting to their animals, and beating t em with whatever they can lay their hands on. It is a desperate strife. a contest between them and the quadi'upeds. as they strive to force the latter forward, and from out of the perilous place. Fortunately, it does not last long, or the end would be fatal. After a short time, two, of. the three succeed in reaching the bank: t ese Gaspar and Cypriano; the gaucho, as he ls himself on firm ground, crying out: “ Thank the Lord for our deliverance!” But scarce has the thanksgiving passed his lips, when, turning, face toward the stream, he sees what brings the pallor back into his cheeks, and a trembling throughout his frame, as if he were still under the battery of the electric eels. Ludwig, lagging behind. from being less able to manage his mount, is yet several yards from the shore, and what is worse. not drawing any nearer to it. Instead. his horse seems stuck fast in the mud, and is making no effort to advance; but totters on his limbs as though about to lose them! And the youth appears to have lost all control, not only of the animal, but himself; all energy to act, sitting lollingly in his saddle, as if torpid, or half-asleep! At a glance Gaspar perceives his danger, knowing it of no common kind. Both horse and rider are as powerless to leave that spot, as if held 11 n it in the loop of a Iazo, with its other end 0 utched iii the hands of a giant. But a loan may also release them: and at this thought occurring to him opportunely, the gaucho plucks his own from the horn of his recmlo, and with a wind or two around his head, casts its running noose over that of the imperiled youth. It drops down over his shoul- ders, settling around both his arms, and ti ht— em'ng upon them, as Gaspar, with a half w eel of his horse, starts off up the sloping acclivity. In another instant, Ludwig is jerked clean out of his saddle, and falls with a splash upon the water. Not to sink below its surface, however; but be drawn lightly along it, till he is hoisted hi 1:, though not dry, upon the bank. int the gaucho‘s work is still unfinished: the horse has yet to be rescued from his dangerous situation: a task, even more difficult than re- leasing his rider. For all, it is not beyond the skill of Gaspar. nor the stren h of his own ani- mal. Hastily unloosing his ong, pla‘ited ro from the body of the boy. and readjusting th: loop, he again flings it forth; this time aiming i to take in, not the head of Ludwig‘s horse, but 3 the )ommel and cantlc of his high-back saddle. An just as aimed. so the noose is seen to fall, ; embracing both. For Gaspar knows how to cast " a lasso, and his horse how to act when it is cast; the well-trained animal. soon as he sees the u - lifted arm go down again. sheering round wit - out any guidance of rein, and galloping off in the opposite direction. In the present case. his strength proves suffi- cient for the demand made upon it, thou h this i is great: and the debilitated animal in t e wa- ter, which can do naught to help itself. is dragged to the dry land nearly as much dead as ‘ alive. But all are saved. horses as well as riders. prived of the prey they had come so near making ‘ capture of; and Gaspar again, even more fer- ‘ ventlv than before, cries out in gratitude: “ Thank the Lord for our deliverance 1” CHAPTER XXIV. UNDER THE (‘AROB TREES. Ax attack by electric eels, however ludicrous the thing may seem. is not so looked upon by , those whose ill luck it has been to experience it. That these slippery creatures possess a most dangerous power. and know how to exert it, there is ample evidence in the accounts given of them by many a truthful traveler. More than enough of it have had our heroes; for while escaping with their lives, they have not got off altogether scathless—neither them- selves, nor their horses. For, though now be- yond reach of their mysterious assailants, the 1 j‘ eels. ’ sun goes down. . . i may come back to the ford and their fishing, so i that another, with full crop, may fall within the ‘ poses, but to dry parel saturated in the crossing of the stream— latter stand cowering and quivering, evidently disabled for that day, at least. To continue the journey upon them, while thev are in this con— dition, is plainly impossible. But their riders . do not think of it; they, too. feeling cnfeebled— Ludwig actually ill. Tor the electricity still af~ fects them all. and it may be some time before their veins will be freed from its influence. .Volens rolens. for a time they must stay where they are, however they may chafe at this fresh halt—as before, a forced one. But the gaucho, with spirits ever buoyant, puts the best face up- on it, saying: “ After all, we won't lose so much time. B * this, our horses would have been pretty well done up, anyhow. a ter such a hard day's work, floundering through so much mud and crossing so many streams. Even without this little bit of a bother, we'd have had to stop soon some- where to rest them. And what better place than here? Besides. as you see, the sun's wear— ing well down, and it's only a question of three or four hours at inOst. We can make that up by an earlier start. and a big day‘s journey. to- morrow: when it’s to be hoped we’ll meet with no such obstructions as have beset us to-day.” Gaspar is not using arguments: for no one wishes to dispute w itli him. Only speaking words of comfort: more especially addressing them to Cypriano. who is, as ever, the impatient one. But he, as the gaucho himself, sees the im- possibility of proceeding further. till they and their animals have had a spell of rest. For the purpose of obtaining this. they go in search of a suitable camping-place: which they ; soon find within a grove of ulyurobios, at some i l 1 three or four hundred yards’ distance from the I ford. The trees Cover the sides of a little mound. or hillock: none growing upon its sum- mit. which is a grassy glade. And as the dust has either not settled on it, or been washed off by the rain, the herbage is clear and green, so too the foliage of the trees overshadowing it. "The very place for a comfortable camp." jsays Gaspar. after inspecting it—the others 3 agreeing With him to the echo. Having returned to the ford for their horses. and led them up to the chosen ground, they are proceeding to strip the animals of their respec- tive caparisons. when, 10! the alpare 'as, and other things. which were attached to tie croup of Ludwig's saddle. and should still be on it, are )ected. the volatile fluid—or whatever it may e—passes out of their veins. and their nervous strength returns: even Ludwig saying he is him- self a rain, though he is not quite so yet. Ant their animals also undergo a like rapid recovery, from browsing on the leaves and bean-pods of the algurobias; a provcnder re- lished by all the pam )as horses, as horned cat- tle. and nourishing to )Utll. More than this. the fruit of this valuable tree. when ripe, is fit food for man himself. and so used in several of the Argentine States. This fact suggesting itself to Gaspar—as he lies watching the horses plucking off the long sili ues, and greedily devouring them—he savs: “ Ve can make a meal on the algarobia beans if nothing better‘s to be bad. And for me, it wouldn‘t be the first time by scores. In some parts where l‘ve traveled. they grind them like maize. and bake a very fair sort of bread out of their meal.” “ “'hy, Gaspar!” exclaims Ludwig. recalling some facts of which he had heard his father s leak. “ you talk as if you had traveled in the oly Land and in New Testament times! These very trees, or others of a similar genus. are the ones whose fruit was eaten by St. John the Baptist. You remember that passage where it is said: ‘liis meat was locusts and wild honev.’ Some think the locusts he ate were the insects of that name; and it may be so, since they are also eaten by Arabs and certain other tribes of Asiatic and African people. But, for my part, I believe the beans of the ‘locust tree’ are meant: which, like this, is a species of acacia that the Arabs call (WI/'0’); evidently the root from which we take our word ulgai'obia.” Gaspar listens. both patiently and pleased, to this leained diSsertation. For he is rejoiced to perceive that the thoughts of his young com— panion are beginning to find some abstraction and forgetfulness of that upon which they have been so long sadly dwelling. Cypriano. too, ap- pears to take an interest in the subject of dis- course: and to encourage it the gaucho rejoins, in gleeful tones: "IVell, Senor Ludwig: I don‘t know much about those far-away countries you speak of, for I‘ve not had any great deal of schooling. But I do know. that u/gurobiu beans are not such bad eating: that is if properly prepared for it. In the States of Santiago and Tucunzan, SAVED BY THE LASSO. not there! All are gone—shaken off, no doubt, while the animal was plunging about in the stream—and with as little uncertainty now ly- ing amidst the mud at its bottom. As in these very saddle-bags was carried their commissariat—yerbu, charqui, maize bread, onions and everything, and as over the cantle- peak hung their kettle, skillet, mates and bom- bi'llas, the loss is a lamentable one; in short, leaving them without a morsel to eat, or a ves— sel to cook with, had they comestibles ever so abundant! At first they talk of going back to the ford, and making search for the lost chattels. But it ends only in talk; they have had enough of that crossing-place, so dangerously beset by those de- monios, as Gaspar in his anger dubs the electric For though his courage is that of a lion, he does not desire to make further acquaintance with the mysterious monsters. Besides, there is no knowing in What articular spot the things were dropped; this a so deterring them from any attempt to enter upon a search. The stream at its crossing-place is quite a. hundred yards in width, and by this time the articles of metal, as the heavily-weighted saddle-bags. will have settled down below the surface, erhaps j trampled into its slimy bed by the horse imself in his convulsive struggles. To seek them now would be like looking for a needle in a stack of straw. So the idea is abandoned; and for this night they must resign themselves to going sup- ' perless. Fortunately, none of the three feels a-hun— ered; their dinner being as Iyet undigested. esides, Gaspar is not without ope that some- thing may turnu to reprovision them ere the ust possible, the soldier—cranes loo ) of his ((120. . aving kindled a fire—not for cooking pur- their ponchos, and other ap— they first spread everything out; hanging them ‘ on improvised clothes—horses constructed of ‘ calla Drum—a brake of which skirts the adja- Then, overcome with fatigue, and 1 cent stream. _ . still suffering from the effects of the annnal , electricity, they stretch themselves alongside the tire, trusting to time for their recovery. Nor trust they in vain. For, sooner than ex- which are the places I spoke of having traveled through, the people almost live on them, rich and poor, man as well as beast. And we may be glad to make breakfast on them, if not sup- per; though I still trust something more dainty may drop upon us. I’m not so hopeful as to ex- ct manna like that which rained down upon iIoses, but there’s many an eatable thing to be had in this Chaco wilderness, too—for those who know how to look for it. Ay Dios!” he adds, after a pause, with his eyes turned toward the ford, “those long-legged gentry don‘t seem to care about coming back there. No doubt the screams of that fellow I throttled have fright- ened them off for good. So I suppose we must give the birds up for this night anyhow. Just possible in the morning the ’11 be as hungry as ourselves, and pay their fis ing-ground a very early visit.” . Saying this, the gaucho relapses into Silence, the others also ceasing to converse. They all feel a certain lethargy, which calls for repOse, and for a while all three lie without speaking a word, their heads resting on their recados—flm only sound heard being the “crump—crump' of their liorses’ teeth grinding the algrlrobw pods into pulp. CHAPTER XXV. A CHAT ABOUT ELECTRIC EELS. THE silence of the camp is not of long continu- ance; Gaspar being the first to break it. For . the gaucho, having a stronger stomach, and consequently a quicker digestion than the others, feels some incipient sensations of hunger. “ I only wish,” he says, “ we could get hold of one of the brutes that battered us so in the stream. If we could. it would furnish us with a supper fit for a king.” “ IVhat!” exclaims Ludwig. raising his head, in surprise, "one of the electric eels: Is it that you’re speaking of... Gaspar!" “ Ay, sefiorito; just that.” “ Surely you wouldn’t eat it. would you 3" “ “'ouldn’t I? If I had one here now, you’d soon see.” “ But are they really good to eat?” “ Good to eat! I should think they are; and ‘ if you could but taste them yourself, smiorilo, you’d say so. A lightning eel‘s about the dain— tiest moisel I ever stuck teeth into: though they do have their dwelling-place in mud, and, as a a»: a-kswtwwwurm “Ti—r“ " ; Ii!" . - _.,_ pawl A... >. 4 i r. . < 1.: ' .. L- .s'e .vn". . ;<~ new» u-“u: v ~§ n— «.3.» “3* . -. . . . -'_ - . = :. vw-‘vr: 4.... . .3413, ; y ‘ 'Q r ' s~_, us. ,tsz,;¢.;;¢.. untamed... .. ‘ £79 ram”, smunsl-lp- I mgkfi ~.— .4 i wear . “M..- figure}. L ~‘ .3; ' I'i ‘4 IA WP j. m“ ‘ l ’l i i I i i 3 um. mac-u... U- . .,. rig-v.1 mm».-. x.:= ‘ -w..k,,..‘. P. .. _,—.s ‘",!-'-ol..<‘-‘ ‘ -.w~m—-.m.-«"ri “WT” sonic say, feed upon it. B -fore eooking them, howeVer, something needs being done. You must cut away a portion of their flesh: the spongy part. which it‘s said gives them power to make their lightning play. In that lies the dangerous stuff, wliatchr sort of thing it is.“ "But what are they like, Gaspar! I’ve neVer seen one.“ It is Ludwig who still interrogates; but to his last question Cypriano, not (laspar, gives the answer, saying: “()h, cousin! Do you mean to say you’Ve never seen an electric eel!" “ Indeed do I. them often. and I know them by their scientific name, gymrmtus. I believe there are plenty of them in the rivers of Paraguay: but. as it chances, I never came across one, either dead or :tliVe." " I have," says Cypriano, " come acroSs more than one, and many times. But once 1 Well rc— \ f xi (/53 i Q I‘ve heard father speak of , member: for an awkward circumstance it was , to myself." " How so, mun-hacho?“ " Ali! that‘s a tale 1 never told you, Ludwig: but I‘ll tell it now, if you wish." " Oh! I do wish it.“ " “'ell, near the little village where. as you know. 1 was born. and went to school before coming to live with uncle at Assuncion, there was a pond f‘ull'of these fish. \\ e boys used to amuse ourselves with them; sending in dogs and pigs. whenever we had the chance, to see the scare they would get. and how they scampered out soon ~as they found what queer company they‘d got into. ilut one day we did what was even worse than frightening either dogs or pigs: wcdrove an old cow in, with a long rope round her horns. the two ends of which we fastened to trees on the opposite side of the pond. so that she had only a little bit of slack to dance about upon. And dance about she did. as the eels electrified her on every side: till at last she dropped down ex— hausted. and.l suppose. dead: since she went right under the water. and didn‘t come up again. 1 shall never forget her pitiful. ay. reproach— f'ul look, as she stood up to the neck. with her head craned out, as if making an appeal to us to save llel‘, while we only laughed the louder. l’oor thingl I can now better understand the torture she must have endured.“ " But is that the awkward circumstance you‘ve spoken of f“ "Oh. no. 1/ was altogether another affair: and for me. as all the others. a more serious one. I hadn‘t come to the end of the adventure —the unpleasant part of it—which was the chas- tisement we all got, by way of reward for our wickedness. “ " (.‘hastisenieutl “'ho gave it to your” "()ur worthy schoolmaster. It so chanced the old cow was his; the only one he had at the time giving milk. And he gave us such a thrashing! Ah! I may well say, I‘ve a liyel recollection of it: so lively, I might truly thin Cruel sport. it was,I admit. , ‘ r /‘\ .g._ 123: ‘ 2" \. wire, and with one end tickled the eel; the other end being stuck into some gunpowder, which was wrapped loosely in a piece of paper. The powder flashed, and set the paper ablazo, as also some leaVes and dry sticks \vc‘d laid around it. Soon we had a fire; and on that same fire We broiled the eel itself. and ate it. For «(ins ! I only wish we had one broiling over this fire. I‘d want no better thing for supper.” So ended the chat about electric eels, the sub- ject seeming exhausted. Then the conversation changing to other and less interesting topics, was soon after brought to a close. For the darkness was now down. and as their ponchos, and other softer goods had become thoroughly dry, there was no reason why they. should not go to rest for the night. But since the soldier—cranes had declined coining back—by this time no doubt roosted in some far-off “ cranery "—and no other source of food supply Offering. they must needs go to bed supperless, as they did. CHAPTER XXVI. NoriiiNo FUR BREAKFAST. UNDER the shadow of the (rig/urchins the trackers sleep undisturbed. Ludwig, however, has troubled dreams. in which gynmoti play a conspicuous part. He imagines himself still floundering amidst these monsters, assailed from all rides by their galvanic batteries, and that they have‘ dragged him down into the mud. where he is fast getting asphyxiated. When in his last gasp. as it Were. he is relieved. by awnk- ing from his uneasy slumbers: which he does suddciilv. and with a terrified cry. . Finding it has been all a dream, and glad to ' think it so, he says nothing: and the others not having heard his half-stifled cry.. soon again falls asleep. This time his slumber is lighter. as also more profound: and. on the whole, hehas a tolerable night‘s rest: in the morning feeling fairly refreshed, as likewise do Cypriano and Gaspar. All three are astir a good half-hour before there is any sign of day: and tlteir camp-fire is rekindled. ' This not for culinary purposes— since they have nothing to be cooked—but rath- er l-ecaiise the air is chilly cold. as it often is in the tropics, and they need to warm themselves before setting about alight else. \Vhen warmed. hoWever. they begin to think of breakfast. as also to talk about it. \Vlizit is it to be. or of what consist. arc the. questions which interest them without being easily an- swered. There are the ulgumbt‘u beans: but their skillet has been lost along with the kettle. and there is left them no utensil in which these legumes might be boiled. True. they can roast them in the ashes: but Gaspar still clings to the . hope that something more tootliful may turn up. ‘ As the early dawn is the best time to find wild ‘ animals al‘road, both birds and quadrulxuls—the best also for approaching them—the gaucho _ feels pretty confident either one or other will . stray within reach of their guns, bolas. or lazos. the punishment then received was enough. with- 1 out the additional retribution the eels have this day inflicted on me.“ Cypriano‘s narration ended. his cousin. after a pause. again appeals to Gaspar to give him a description of the creatures forming the topic of their conversation. To which the gauche re- sponds, saying: " \Vcll. Senor Ludwig, if you want to know In the end it proves that his confidence has not been misplaced. Just as the first red rays of the Aurora are reflected from the tops of the ' trees around their camp. more faintly lighting what a lightning eel is like, take one of the , common kind—winch of course you‘ve seen— - a full-sized one; make that about ten times as thick as it is, without adding much to its length. and you’ll have the thing. near as I can think it. though there are some both bigger round, and longer from head to tail. ‘As forits color, over the back it’s a sort of olive green—just up the lower levelbf the pampa beyond, Gaspar. peering through a break between the branches of the algal-ohms, sees a brace of large birds moving about over the plain. Not soldier— ci'anes, though creatures with necks and legs quite as long; for they are rheas. “ (lraeias d Dies!" is the gaucho‘s gratified exclamation at sight of them: continuing in low ‘ tone and speaking over his shoulder. “ A couple So much for the reptile‘s bulk; ‘ of avesfruz ."’ The others, gliding 11 through the leaves, also them from head to foot. to him, and looking .hold the birds, seeing For they are out upon ‘ the open ground, striding to and fro, now and like ycrba leaves when they’ve been let stand 2 a day or two after plucking. On the throat, and under the belly, it’s pa er, with here and there some blotches of red. I may tell you, , however. that lightning eels change color same = as some of the lizards; partly accordmgtotheir ‘ age. but as much from the sort of water they‘re found ll]-—-\\'llt‘llll’l‘ it be a clear running stream, or a muddy stagnant pond. such as the one Senor (‘ypriano has spoken of. Besides. there are several kinds of them. as we gauchos know; though. I believe, the nufm-ulufrzs are not aware of the fact. The most dangerous sort. and no doubt the same that‘s just attacked us, lrive broad heads. and wide gaping mouths full of sharp teeth. with flat tails and a pair of fins close to the nape of the neck. vaonbu.’ they‘re ugly devils to look‘at, and still uglier to have dealings with: that is. when onc‘s in the water alongside them—as we ourselves know. Slill they don't always behave so bad. as these did to—day. \thn I crossed this stream before, with the t/ucfw, neither he nor I felt the slight e-z shock to tell of eels being in it. Isupposc it‘s the tormcnfrr that‘s set them a—stirring. Like enough there‘s some connection between their lightning and that of the sky. If so. that‘s what has quickened the brutcs. and made them or mad. \Vell." he adds. as if drawing his ac- count to a conclusion. "mad as they are. I‘d like to have one frizzlingr over this fire.“ “But who eats thcin. Gaspar!" interrogates lludwig, still incredulous 0n the question of their being a fit article of diet. I‘ve iichr heard cf their being eaten. nor brought to market like other fish.“ “Hundreds. thousands of people eat them. Fri/o mi). They're in great request in some pl'ices: ay. all overthe country. Both whites and Indians relish them: but more especially the red—skins. Some tribes prefer them to any o‘lier food. be it fish. flesh. or fowl: and make a l' Irular business of catching them." " .\h! how are they caught!" "There are various ways: but the usual one is by spcai'iiig them. Sometimes the slippery t -!lows glide out of their mud beds anl com-e f i the surface of the rater. as it were to amuse themselves by having a look round. Then the fisherman gets a chance at them. without any searching. or trouble. He is armed with a long p41,} of cofiu lo-uru. one end having an iron point barbed like a spear. This he launches at them. just as I‘ve heard say whalers do their harpoons. For. if he kept the shaft in his hands. he‘d catch it from their lightning. and get strokes that would stagger him. Still. he doesn‘t let go altogether: as there’s a cord attached to the spear. and with that he can irrul in the fish. if he has struck it. But he must have a care to keep his cord out of the water: if it gets wetted he‘ll have a fit of the trembles upon him. sure. For it‘s a fact— and a curious one you‘ll sefiorifos—that a -dr\' cord won’t conduct the eel‘s lightning, while a wet one will.” It is a fact.“ says. Ludwig, indm-sing the statement. “ I‘ve heard father speak of it.“ " Very singular.“ observes Cy )riano. “And I can tell you of anot er fact.“ pur— sues the gaucho. "that you‘ll say is still more singular. \Vould you believe. that from one of these fish a man may strike sparks, just as by a flint and steel ay. and kindle a fire with them! [know it‘s an old story. about fish having what‘s called phosphorus iii them: butit isn‘t cverybrxlv who ’ knows that real fire can be got out of the lightning eels.“ " But can that be done, Gaspar :“ asks Lud- mg. 5 " (.‘ertainly it can. I‘ve seen it done. And h i who did it was your own dear father. Senor Ludwig. It was one day when we were out on a ramble. and caught one of the eels in a pool where it had got penned up by the water having dri‘ d around it. The (lucflo took out a piece of then pausing to pick up some morsel of food, or it may be but a pebble to aid in the digestion of what they have alread ’ eaten. While thus en- vaged, they are gradua y drawing nearer to the oak of the fiddle, as also the edge of the ulgarobia grove in which the trackers are en- cainped. Their proximity to the latter mos-t interests those in the camp, and all three instant- ly lay hold of their guns, which liiekily have been reloaded. two of them with ball. Gaspar foremost of the trio has got his barrel through the branches, and. seeing that the rhms are now within bullet-range. is about to blaze away at the one nearest, which chanCes to be the cock bird, when the latter. suddenly elev: ting its head. and uttering a loud hiss succeeded by a snort. as from a badly—blown trumpet, turns tail and makes off ovei the plain: its mate turning simultaneously. and legging it along-ltch All this to the surprise of the gaiicho: who knows ' that he has not exposed his person and sees that neither have. the others, nor yet made any noise to account for the behavior of the birds. " \Vhat can have frightened them!" is the question he would ask. when casting his eyes upward he perceives what has done itv—the smoke of their camp-tirei The blue stream as- cendin',r over the to of the trees. as if out of a chimney. had just t en. for the first time. been ~aught sight of by the ostriches. sending them ofl'in quick scare. Nor strange it should. being a spectacle to which the wild dcnizcn! of the (‘haco are not accustomed. oronly familiar with as denoting an enemy near—their greatest ene— my. man. “ Jlulrlr‘fu sea ."’ eXclaims the gauche. as the birds show their backs to him. an exclamation morally the reverse of that he uttered on seeing them with heads turned the opposite way. "That confounded fii'ef what a pity we kindled iii the thing‘s done us out of our breakfast. Stay! no.“ The negative ejaculation comes from his per— ceiving that the ostriches. instead of rushing on. ward in long rapid strides. as they had started. are gradually shortening step and slackening the pace. A iid while he continues looking after them. they again come toa stop. and stand gaz- ing back at the dark blue pillar of smoke rising spirally against the lighter blue background of sky. But now they appear to regard it less with alarm than curiosity: and even- this after a time wearing off. they once more lower their beaks. and return to browsing. just as a couple of common geese. or rather a goose and gander. For all. they do not yet seem quite trauquilized. every now and then their heads going up with a suddenness. which tells that their former feeling of security is not restored: instead. replaced by uneasy suspicions that things are not as they ought to be. ‘ " Our guns will be of no use now.“ says Gas:- par. laying his own aside. " 1 know the nature of ares/r112 well enough to say for certain, that. after the scare they‘ve had they‘ll stay shy for several hours. and ‘twill be impossible to ap- proach them: that is. near enough for the long- est—range gun we‘ve got. And to run them down with our horses would be to lose a day‘s journey at least. “'e can‘t afford that. for the sake of a bit of breakfast. No. ‘twould never do. We’ll have to go without. or else. after all. break our fast upon these beans.“ Saying which. he glances up to the n/garobi‘as. from which the long siliqiies droop down in pro— fusion. more plentiful than tempting to him. “ Cos-pita ."‘ he resumes. after a pause. once more bending his eyes covetously upon the birds. and as if an idea had suddenly occurred to him. “ I think [know of a way by which we may circumvent these two tall stalkers. " “ Howr“ eagerly asks Cypriano. “ By going at them—garmmc rude.“ iro-z’vnmmlo.” exclaiins Ludwig in echo. Good Gaspar. whatever do you mean bv 1 int 5“ ‘ “ You‘ll see, young master, soon as I‘ve made things ready for it. And your cousin here, he’s the fittest for the part to be played. l‘d under- take it myself, but I‘m a bit too bulky to. comi- terfeit a creature of such slender proportions as the gurzma soldudo; while Senor Cypriano’s figure will just suit to a nicety." Neither of the two youths has the slightest idea of what the gaucho designs doing; but, ac— customed to his quaint, queer ways, and know- ing that whatever he intends is pretty sur * to be something of service to them—as likely to have a successful issue—they await his action with pa- tience and in silence. [To BE CtlNTINt'ED—(‘OMMENCED IN No. 1.] THAT BEAUTIFUL BIRD, THE PLAMINGO. Have you ever heard ()f the creature absurd, The ridiculous bird, the flamingo? With neck long and slim. And legs lean and trim, And the funniest sort of a lingo. When a-fishing he goes He thrusts in his nos-ru— This hninorons bird, the flamingo, VVltlinllt, bait Hr hook, His long neck a-crook. Aloft in the air see his wing go) A plunge and a dive! And a fish all alive. This Wonderful bird. the flamingo, Brings out to the land. And gobblcs off hand 7 In a twinkle he makes the whole thing go. Then his mate. the old woman, As tin-ugh she were human, And not an old growling flamingo, For lack of her share. Sets up a great flare. And makes everything in din go. But a screech. loud and shrill, Comes out of lill‘ bill ‘ Or‘ the lilfls‘ctiliiic bird, the flamingo; His eyelids both close. And he stands on the toes Of one legwhe‘s asleep. by jingo! -IIc/cesdu1€ I]: I ((11.1. Rescued from a Prairie Fire. BY 0 L l . (‘O()MES. could hear the startled cries of birds as they lie is now required to face the batsman. The started from their grassy roosts. A sickly glare lit up the plain around him and within the light animals could be seen fleeing with affright. The stars were blotted out and a ptir )lU blackness oVerhnng the plain. And while ave stood re- rarding this spectacle of awful grandeur, a , iuman groan burst suddereilly upon his ears. “ My God l" he exclaim , “ that must be the boy—it’s some one in distress anyhow and I’ll . call. Jack! oh, Jack!” A groan answered him. And running a little way to the right a sight suddenly burst on his . View that sent the blood in icy currents through his veins. In a hole in the earth, with hands bound at his back, stood Jack Kane, nearer dead than alive. His head was just visible above the surface of the earth. The earth had been pack— , ed so firmly about his body that it was impossi- I ble for him to move. "Jack, in the Lord‘s name, what's this mean?” cried Old Dave. " I don‘t know, Dave,” replied the youth, feebly; “a band of men, whom Imistrusted of being outlaws, planted me here yesterday, and , (lod only knows what Ihave suffered." “ (treat hemlocks, Jack! You are in a. worse danger: that fire will burn and suffocate ye to death. My Lord, what will 1 do? it‘ll be on us in ten minutes. Can’t I div you out, boy i" lie went down upon is knees and with his hands began to dig away the dirt; but this he . soon s:i\\"\\':is a hopeless task and he started to . his feet, frantic. almost, with excitement. "Oh my Redeemer!” he exclaimed, "this is awful. boy, and its gittin’ \vorsc—(atcliew.) l‘m leginnin‘ to strangle now on the sickish smokel“ " (to. liaVe. and save yourself,” said Jack, re- signedly; "ily. while you can. This is a ter- . riblc fate. but it will soon be over.“ - with profound astonishment. _ ' falling around him revealed his statue-like‘ "flood-by. Jack,” said the old man, half choked, turning to leave: but as he did so, he glanced back over his shoulder at the fire, and to his astonishment beheld a horse and rider burst through the seething billows of flame, and sweep up the plain as if they were the master spirits of the consumine‘ element. Over the llt'utl and shoulders of file rider was a great blmiket emitting smoke and steam. Dave \Vharton paused—rooted to the spot image upon which was writ-ten a silent awe. Straight toward him rode the strange horse- man. and hard by he drew rein and threw aside ; , his cover. when the fair wild face of I)oVe-E_\'CS. “I WONDER to goodness why that boy don’t , come.’“ The speaker addressed himself. He was an elderly man with all the apjwai'ance of a born bordei'man. He was dressed and armed as such, and all his surroundings, in fact. were evidence that Dave \Vharton was a hunter and trap- The old man stood in the door of his cabin. Back of the building was a belt of timber be- fore the door ran the Keya Paha river. and be- yond this an interminable prairie stretched away into the distance. The “boy “ of whom Old Dave spoke was Jack Kane, a young man to whom he was de- votedly attached. lie had left the cabin in the morning to go in pursuit of a herd of antelope, promising to be back in an hour or so. time passed. and the day passed, and he came not: and now the shadows of eVening Were stealing over the land. . The old hunter and Jack were to have started at noon that day, to join a large hunting party at Fort —-——, and in view of this fact, tharton grew uneasy. He knew Jack would not willing— ly have disappointed him for all the antelope in America. Still he waited in hopes he would come yet: but in vain. The night ; an- other day came and went and still no tidings troy; youn Kane. "‘ t can’% be,” Old Dave again mused, as be laced his cabin-floor uneasy and restless, “ that he‘s fallen into the hands 0’ the lnjins or out- laws, and yit. I can‘t think what else’d kee him away unh ss he‘s blowed his head off ’1' broke his neck. And then, mebby he’s got tired 0‘ this wild life and skipped out for the land 0’ civiliza- tion and religious sin: but. this can’t be. either; Jack Kane would never leave me in any sich a way—never! I— Hello, here! who’s this?" The last remark was occasioned by a figure appearing in the doorway. lt was the figure of a young Indian girl. whom 1 )1d Dave recognich as the Princess. hove-Eyes. the daughter or the Sir tux chief whose village was away main miles ii« n-thward. The girl‘s face Wore a wild. excited look, She glanced quickly and uneasily around the room. then drew from her bosom a small. silvervinounted revolver and holding it up, ask~ ed. in tolerable English: " 1):. res the white hunter know thatf" " fire-at heinlocksf" exclaimed the old man, " that‘s Jack Kane‘s listol!" " Dove-Eyes thong t so, for many times has she seen one like it in the belt of the young pale- face." said the princess. *' “'har did ye git it, little one!" " 1 took it from the tent of one of the pale— face braves that came to our village. He is the chief of the bad pale-faces that live in the hills and rob and steal—“ " You mean he is a dashed robber—brigandf“ observed Old Dave. “ Yes.“ continued Dove-‘Eyes. “and I heard him say to my father that he had taken the weapon from a young pale-face hunter. and that he had buried the young hunter alive on the gr lat prairie. Dove-Eyes has come to tell the white hunter this. for she loves the young pale-face and her heart will be sad it‘ he dies: The robbers came from our the big prairie yonder. )lebby the white hunter can save his young friend, and make the birds sing in Dove— l‘lycs‘s heart again. " Bless my soulf if I don‘t set them birds a- singin‘ ag‘iu. little one it’s beca'se the boy has gone under. I‘ll pole out this holy minute. l)ove»Eyes.“ "Then Dove-Eyes will return to her friends that they may not know where she has been." said the maiden. and mounting her pony that stood in the door-yard. she galloped away. Old Dave shouldered his rifle. crossed the river and started over the prairie. Night soon came on. There was no moon. but a lurid light suddenly glared up into the southern skv and sent its rays obli uely into the darkness through which the 0] man was journeying. He knew full well what it meant. The prairie was on fire. and a brisk Wind was driving the flames rapidly fl(‘l‘0.\$ the unbroken plain. "By the smoke of sacrifice!“ exclaimed the hunter to himself. “that’s a furious ole fire. and thar's sich a thing as a feller gittin‘ short 0‘ wind in the heat and smoke o‘ a peraroe burn. l'i'e knowed several fellers to git suffocated: and. game. too. by the bushel. But I'll never turn back now. I‘m all 0‘ ten miles from the cabin and— Heinlocksl" The far-off sound of a human voice fell upon his ears. He listened. but it was not repeated. “'as it the voice of Jack! or that of an eneinv? or was it imagination! As he could arrivciit nothing definite he moved on in hopes of liear— ing the sound repeated. So deeply did he be— come absorbed in his search that he failed to notice the near approach of the prairie-fire until a deer went bounding over the plain near him. calling his attention to the fire. It was within half a mile of him. sweeping onward like a seething billow. llave could hear the c 'ackle and roar of the flames. and he the Indian princess. was revealed. " My Savior! Dove-Eyes!“ cried Dave. while a faint groan escaped Jack Kane‘s lips: " what brincs you heie.’ Are you mad .4“ “fCUlllc to save the pale—face. From the creek yonder. I saw, in the light, your figure moving about. I dipped my blanket in the wa— ter and brought it to the pale—face hunter to . save himself.‘ “Look there. girl.“ said the old man pointing to Jack‘s head in the shadow of her iorsc. for ' she had not seen him yet. But the > A wild cry burst from her ll )8, and springing from her saddle. she seized er blanket and threw it over the head of the youth. Then she turned and gave one wild. despairing look at the crackling flame, now but a few rods away. Then, with the quickness of a bird. she darted toward the fire, and before Old Dave could stay her maddened course, she disappeared through the wall of fire. Old Dave turned, and mounting the girl’s horse, fled before the advancing foe, his mind filled with a dreadful horror. It was an hour or more before he of; in behind the fire, then he rode back over I: e black, charred waste, in . search of Jack, dead or alive. Far ahead, in : the waning glow of the recedipg fine, he saw a human form and moved towa it When he 3 ' came up to where it was, he found, to his 'oyfu] l surprise, it was-the Indian priner w l and l alive, standj over Jack Kane. Thewet blank- i et had saved ack’s life; and that she might be '= near him when the fire darted through the fire—wall, at the ris of her : life. But her “laments being wet: and her face covered with ier robe, she made the passage. with no more serious in"ury than blistered hands and singed limbs. twas a narrow es- cape, nevertheless. for both Jack and thematic]- en: and to the fearless daring and im issioned love of the wild—eyed girl, that had ri den that prairie in search of her lover for weary hours. was owing their escape. and the years of happi- ness that followed: for, Jack lxane felt it an honor to wed a girl whose love would lead her through such an ordeal to him. even though she were the child of an Indian chief. BY HENRY CHADWICK. Base-ball. THE League Association held its third annual meeting in Cleveland on Dec. 4th and 5th. the two days‘ session resulting in some innmrtant legislation. Representatives of the Boston. Cin- cinnati, vaidence. Chicago. Indianapolis and Milwaukee. clubs were in attendance. asalso del- egates from the Buffalo. Syracuse and Cleve- land cliibs. During the first day the preliminary business of the session was transacted. the most important part being the election of the Buffa— lo. Syracuse and Cleveland clubs as members of the League. the withdrawal of the Indianapolis club. and the practical throwing out of the Mil- waukee club. This will leave the Cincinnati. t‘hicago and (.‘leveland clubs to represent the \Vest in the League. and the Boston, Providence and Syracuse the East, with the Buffalo as a di- vision club with easterly proclivities. The seven clubs- entering the championship arena in 1879 will therefore play twelve games each. Petitions were presented to the League from George Hall and \Villiam Craver prayin to be reinstated in the Association. Also from Kolan, who was expelled by the Indianapolis club for disobedienCe. Hall‘s petition was especially cheeky. considering the circumstances, Devlin —who acknowledges his guilt—chargin Hall with being the prime mover in the crooker busi- ness. Nicholls did not appeal, he knowing it to be useless. The Association refused the request of the three a plicants, and consequently no n-ofessional clu can employ them during 1879. ‘he reinstatement of Craver by the Interna- tional Committee goes for naught, as it was not adopted constitutionally, besi es which it was not the International Association which expelled him. so they cannot legally reinstate him. By a majority vote it was decided that no League club should be represented at the annual meeting by any club professional. They also voted to prohibit any club manager or bom on the field during a match. unless he is one of the nine players. They reduced the size of the pitcher‘s position two feet. making it six feet by four instead of six feet square. This .was to pre- Vent the advantage of pitching from the ex- treme corners. Now the pitcher has but four feet width of ground to pitch from. with a range of six feet back of his front line. The pitcher is prohibited from delivering the ball, as Ernst. of the Harvard nine. does. by turning his back to the batsman when about to deliver the ball. l l l l t The lurid light , in 1375. passed, Dove-E es had E . lish - ssociation game. other changes in the rule will be specially re— ferred to in our next. The new ball adopted by the League is that now made by the firm of A. (l. Spalding & Co.. of Chicago, the League se- lecting it in preference to those of Mahn, liar— wood and others. This is a. merited Compliment to Spaldiug, who knows what is required in a League ball if anybody does. Base-ball Notes. THE following is in brief the record of the Boston club’s work during 1878. It issent us officially by Harry W right. ‘ ‘Won. Lost. Tie. Play‘d- League games...,, . . . . .. 41 ‘9 0 60 Exhibition League games 6 3 i it) Non-League games . . . . . .. 20 7 l 28 Picked Nine games. .. 7 i o 3 Totals . . . . . .. ...74 30 2 106 This is a. record to be proud of, achieVed as it has been by thoroughl honest and skillful play. In a letter to as recent y Harry says: “ I anticipate but few, if any. changes in the playing rules. It is conceded there should be more batting, but all the clubs are looking for pile/Ms that can‘t be hit. A pitcher is no good when batted. I Would favor reducing the number of unfair balls allowed the pitcher, take the warning strike from the bats- man and give the batsman an extra chance by doing awn with ‘out on the bound.‘ These changes won d have a tendency to distribute the play. and not confine it to the pitcher and catcher. Some ‘ change should be made that would permit of more men getting on the bases. The interest in the game commences when a base is made. That is the ob- 'ective point; there. should be more base running. Tome favor should be shown the batsman to offset, in a measure. the improvement—or rather the liberty allowed the pitcher in delivering the ball. Thirty to thirty-three per cent. average batting would make games interesting. " CAPTAIN BOB FERGUSON is not going to get ya profemional nine for BrOUklvn after all. e has agreed to )lay in Springfield. Mass.. and he has secured t e following strong team of : players. Powers, of Tecumseh club, catcher. Goldsmith, of Tecumseh club. pitcher. Latham, of Utica club, first baseman. - Crane, of Rochester club. second baseman. Smith, of Utica club, third baseman. Ferguson, of Chicago club, short sto ). O’Learv, of New Bedford club, left icld. Pike. of Cincinnati club. center field. Cassidy, of Chicago club, right field. Corcoran, of Springfield club, change pitcher. Baker. of Hornell's club. change catcher. This is llliqilestionably a first class team. and as Ferguson will have entire control of the team and not be troubled with the interference of a chib " boss,“ as he was in Chicago, the chances are that he will make the team a good working one. which he had not the power to do this last season with the (‘hicagoteanL Tm: College Championship record for 1N3"), ‘76 and ‘77 is as follows: Up to 1874 the Harvard (.‘ollege nine had borne off the troph ' year after year almost asa matter of cour e. Tn 1574. however, the Prince- ton nine came to the front and won the cham- )ionship of the season. Since then Yale and {arvard have raked the honors. Yale winning But Harvard now holds the palm. It was not until 1375 that the College Cham- )iUIIShIp really became a settled annual buse- ll event, but now it is fully established, and each season grows in interest and importance il‘he record from 1875 to 1577, inclusive. is as fol- ows: 18"5. May Zi—Yale vs. Princeto‘n. at Princeton .. . .. 14 June 26—Yale vs. Harvard, at Cambridge .. 9 June 28—Yale vs. Harvard, at New Haven .. . .11 July 3—Yale vs. Princeton, at Brooklyn . . . . . .. 9 f . . - - ‘ 1876. June s—Bnnwd vs. Yale. at Cambridge. .. . . . 4 July 1— _, mYahntNewHaven . . . . In '2. ' ,i " “‘Wd‘ w :9,’r‘. ..‘ "" atPnn' eaten...“ 10 1877. M” 18— ceton. at Princeton . 7 5 June 8-? nceton. at Cambridge 16 l JunS‘IE-a— arvard vs. Yule. at Cambridge... . 10 1 June 23—qu'vard vs. Yale. at Hartford '5 2 In 187% Harvard won after the hardest strug- gle known in the College arena. A Football. Tin-2m: is much talk in football circles about a visit next spring to this country of a Scotch football team. By ali means have them over here. but beforehand let us get thoroughly Mist- ed in the right game, for at present foot all. rightly speaking. is not played in this country. (‘ertainly the wrestling-inatch-style of play which is in vogue among our colleges now is not football. It is more hand—ball than football. as more of the work inplayinglht: ball is done with the hands than with the ftet. The new Scotch Assm-iation game. of which the coming team will be practiced exemplars. is said to be more of real football than any of the games now in v0 ue, such as the Rugby Union or the ling- If something can be done to present a game in which all will be equally well 1p0sted. an international match at football won d be interesting. If not. then it will be no contest at all. for our teams playit in one way and the Scotch another. That football, riohtly and proy'serly flayed. could be made a fa l and spring game for coi- legians and school-boys. worthy of encourage- ment. there is no doubt. but as it is played here in the metropolis. the so-called football is mere- ly a struggle. muscle rs. muscle. the heaviest team going to the front. “'hat is wanted is a game where activity and skill in playing the ball with the foot is the main feature. and not a game in which rough-and-tumble wrestling and mere brute force are the essentials of success. Lacrosse is vastly superior to football in the special respect of its pOsSessing: all the attrac- tions which swift running. graceful activity. pluck, courage and endurance jm-Seiit. without the induc ~ments to ill-natured contests and the liability t » life-long injuries which is so charac- teristic of football. If football. however. were modified and really made a football game. it would not be so bad: but as it is, it is the most dangerous game now in yo e and one which has nothing to Commend it to gentlemen. Football N 01:00. THE freshmen of Columbia and Rutgers met at Hoboken Dec. 6th to play a game of football. Sides were as follows: Columbia—Forward. De I’m-est. “'ard. Lawrence, “'aring. Leo 1d. Trust, Delancey: half—backs, Lawson. Cark. Henry, Lee. Rutherford: backs. \Valsb. Hamil- ton and Bell. Umpire. \V. T. Morgan. Rut *rs—Forward. Randolih, Hover. Cran- mer, V. Chamberlain. Sen der. Morris. Bre- vier: half-backs. See. Bishop. Baker. Ruh: backs. C. Chamberlain. Pitcher and Lansing. Umpire. G. B. Filder. Play opened at half-past three and Continued till darkness closed the game. Neither side won a touchdown. those for safety being divided as follows: Rutgers. 4: Columbia. L. Mr. A. “'illiamson. of Rutgers. acted as referee during the first half of the game. and was succeeded by Mr. Percy Morgan. Skating. UP to December 5th, 1875‘. not even an inch of ice surface had covered any of the skating lakes of the metro iolis. At Prospect Park, the of— ficials. with tieir customary attention to the §~€o an... i t v ,' H billy due. allowance for the imperfections we als wants of public recreation. have placed the skating house in a forward state of pl‘t")ill‘tltl01l for the advent of Jack Frost: and at the Capi— toline grounds, Messrs. \Vccd and Decker have laid the water on. ready for the first cold snap. The Capitoliuc Skating Park will this winter—— the last season—l» smaller than usual. an em- bankment having been laid across the liaSc—ball field at the east end. by which the skating sur- face will be reduced to about four acres. There is to be skating, too. at the old Union Pond. for the last time. But what are our Central Park people doing to provide facilities for skating for New York boys and girls this winter! Echo answers. " l'v'hat !" ways find at first in tools we don‘t quite imdcr— stand. A peculiarity of the game lies in the fact that it can be played under circumstances when base- ball or cricket cannot. Cricket. as is well- knmvn. requires a level piece of turf for the wickets. and a good wide field for the players to operate in: and base-ball cannot be played with any pleasure except on a tolei'ably level piece of turf field. But Lacrosse can be played on any open space of «round extensive enough to admit of space cnoug i for running and to throw the ball any distance. (hi any ordinary common. where the grass is not too long. a field is ready for a Lacrosse match. As regards the pcisonal , l'€( iiisites to excel as a player. the main thing" is Roller Skating. THE Monday night reunions at the Brooklyn Roller Skating Rink are the choice entertain- ments of the season at present. It is on these occasions that the society gatherings take place, and that the attendance is the largest and most 1 fashionable. Last Monday night was made especially enjoyable to the old patrons of the Rink by the presence of that prince of roller skaters, Kynock, who was welcomed with the heartiest of greetings by his numerous friends and admirers, among whom the ladies are to be counted by the dozen. Unfortunately the “ hard times "—made hard- er by the “ soft money " craze—have obliged the Rink management todispensc with the profes- I sional services of such masters of the art as used to " teach the young idea how to—skate.” and hence a strong attraction has been taken from the season's sport. Somehow or other very few thin . succeed in Brooklyn as they do in New Yor . \Vh “ this is thus ” is a problem. Here is the Broo ’lyn Rink, for instance, in which r facilities of an excellent kind are provided for i the enjoyment of a recreative exercise which I special y commends itself for family patronage and for both sexes, not only for its physical ad- vantages in the way of a healthful exercise, but also for its marked social characteristics. Such an institution in New York would .be crowded nightly by fashionable throngs, witness the high- toned crowds which were gathered at the after- noon and evening roller skating sessions at Irving Hall last winter, when the subscription price was ten dollars for a season of a couple of months. Yet in Brooklyn, the Rink this season. with ‘- prices admirably arranged to insure family patrona at low rates and yetto exclude ob- jectionaile people, works its slow way through the season with but limited support except on the fashionable Manda night assemblies and the popular Saturday nig t socials. Music, society and a graceful and enjoyable exercise at com- ; mud. and yet. such an institution runs the risk 1 of being given up for lack of proper support. Popular preachers rail at the existence of p aces of amusement and recreation surrounded by , vicious influences, but they fail to commend in— stitutions in every way worthy of the best social patronage. Pity ’tis, and pity ’tis ’tis true. What a pretty picture the Rink resents on a ‘ Monday night reunion when the ady experts are there in full force. If you want to see a well-formed ' l lOok Charmin ly graceful go to the Rink an see her disport ersclf on the rol- lers in executing the outside edge roll in Com- 1 ny with such a master of the art as Kynock. ' Don’t she look sweet!” “ Oh, I think she , skates rfcctly elegant.” These and siniilarex- I clamations are to be heard when Mrs. E. Miss W. amateur experts glide over the asphalt surface with that. grace and ease of movement peculiar to the sex on skates. To the lockers-on, the awkward attempts of novices, the falls of the reckless. and the little or = or some other of the numerous lady ‘ l . known “ Yank ” Adams bein screams of aflright of the nervous, afford con- ' adorable amusement, on the same prinffiiple thut' sen y frogs, '= v 1 .37; -’” _ ButtfiWmat-tha i. ‘mfih g ' V " " aresu ' into ..f .qu‘ flirtation, which thgmatl£ with .i'fhe pleasure of the n . ut in “ ' ”—s-‘as roller skat there is a tie d for enjoyment o the kind un— equaled except on an ice skating—pond. Just think of having to hold your fair one’s hands while you do the circle skating to the music of l the hand. Then, too, the rest on the seats dur- ing the pauses in the music, when you can enjoy a quiet little talk. Also the delight of liel ling the dear one up from the surface when she iap- pens to fall. .~ ll this. too, can be done without excitin ' the observant eyes of" the old folks tori particu urly. as the ocmirrences are. as a matter of Course. incidental to the exercise. But think of the attention you attract when you excel in the graces of the art. and with what admiring eyes that wealthy young bachelor is watching your movements~ " ()h. pa. do go and get me a season ticket: they‘regoing to have regular sub- scription nights. you know." For enjoyable social exercise for both sexes give us roller skat— mg. Lacrosse. COMPARING lacrosse with football—~its Eng- lish counterpart—the advantages of the Cana— dian game appear very prominent. In the first place, Lacrosse is a raceful game, which can— not be said of footbal , with its r0 h-and-tum— ble struggles. its hauling and mauling, and its shin-kicking features. Then ain. unlike cricket, its exponents are not su ject to the rather dangerous results which are peculiar to cricket. Thus, while being graceful and not at is 031195 by the Eu lish nobility— : all dangerous to life or limb, it is very exciting ‘ to both players and spectators; and, when the contest is between two pretty equal twelves, there is an attraction about it to a crowd of s )tsrtamrs which nothing but the close of an ex- CIting horse—race can equal. the game for one active of foot, lithe of limb, and quick in perCeptive faculties. One great merit of the game is the quality of the, exercise involved. It gives as much run— ‘ min: as cricket or football, if not a great deal more. and requires a quicker eye, than any other ficl l garlic besides cricket: but its spoil-{nubi is that the running must be of the best. To suc- ceed a man mus! run steadilvaiid in good form, since the ball is only allowed to be carried while. resting on the crosse. a state of things it has a natural aiitipafh y to. J ust as the Austrian oili- Lacrosse is just i ccrs prove their g ’accful (ltlllt‘lllu‘ by waltzing 1 round the Mom holding a glass o x 'inc, so may a man prove his graceful running by carrying : on the’ slippery foundation of a crossc an lndia- ‘ rubber ball, and evading on uneven ground the ‘ attack of numerous and active foes. Another peculiarity of the game is that it im- ~ iroves a man‘s heart A cricketer may satis— ly the requirements 0 his village club in respect to lmtling, lmwliiig, catching. fielding. throw- ing. without much improvement in his bearing. At football sliambling legs may give a vigorous kick, and arms may ' )6 ti ht from shoulders almost as round as f. 1e mll itself. But in La— crosse it is difficult for an expert to be anything else than graceful. If he has not grace naturally the exercise incident to Lacrosse will give it to him if anythin will. In fact it would be diffi- cult to play t. 0. game well without acquiring true gracein running, and, moreor less. in every other action of his body. No better ilan canbe devised for making a man run well t iaii iving him something to carry which he is lia do to spill. Let our reader try for himself, making ‘ amounts to childish buffoone pe< cstrian skill. the feature of Lacrosse being.r the rapid and long running required to be done in playing a match. Hand-ball. l A PRIZE tourney is to come off at Casey's Handball Court this month. in which the lead- ing exemplars of the ll‘lSlllll‘dll'S faviiritc game are to take part. Such a contest has been long needed to give life and activity to the game. The matches played now are of no account. They are little else than daily practice games, whereas a series of earnest encounters in a tour naineiit would be worth seeing. lVitli such rc« presentative players of the three hand-ball courts as the Case ' brothers. Dunn and Mack, Will Courtney an Grady, and the McQuade brothers, 3. very attractive tournament could be arrangol with a first and second 1prize for the best team playing, and a prize for t ie best individual play. Rackets. THERE is going to be some fine racket playing in the metropolis during this sason judging from the appearance of things in racket circles. = “'hat with the international match at the New _ York Racket Club and the Keatin challenge ’ there will be ood sport beyonda oubt. The winner of the es vs. Mahon match has been challenged to the professio Hoboken. So the promise is that some good 1sport will be seen in racket playing this: month. AN interestin contest took boken Racket club took tell the story. games out of three. The contestants included an old player of the Empire club of twentv years part, the score of which we leave to ago, and a veteran of the Manhattan Cricket ' club. formerly Mayor of Hoboken. The score was as follows: inns-r GAME. Mack and Mill . . . . . . . . . . . . . ..l2 2 0 0 0 4 3—21 .MurfandRuss.... . . . . .. ...7 212 2 2..—-16' SECOND GAME. MackandMill.................. l 5 0 6—12 MurfandRuss............ . . . . . . .. 4 7 6 4—21 . THIRD GAME Mack and Mill . .. 6 6 7—21 , Murf and Russ 4 5 ~10 Totals—Mack and Mill, 54; Murf and Russ, 47. Aces by service—Mack, 20; Mill, 13: Murf, 2]; Russ, 1‘2. Aces by return—Mack, 13; Mill, 8; Murf, 8; Russ, 6. Billiards. THE “science ” of billiard digitation has been . of late practically illustrated in the metropolis 3 by two nobed exemplars of the art, the well— our American re- presentative and Profemor the champion player of France. During November, Adams performed in Brooklyn before delighted and astonished audiences, and recently the French- man appeared at a private seance at the Brooklyn Club. V . ‘- . - Thouewho have'soenbofii playdo not. hesitate to award the palm'of su riority to Adams, alike in his skill in manip tion and in hismore rational and scientific stile of play. Izar in- troduces bprlay in his p ying which at times , besides which the national conceit and vanity of the French expert becomes rather conspicuous. Adams. on the other hand, explains his shot in a regular Yankee, clearsheaded and sensible way, and he executes with a brilliaiicy and accuracy which the Frenchman failed to equal on the occasion of his latecxhibition. lzar is goin toAustra- lia. he says. It is to be rcgrettedt at the two experts cannot be brought to ether in a match before the Frenchman leaves t ecountry. CHESS. cause mavras‘ nInEm‘onv. Nrw YoRK CHESS Roons.~(‘af6 Engel. No. 856 Bowery, Tram-ta “ALL ('Hizss Cara—Nos. 66 and 6‘? East ' l“! illl'lli .s'l l‘N‘t. Saw \‘oIiR CHI-".ss CLUn.—~Cafo‘- Cosmopolitan. No. l 1-: second avenue. MANHATTAN Gauss CLcn. 4mm Logeliiig, No. 49 B‘ i\"t'n'. Tm: Baooxum Brooklyn Library Building, Mon WILLIAManHG PHiLinon CHEss Ti and 73 Meserole street. day and Friday evenings. PROBLEM No. 5. Cnass CLUB meets daily in the lie street. Li'H.—Turn Hall, BY H. C. BLACK. 7///;/;/’,2 77,1 / f//,,//,g/é JIW/ . [/2275 l /' / 27sz a // /":/ ¢p [/7' ¢‘// {7/ I, I I . // l/J // /Z W \VlllTE. White to play and mate in two moves. Solutions To Problems. (“HAHLEBE Ac'rs sends us from Newark. N. J.. the . following solution for Problem No. 3: warm. macs. l. Kl. to ,. B‘SSd and takes R. 1. Q. takes R. 22. Kt. to 's 7th (mate). Ann. Brooklvn, sends correct answei to Problem No. 2, and so does Harry C. Van Saul. Baltimore. Md. Norm-In many cases our problems admit of two solutions, as witness Nos. 3 and 4. “'e would advise our correslmndenfs to stud up this matter and send the alternative solutions w ere they exist. That is the true way to succeed and become a chess player. The combinations are so numerous that the more memorized the better. lay for $500 by John Keating, ? racket~player of Hicks’ Court, 1 lace at the Ho 2 cart on Dec. 41; in which four : prominent members of the Hoboken Racket ‘ It was a short match of best two I Meets for play on Wednes- . Chess Notes. Till-Z Illustrated London News announces the recent death, at Reading, of one of its most dis- Iiiiguislicd contributors, Captain Hugh Kenne- dy. Captain Kennedy was l'S‘ years old. and :bflllchtl a high reputation as a chess-player llt'.’ll‘l_\' forty years ago against Sfuuntoil, “'3'- vill. Williams, Andersscn. Szen. Kiesei'itzky, Lowcnthal and Henry Thomas lhii Me. At the International Chess 'l‘ouriiuincnt of 18.31 lie caiu i'icd oil' the sixth prize. \Vllt‘ll in full force he was a Very strong player. He contributed for thirty years to tll.‘ chess coliunns of the [Ill/s» i'nli‘wrl Loud-w News, and was author of a yolitnic. “\Yaifs and Strays from the Chess lutll’ll.u Chess Lessons. ('UN’I‘INI‘ED FROM Nl'MiilCR Fl l’R. BLACK TO PLAY AND MATE IN SEVEN MOVES. ob bl it WHITE l‘Ii'i; SOLUTION. BLACK. “VHI'I’E. 1. Q.foK.51cli.(IH 1. K.Io liisR. 504.011 2. Kr. mo. B. Tic-h.) w) ‘2. K. " Kt. ~~ cl) 3. Kt. lilch R. “ (e) 3. K. " R. “ l. Kt. toQ. 8.7 “ 4. K. “ Kt. Kt. mo, as (dbl.(‘h.)lf) 5. K -- R. “ (L to her KY. 8 “ (g) 6. ll takes 7. Kt. to B. 7. Checkmate. (hi NOTES ILLI'STRATIV'E OF SEVERAL TECHNU‘ALITYES. m) This move gives check because when the Queen stops at the square named one of her New lines 0f motion falls upon and quarks the White King, and of this fact he must be notified aiidibly. Were the White K. any other piece he would now be exposm to ca iture. . _ _ (71> he can neither capture the assuming (3.. norm , fei'pose anything to ward OR the check: therefore the only remaining alternative is to move the K. If he go to Q. ll. sq.. the Q. will go to her B. 71 h. check- iiiate—as White could not take the (9.. she being . guarded by the KL: nor interpose: nor move away ——hence the move given. to) Check, since the Kt. now brings the K. within the exact range of his lance; also forks K. and Rook, because he altar/l3 both, as you will see. , serve the power of his own Queen to the batteries of a Rook, on this very account: as, were it not for its fatal force, “'hite would win in a. hurry b at once taking Queen with the Rock in her fro t. gain. Black‘s Queen is now pinned; i. 6., she is irectl ' in front of her con- sort, and the only piece that shields him from a check from the Rook, so that if it was now her move she i could not go away—if she would; the best alterna- tive would be to capture him. (/1) A forced move—because he has no other. (e) Discovered check—because the piece moved does hind. The next three half moves elicit nothing new. (f) A fine example of a double check! This com- prises a check direct from the KL. and one by discovery from the Q. Had Black nothing.r better in prospect he Could now draw by pelyielual check by j vibrating the Kt. between these two s uarcs ad in- Now ob- ‘ a check. Black boldly exposes ‘ not give the attack, but uncovers it from a piece be- ' finilum. lVliilc's Kt’s. 1‘. is not allowet to open fire . ' on the audacious Cavalier, because his monarch : must also escape the other check from the Q. (m Coming.r to the crisis; she now sacrifices herself to insure success to the general cause. King cannot take, for the watchful Kt. guards her; therefore R. mus-t, to avert the mate. (/1) The coup rle race. smothered mate. less to capture his victor; interposq; or run away. Winn-2's MATE 1N FIVE Movies is accomplished at the following slashing gait, and will also teach you an important lesson: warm. . . R. fakes Kt. . . takes Q.. check. BLACK. 1 1. . takes R. 2 3. . to K. B. Sq., check. ti) g 2. . to his B. 2d. ' 3. K. to his Kt. 3d. . . to K. Kt. 3d, check. 4. K. to RS file. . . to R‘s sqa. Checkmate. l i the best possible advantage. [concncsron] l l l l __ ~_ Wm jm . '— A’ CORRESPONDENT writes us, New York, Dec. ' 4th, ’78, as follows: “I notice in your answers-to correspondents that ’ you give to Horace H. Lee. 101-5 seconds as the best ~ American amateur record for 100 yards. W. C. Wil- will walk at ({ilmorc’s Garden or the Rink llld avenue and will stl‘UCl), but the chances are in favor of (iiluiore‘s as more central. A NEW riding academy has been opened at No. 17:! \Vcst rm; sr. New York, by Major Dickcl. It is a good place to learn to ride for all who cannot afford to keep a horse. as a lo.»- son a week \\ ill do wondl rs in a year. " BLowri: “ lilll MN is really going to try w vll- clusioiis with (.l‘lIcury for the \\'orld‘s Champ- ionship. L’c lias deposited his money with the London Sports/iqu and wants the match ill Chicago or New York in February. so as not to interfere with the next Astlcy match in April. THE Boston liicydlc Club met Nov. :lofh. at Chestnut Hill llc‘sclVHll‘. In the race around the Upper Reservoir, about one mile. R. Co‘- man did the distance inllin. dost: W. l!. Swan, 53m. Slils. The rest of the club \\ ere badlylu-atcii. THE San Francisco Ricyclc ('lub has lately becii organized with ten members to begin. but is proving a complete success. The club takes weekly excursions. and attracts much attention. A BICYCLE race. 1 mile, for the championship. was lately ridden in England by John Keen, A. Patrick. E. Gillott and \V. Phillips. The race was run in heats, the first being won by Patrick over Gillott iii ‘3m. :37 l«;’s..being the fastest championship time: the second by Keen. beat- ing Phillips in film. 1—4s.: and the final by Keen in film. l-2s. This shows that bicycle riders are gradually coming nearer and nearer to the speed of a trotting horse as the vehicles improve. NORMAN TAYLOR recently ran ‘20 miles against ' time at Riverside Park, Hudson. Mass, and the following record is claimed for him: 1 mile. 5111. 40s.: 2 miles. 11m. 24s.: 3. 17m. 4. 2.2m. 545; :3. 28m. 42s.; c.3411). 33s.; 7, 40m. 35s.: 8 46m. 15s.: El. 573m. 135.: 10. 718m. 65.: 11, 1h. 4m: ; 12, 1h. 10m. 13s.: 13,1h. 16m. 24s.:' 14, lli. 23m. 3%.: 15. 1h. 29m. 25.: 16, 1h. 35m. 375.: 17. 1h. 42m. 23s.: 18. 1h. 49m. 155.: 19, 1h. 56m. 15s.: ‘ 20, 2h. 3m. (is. If this record be properly at- tested, it leaves Mr. Taylor the best twenty- ‘ mile man in the world. ' between O’Leary and Cam na, each man hav- . Buck, editor of : Nothing remains but 1 over such distance as would be mutually agreed ing deposited $1,000 with the Spirit of the Times. to draw up the articles of agreement, which will be done immediately after O’Leary’s return from Philadelphia. Time and place are to be agreed upon hereafter; but, while the event is not yet definitely located, it is probable that the match will come off in this city between December 22d and 28th. This will give, the con- testants the benefit of Holiday “'eek and insure a great crowd to see them. THE football teams of Rutgers College and i the College of the City of New York. had an exciting match at New Brunswick. N. J ., Dec. 7th. The names of the teams were as follows: Rutgers—Forwards: Cranier, Miller. ‘ brouck. Canton. McCauley. Randolph. captain. Both a. Checkmate and = “ lie King is dead!" he is power- ' Half-backs: Ruh, See, How. Norris. College of the City of New York—Forwards: Backs: Vorhees, International Match of 1‘17 at Creedmoor against Sir Henry llalf‘ord‘s Britons. seems to keep up his sliotmting. lle managed to make thirty—four bull‘s-eyes out of forty-fch at cigl‘l and nine hundred and a thousand yards. llcc.~ ~lth. at Walnut llill Range near Boston. Mass. and won the first prize for fhcvcar. Long range i'ilic~sln cling is now over till next March or April. Tin-s National Rifle .-\s.~ociafion is considering the propriety of selling (‘rcn dnioor and getting another l':lll;_‘c on a road that \\ ill be more coir ycuiciif for New Yorkers. We hope they will succeed. A Tm: 'l‘cnucssce Sportsiiieu‘s .-\S.\'\:Cllltl011 had a shooting tournament. llec. .‘ifh. 13th and 7th. which was largely attended and \‘0!‘\' success— ful. There Were shooting (WillltStSTlIltl field trials of sporting dogs: and several thousand dollars in prizes. Mn. J. M. T. PARTICLLO. the man who. in (’lc— tobcr last. beat all previous records at Low yards. shot at the grounds of the Columbia lifle Association, at \Vasliingfon, Ilcc. bib. and made 21* out of a possible 2725 at .soo, woo and 1,001) yards. 011 a cold‘raw day with a strono breeze blowing. y b A Small Boys’ Match. A MICHIGAN paper lately stated that on Nov. 18th a child not four years old. son of E. T. Hall of St. Clair. Mich, rowed a good-sized clinker skiff acrm a river, nearly a mile wide and run— ning at the rate of three and a half miles an hour. Upon the foregoing being read to Ed. Hanlon, says The Canadian Sporting Times, he ' said that he had a nephew, about the same age THE money is now all up for the great match - as the youthful prodigy mentioned above. that he would be pleased to match against the junior Hall, in best-and~bcst boats. early in the Spring. upon. “'e hardly su ose this match will ever come off, but it woul very interesting to the spec~ tators. How the small boys would like it, is an- other question. If it ever comes off we will ad- vise our readers, and only remark that this shows it is never too young to begin. Hanlon and Hawdon. A MATCH between Edward Hanlon, North . American Scullin r Champion, and John Haw— ; don of Delaval, Has- r Star. E. Bunzl, Callistcr. Langbein. Half-backs: ' Stewart, Fabrcgon. Palmer, captain. Backs: ched. \Vebster, Raynor. l'iiipirc for College Citv of New York— McCutchin. C. C. N. Y. Um ire for Rutgers —Frelinghuysen, Rutgers. feree—Fieldcr, ' Rutgers. ! mer, of the Short Hills Athletic Club, has a record of ' ' 10 seconds, so have R. L. La Montague. of the New ‘ York Athletic Club, raid Horace H. Lee, of the Uni- versity of Pennsylvania. The Rutgers team was made up of the heaviest men. a great advantage under the Rugby rules Where a “ scrimmage " is decided by main strength. Texan Shooting. A CORRESPONDENT writes us from Waco, Texas, Nov. filth,that the Tatum Gun Club of ' that city was represented at the fair at Houston Ry four of their members, namely. Messrs. Ezra cCall, Champ McCullough, J olin Thompson and A. S. Almond. They competed with gun clubs from all parts of the State and carried ofl‘ all the principal irizes. Mr. Ezra McCall won the prize for the 29st shot. making." him the best 3 shot in the State. “At the champimiship games of the NW York 2 \ Athletic Club, Oct. 12th. HTS. the. almve named came 5 t ther for ilie championship at. loo yams, when V l . C. Wilmer won in 10 seconds. ' “At the Staten Island Athletic Club games. Sept. ‘ 28th, 1878, R, L, La Montague ran 101 yards in 10 seconds~equal to about 9 7-H seconds for 100 yards, "Wilmer has the best record at 2-21) yards in America. I believe—2‘3 7-8 seconds. (l. H. F." We are much obliged to G. H. F. for calling our attention to the very latest records because ' we hope toniake THE Yot'NG Nicw YOHKEP. a model of accuracy. As matters now stand, 1 “best time” is so constantly changing that it is i \ almost im ssible to settle it for any year till the close 0 a season, when the oflicial time can be compared and announced by the proper ' authorities. Bicycling. THOSE who remember the rise and fall of the velocipede fever in America, Will be surprised at the following figures made at Agricultural I ! l b \ Hall, London, in a six days‘ tournament. The “'e shall be always happy to hear from our \\ aco correspondent, and hope that he will send us more news soon with a little inori detail. Game in Season. THE following game is now in season in dill'er- eiit parts of the United States: Caribou. Incmse. elk or wapiti: Virginia dccr. hares, brown and gray; squirrels, red. black. and gray: wild turkey, rufl‘cd grouse or pheas— ant: plover, godwit, rails. snipe and shore birds: quail or partridge: pinnated grouse or prairie .chicken; curlew, sandpipers. \iillcts. l‘ccd or l l l race commenced at H A. M.. Monday. Nov. 18th. , . Track seven and one-half laps to the mile; ma— , chines of any style and size; time of riding limited to 19 hours per day. between 6 A. M. and 12 midnight. The number of Contestants was limited to tWelve. The followin was the time made by the best three on each ( ay: rice bird; and wild duc In the New York markets piiinated grouse (prairie chickens) were lately fetching 73 dols. 10 cents per pair: artridge (ruffed grouse). 1 do]. 10 cents to 1 01. 50 cents per pair: mallard ducks, 80 cents per pair; black do.. 75 cents per pair: widgeon do., 60 cents r pair: broad iill do., 50 cents per pair: tea do.. to cents per air: canvas backs. 2 dol. 50 cents per pair: red ends. 1 dol. 50 cents per pair: Vt‘lllSOll, saddle. ‘25 cents per pound: carcass. 1?) cents per )ound: “'ilson snipe. 3 dol. pci‘ duly: plovcr, 3 do]. per (102.: bay birds, large, 15 dol. per llHZ.I do. small, 50 cents per dol.: reed birds. 75 cents to 1 dol. . per doz.; wild pigeons, 2 dol. per doz. Monday—Cami, 236') miles: Stanton, 214: An- drews. 2/0‘3. Tuesday—Caiiii. 42‘) miles; Edliu. 304: An- drews, 1:130, Wednesday—Conn. lilil miles; Edliii. 58H; An— drews, 5'20. Thursday—Cami, “.1”; miles; Edlin. 707; Lees, USU. Fridav——Cann. 0,43 miles; lidlin, illli; Lees, Hm. Saturday—(Juno. Loco miles: l'ldlin, 1.02.3; Lees. 95:2. This closed the tournament. Besides these threc. only four more persevered to the end, and made as follows: Andrews, 9'38 miles: 707: Evans. THU. These figures show that bicycling has made iniiidcrfuladvances in England. and gives pro~ mise that they will cxeih- American ciitliiisinsm and emulation. \ 'l‘crrcnt, 0W; Iligliaiu. Athletic Notes. JOHN ODDY walked two miles at Elk=‘,Ne- vada, Nov. 15th, in 1.3111. 593. This is splendid time. , WILLIAM PEnxiss. the English 10 mile champ— ion, has undertaken to walk eight miles while the may Monkey trots fifteen at Lillie Bridge, Lon on. Eng. JoHs Hi'mms. the man who tried to “ bate O'leary." and couldn't. now challenges J. (‘on— ners. the California champion, to a six days‘ “trot.” IT is uncertain wheer ( l'Leary and (‘anipaiia Rod and Gun Notes. Tim last- regular meeting of the Monmouth i Pigeon (“lub took place llec. lth at Ocean l’ark. . New Jersey. There Were three pigeon matches, won respectively by Messrs. William Houston m out of 1“ birds). \\ illiaiii Smock rll‘ successive birds). and Edward Prince 17 successive). After this the following" match was shot: (.‘I..i~ s-Ium. Sv-‘H rsTARI-‘s. r rl'rcc to all. at 1.") balls: $‘2o-iIH'Iiucc: lHl-oufcslanfs: 1* yards' rim :_7: traps: llogal'dus rules. scour. lirukl', William . . Nelson .. 111. 1b". ll]. 111. 111 ll \Villiaui Smock 1"]. 111. 0’ l. 111. ill 2.’ lidgarlirccu ll], (111. 111?, 111,01] 1') Charles .\, Adams 11“. 1"“. 11”. ll”. 111 ll! H. .‘l. Marion .011. till. ll‘l. Hill. “11 9 R. ('. (‘ullovcl‘ .. .llllL (ill. 1”], (’11. (ill S Charles Ugdcii 1W. hr“. 113‘, WU. Ill 2 L. Hendricks .. (Ml. 1““. 1M, 1”]. (ill 7 Mr. lialpli . mo. 111. rm. 1110.000 5 I]. Hons-ton ,11o, our oco, o 2 -‘“- (illll not cocked. M R. \V. J. NELSON. offlie New Yorl: Gun Club. dcfcutcd Mr. ‘11 yards rise. Score, ‘J to 13. om Mum Jouivsox. of Robbinsville. N. J., E the veteran pigeon shot who used to give Bo- “ gardus hard contests in time past. was defeated Dec. tld at \Vest Side. Jersey City. by young Mr. J. H. (lutwater. of Rutherford Park. N. J.. in a match of 2] shots. :3] yards rise. Score. 18‘ to 15. CAPTAIN XV. S. JACKsoN. one of the famous ‘ American Long Range Rifle Team that won the ngland, was settled on Nov. lhtli. The agreement between the men is "to row a straightaway scullcrs’ race on the Tyne. in best-aIid-best boats, from the Mansion House to Scotswood Suspension Bridge, on Monday. May 5th. 1879, for the sum of £200 (two hundred pounds) a side. The men to start from two boats. moored thirty yards apart. one hour before high water, according to the A B C tide-table, on the day named. The starting-boats to be moored to the satisfaction of the referee before tossing for choice of stations. and the race to be rowed ac- . cording to such of the new Thames rules of boat- . The New Yorkers made a gallant ‘ (2') However superior your force, always use it to fight, bUt IOSt' the mat/Ch by one 8'03]- raciiig as are applicable. To start by mutual consent, but if not started within fifteen min- utes of the time above fixed the referee shall start them by signal or otherwise.” The following»biography of Hawdon. con- densed from a Newcast e-on-Tyne paper. will ,: show our readers the powers of the man. He is :33 years old and commenced his career as a scul- ler at the Tyne Regatta. in 1876. when he won the prize for scullers under fwenty~one years of age. He com )eted at the Thames International Regatta in 1847 in the junior scullers’ competi— tion, and in the final heat was beaten by J. An- derson of Hammer-smith. He also competed in t the open scullers' handicap at the same regatta. ” Wm. Smock. of the Monmouth ‘ Pigeon Club. Dec. lsf in a match of 1” shots at _ and succeeded in winnin the first prize. He took part in the Thames nternational Regatta of 1878. when he won the second-class sculls. On Sept. 14th. be easily defeated J. H. Sadler in a race on the Thamesy from Putncy to Mortlake. and on Oct. 1st, over the same course. be defeated Joseph Cannon of Kingston. doing the distance in the short time of 273m. 57s. On Nov. 11111 he defeated “'in. Lumsdeu iii a race of nearly 3 1‘2 miles. on the Tyne. and it was on the return from this race that the prl sent match was broached. llawdon stands 5ft. Tiii.. and weigh- ed. on Nov. 11th. 14‘.) 1—8 pounds. Yachting and Rowing Notes. Two American scullcrs will be in England next year. l'lunloli is to go l‘cli, 1st,, and George llosnicr lcff Boston for Liverpool Nov. 30th. Tm: ofliccrs of Chicago Yacht Club for 1879 will be: Connuodoi'c. T. M. Bradley: Vice-Coni- niodorc. R. H. Fleming: Rear—Coinmodore. John Triggs: Secretary. C. S. Kramer: 'l‘reasurcr. F. W. S. Brawlcy: Mcasurer. J. Q. Fergus: Execu- tive (.‘oinmiftee. \V. E. Barnum. Thomas Thomp- son and J. Q. Fergus: Regatta Committee, Tlios. Thompson. (i. E. “'ier. . B. H. Boulter. \l'. D. Payne and J. A. Farrow. THE Columbia Yacht Club which has its Club House at the foot of “'est 86th street. New York, has elected the following officers for 1879: Coni- modore. Robert Mcthiiiney : Vice-Commodl ire, Abner B. Inglce: Secretary. John Frick: Treas- urer. Joseph A. “'eaver: Measurer. XV. J. (lrca- cen: Steward. Philip Houseman: Trustees. John Frick. chairman: Colonel A. H. Rogers. llr. J. C. Pci‘i'iiie. Louis P. “'ieginan. Joseph A. “'ca- ver. Many yacht owners are expected tojoin the fleet. and the (‘olumbiaYaeht Club expects to be one of the best in New York. TU .1 ll l'l‘."1."1'.1.‘3'11'l.’.3‘. Q??? ).‘l fcu' .rl(In‘rHsrmmifs ICU] lic inscrird on this [mg/r (If f/u' mil.- offll'cnfj/-.,’irc culls pc)‘ (I'm; mmpm'l N )lll’ll.\l-’/‘4'H1I’1If. I I‘N'I‘IVG. 'l'rappiutr. Fishing, prcinariu: l"iu's. training; :4: "my: docs. how to l(‘;'.’.'l‘ horses. dogs. .\c.. :uou in; and wonderful tricks. with many ofhwr iulwrcsiiu: and valuable things in Nancy's lii- foi‘li::ifioii fci‘fhc l‘i oplc. nuiinniofli sire. illustrated. only l|'ll cents of any bookseller or by mail. .ll-ISSI'I NANNY A'.’ H 1.. in! Nassau Si. N. Y. ' ‘.\ Xlnlill .Vl LET’S Manual. :1 guide to collect- ing. preparing. pl‘cscHluir and mountingr ani- mals. birds. insects. dc. illustrated Fillets. 1m; V training. 25 Ms. Hunter and 'l'i':ippci"s Guido, in 1-1,, Of booksellers or by mail. .ll'ZSSE HANEY .K‘ (1).. llll Nassau St. N.Y. PECK a. SENVCEI'Z'; AMLRICAN » 'v‘ C SKATE ' In: a, mums; M) urn. FLAYKI snows; cu WRENCH. PING: 0.1. gm; mm“. DrasPAInbssbo. N°.z. fllsT uunuv HATCDJ’ER. FAIR. 6.0 [use Mvs’l. emis- cw '. .5. 'i'se " PM““Wu:Zéczfii'riT‘é’RésWEST? "fivé‘élimm “Mum” or onus . . . MANUF :14 NASSAU STREET. NEW YORK-AG URERS ‘Jusf published, our new fall catalogue. full of illus— trations of Magic and ('oiijuriiig Tricks. Scroll Saws and Trimmings. Magic Lanfci‘s. Musical Instruments. Skates. l‘riuting Presses. l’lziys. etc” sent by mail. for 10 cents. l‘lCCK N SNYDER. 1:24 Nassau St. N. Y. '- ‘ “,4: k'l'o'Mliplb-D-‘AM’.'- “J‘s‘ Ii}:- - :7. ; .v Hi..- «2-. .5 Cl C. no .4... .u—mh.‘-w-~u’-~o—s »- "'""""—' ‘--...w.u -.': 4) , . Y‘ I . \ i. I i i E '. KEEPING HIS WORD. I. “ 0111 a enny a box,“ he said; ‘ Butythepgentleman turned away his head, As if he shrunk from the squalid Sight Of the boy who stood in the failing hght. “ Oh, sir!" he stammered, “you cannot know-— (And he brushed from his matches the flakes of snow That the ’sudden tear might have chance to fall) “ Or I think—J think you would take them all. “ Hungry and cold at our garret—pane, Ruby will watch till I come again. Brin in the loaf. The sun has set. And ie asn‘t a crumb of breakfast yet. “ One penny, and then I can buy the bread.“ . The, gentleman stopped: “ And you 2" he said. “ If—I can put ulp with them, hungry and cold, But Ruby is on y five years old. “ I promised our mother before she went. —She knew I would do it and died content— I promised her, sir, thiough best, through worst, I always would think of Ruby first. ’ The gentleman paused at his open door: Such tales he had often heard before: But he fumbled his purse in the twilight drear, " I have nothing less than a shilling here.” Oh, sir. if you'd only take the pack. I‘ll bring you the change in a moment back: Indeed you may trust me?" " Trust youI—nol But here is the shilling: take it, and go.“ . II. The gentleman lolled in his easy-chair. And watched his ci arwvreath melt in the air. And smiled on his c ildren, and rose to see The baby asleep on its mother's knee. “ And now it is nine by the clock,“ he said, Time that m darlings were all abed; Kiss me goo -uight, and each be sure, When you‘re saying your prayers, remember the poor.” Just then came a message—“ A boy at the door "— But ere it was littered, he stood 011 the floor Half breathless, bewildered, and ragged and strange; “ I'm Ruby—Alfie‘s brother—I're brought you the change. “ Mike‘s hurt, sir; ’twas dark; the snow made him blind, And he didn’t take notice the train was behind. Till he slipped on the track;—and then it whizzed Y. . And he‘s home in the garret; I think he will die. Yet nothing would do him. sir—nothing would do, But out through the snow I must hurry to you; Of his hurt he was certain you wouldn‘t have heard, And so you might think he had broken his word. ” “'hen the garret they hastily entered. they saw Two arms, mangled, shapeless, outstretched from the straw, “ You (lid it? dearRul/y— God bless 702/ J" he said, Anddthel boy, gladly smiling, sun ' back—and was ea . Spur and Saddle; LIFE ON A CATTLE RANCH. BY JOSEPH E. BADGER, JR. N0. V.—THE HIERRO. “ “'HAT’S in the wind 110w .3” was the natural in uii‘y put to the young ranchero by Arthur an Ross, when they noticed his growing ex- citement. “There’s fun ahead, and plenty of it! Come on. I’ll explain it all while we are rigging out our horses.” Now, neither Ross nor Arthur felt very keen for the saddle, for sundry reasons, but they had left their home to learn what everyday—life was upon a stock—farm, and a few inches of tender skin should not cow them thus early. “'ith this secret resolve, they followed their cousin’s example and prepared their mustangs for work. While thus occupied, W'alt gave them an idea of what was coming. Where one’s cattle are numbered b thou- sands, and the grazing grounds measure by the league, it is not so strange that a goodly num- ber of calves should escape the fall marking and the spring branding both, though, sooner or later, they must bear the badge of servitude. At this rodm the number of "volunteers ” was unusually large, and nearly two hundred unmarked, unbranded yearlings had been sep- arated from the rest and penned in a side cor- ral, being reserved as a fitting conclusion of their three days’ labors. These were to be mark- ed and branded. “ But how can you tell which is which?” asked Arthur, as he rather gingerly settled himself in the saddle. “We can’t: so we each take one-third of the lot, and call it s uare. Come—there‘s father beckonin to us. et’s see what he wants.” Uncle rank led the wa to the fence of the corral which contained 1; e unmarked cattle, and appeared to be pointing out certain peculi- arities among them to his nephews. Instead, he was s eaking to his son. “ ake a run or two, if you like, Walt, but don’t overwork your horse. There’s another job on hand, that will need a fresh horse and man.” “ Better speak to Pedrillo, then—” “ There it is!” and Uncle Frank’s brows con- tracted. “Warren has made sure of him, al- ready. You see, this is the way of it. “'e found amon the cattle an unusually fine six— year-old bul , without mark or brand. and of course saved him to be marked with the rest. Just before dinner, Warren bantered Jones and I to choose a man each, and ride for the bull and a hundred dollars each. We couldn’t well refuse, and so the match was made. Now here comes Pedrillo, and tells me that Warren had secured him to ride, before he proposed the match.” “ Rather sharp ractice, seeing the buckaro is in your employ,” aughed the young ranchero. “ 11 do the best I know, and if you lose, ’twill not be my fault.” The boys were eager to see everything, and “'alt led them over to where his father’s men were gathered. One man, with bare arms and in a blacksmith’s apron, was bending over a brazier filled with glowin charcoal, in which were several long-handle irons. At a word from lValt, he pulled one out and held it up be- fore the brothers. The brandin -iron attached was pretty fairly described by 055. when he declared that it looked more like a huge spider that an elephant had trod on than aught else he could think of. A loud blast from an ox—horn gave notice that the work was about to begin, and hurriedly placing his cousins where they could see all without being in the way, Walt took up his po— sition a few yards from the bars of the corral, lasso ready coiled in his hand. Two men kept close in his rear, the duties of which were soon made clear. The guardians of the opening sprung aside, and three fine yearlings charged through and made a desperate dash for liberty. According to the arrangements made before- hand, he who rode for Frank Harvuy, was en- titled to the choice of the first lot; second choice of the next trio; the last of the third; first of the fourth lot set free; thus alternating to the 911%, by which means each owner was favored a i e. i ! l i l “'alt quickly made his choice. and dashing ‘ forward. sent his lasso coiling through the air. The instant the cast was made, his horse wheel- ed half—around, planting its. feet firmly and bracing itself against the comm shock. With a‘sharp twang the lariat straig itened out, the I youn heifer was flung upon its haunches, then i pulle over upon its side. The two assistants rode forward, displaying no less skill with the lasso than their youn master. One noose se— cured both hind legs, t e other caught the ri ht fore-foot, and a moment later the heifer was y- ing perfectly helpless, the three lassoes pulhng strongly in as many different directions. A man, armed with a keen knife ran forward and kneeling upon the animal’s neck, quick] ' put the serial or mark of his master, upon bot ears. Close upon his heels came the blacksmith, bearing the dull red branding iron. Touching this to the damp sand, tempering the heat with the judgment of one well skilled in his art, he ; pressed the hierro u n the heifer’s hip, holding it there until the b ue smoke and the sickening , smell of burning hair and hide scented the air. “'ith a shout that signified his work was per- i ace formed, he removed the iron and hurried to p it in the brazier. The marker, who through this had knelt upon the heifcr’s neck, now flung oil“ the ropes, and retreated. The animal stav- gercd to its feet, gave one mighty shake, wit 1 ,’ tail on end and a hollow bellow, plunged away ‘ at breakneck speed. I This description will suffice for all the repeti- tions of the capture, marking and brani ing. slackened; he stopped, and for a minute seemed to deliberate whether or no he should not avenge the insults he had received upon the gathering. Prudence prevailed, however, and with a sullen bellow he trotted leisurely away after the dis- tant cattle. Walt took occasion of the wait to say to his cousins: “Follow after us as close as you can, and you’ll see some fun.” There was no time for any answer. The mo- ment for starting was close at hand, and the three champions drew abreast, ready for the word. It came—and as by one impulse, the trio plunged forwar , the crowd following hard be- iiid. For a hundred yards the champions rode even, then, inch by inch, J ones’s champion be- gan to drop behind, and ere half a mile was ‘ covered, it was evident that he was out of the race. Not so the others. Neck and neck they raced, and there was no visible change in their positions, until they were within three hundred yards of the fleeing bull. Then, with a low laugh. Pedrillo touched his black with the spur, , and it shot ahead, one. two—half a dozen lengths. But \Valtonly smiled. He felt that his turn was near at hand. LO>S than a hundred yards ahead of Pedrillo was the bull. The burial ro was gathering up his lasso in readiness for the \\ inning cast. He 3 glanced over his shoulder at the young ranch- Iii a few cases there were temporary failures, 3 some amusincr incidents but through all there i was a similarity to the above that would render ' ero: but he cxulted too Soon. “'alt uttered a sharp. peculiar whistle. As though by magic, the blac ' mustang dropped to it is easily able to conceal itself from its own en- . emies as well as to approach unseen any animal it may select for. its prey. Nature is ever con- siderate in her dealin s with all creatures, and places them in such ocalities as are most har- monious to their appearance and habits, never omitting the slightest thing that may be condu- cive to their comfort, happiness, or protection. The eat Owls of more southern latitudes are usual provided with a mottled dress, and some have long tufts over the ears, which, when erected beyond the huge staring eyes, give to the bird a ve ' comical aspect. The Ow is fond of passing the day amidst the dense foliage of evergreen and other trees, and at times (if it is a large one) in the cavity of some half—decayed tnink, where it dozes away the hours of sunlight. or looks in stu id amazement u ii any thing that may intru e too near its page of refuge. Many a. frolicsome little squir- rel, leaping lightly over the bending twigs, or running up the gnarled trunk, sto for a mo- ment, and, sitting gravely upon his haunches, with the tail curved over his back, looks in upon the sedate and serious bird. Then, apparently not pleased with his reception, straightens him- self along the tree, and expressing his displeas- ure by quick, sudden jerks of his feathery tail, proceeds to scold the Owl with sharp, shrill notes. that roll along the air soundin like some tiny watchman‘s rattle. In a very s ort time, disgusted at not being able to produce any visi- ble impression upon his stolid neighbor, with many a graceful jump he bounds away to seek a more congenial friend. a detailed description tedious. Enough that Walt retired to the side of his cousins after his second cast and with them enjoyed the excit- ing scene. Two hours later the last animal was marked, branded and turned to run at will. Upon ordinary occasions, this would be the signal for breaking up and starting for home, but there was still the “Maverick” to be dis- sed of. Warren was in high feather. and, eeling assured of success, thanks to his foresight in securing Pedrillo as his champion, kept press- ing bets upon everybody alike. Jones, the other of the three rancheros, fought shy of his offers, but not so Uncle Frank. At a nod from “'alt, he accepted the wagers whenever offered, until, rendered uneasy by such cool confidence, “'arren ceased his offers and insisted upon the match taking pvlace at once. Meanwhile alt and his cousins had taken a good look at the bull. It was shut up in a cor- ral by itself, and was the icture of sullen fero- city, slowly pacing aroun the inclosure, occa- sionally giving the stout fence a vicious dicr with its orns. A huge, deep-red animal, all " bone and muscle, with a stiff, wiry mane. Its neck and shoulders bore the scars of many a desperate fight, and one horn had been splintered half—way to its base. " Do your best, Walt,” muttered his father. ‘ ‘I’ve got over five hundred dollars on the result.” “ You will be that much the richer in an hour. Pedrillo is oing to ride his black. I found that out before% gave you the signal. It is faster than my horse, but I'll win, sure!” The terms of the match were announced. The hull was to be turned loose, and given five min- utes’ law. Then, at the word, the three cham— pions were to follow. The one whose lasso first closed upon the animal was to be the victor. As the bars were lowered the bull dashed out and away, but as he cleared the crowd, his speed A HAIR-BREADTH ESCAPE. the ground, and. taken utterly by surprise, Ped- Owls do not usually stra any great distance rillo was flung over its headfiand as “ alt dashed I from the place in which t ey were born, pro- past him, a mocking laugh lled his ears. Quick : as a cat. he leaped to his feet and sprung into i the saddle, as his mustang arose. but it was only i to see the lasso of his young rival settle over the bull’s head. Ere the animal could arise, two more lassoes ‘; were fast, and then wound around its legs in such a manner as to hold it helpless until knife and branding-iron had done their work. lieve it stumbled accidentally. your signal, and vowed I’d get square." “ I’ll pay the debt, senor—and with interest!” muttered the horse-breaker, his black eyes glit- tering. the - vided they are able to obtain a sufficiency of food; nor do they suffer from the severity of the winter, the thick coat of feathers with which they are clothed being an ample protection from the storms and piercing blasts of that season. Although so quiet and dull during the day, they are in reality very active birds: and no sooner do the shades of night commence to fall than i the be 'n to bestir themselves for the evening’s “Turn about is fair lay!" muttered “'alt, in g the bucknrn’s ear. “ ou gave me a tumble 1 from that same horse, and tried to make me be- i But I caught flig t. heir wings, composed of the softest downy feathers imaginable, bear them along without a sound. and they pass before the eye, before vanishing again into the surrounding 1, gloom, like phantom sprites that reveal their ,. Sight, that Walt laughed, carelessly, but he was fated to I remember these words, at no distant day. A Hair-Breadth Escape. MANY are the species of Owls scattered over the world, from t e t Grand Duke. or Eagle Owl of Europe, to t e little creatures of other 3 lands hardly larger than sparrows Some. contrary to the generall received idea. and also contrary to the usual abits of these birds. ‘ are accustomed to seek their prey. and be much T abroad, when the sun is high in the heavens; so i that we have two classes of these animals—day and night Owls. The Polar regions possess their ‘ own peculiar s )ecies of this family, which is ap— ‘ ropriately r0 d in pure white. and so assimi- ated with the snow and ice that covers all the face of the land in those cheerless districts, that curious shape for but a sin 1e moment. Sharp- eyed too is the Owl and t ose great organs of aze with a halfblinded stare, una— ble to heart e sunlight, are bright and sparkling in the night—time, piercing the darkness. and making clear every object. Nothing, at such a time, escapes the view of the nionkish bird, as he roams alone through the moonlit aisles of the leafy woods. uttering at intervals his discordant cry, that echoes like some horrible, mocking laugh through the silent glade. At times he leaves his leafy haunts and sails over the open plain, followed by his dark shadows that mimic is every movement. With the fox he disputes the prey, and his noiseless flight is frequently more than a match for his keen-scented adver- sary, who, had be but the o portunity, would not hesitate to make a meal 0? the Owl himself. A few little rabbits are playing 11 n the glistening snow, tossing it in many a eathery ake into the air, as they gambol over its ure surface. No enemy appears near, and wit in- creasing boldness they roam away from the mouths of their underground homes. Slowly sailing over the white fields, on noiseless pinions, the great bird of the ni ht is seekin his even- ing‘s meal. Many are the stoops an curves he makes, as he investigates, in his progress, the different objects that catch his eye, to learn if they are suitable for his purpose. Over the frozen plants, each bearing on its few remaining stems a load of the fleecy snow, he comes, straightly steering toward the play-ground of the little quadrupeds who are all-unconscious of the vicinit of their foe. Like aswift cloud, his shadow f upon them, andthe afl ' hted rab- bits dash toward their homes beneat the low bank. But quick as is their speed, still more rapid is their pursuer’s flight, and poor Bunn is seized by the fur, with the hooked claw St' he strugg es on, a favoring branch at t 6 very mouth of the burrow intervenes, and as his ter— rified companion leaps over his body to gain the desired refuge, uttering a shrill cry of fear, the frightened little creature draws the bird’s leg against the branch, frees himself from the of the sharp talons, and disappears in the mouth of his wished-for haven. A prowling fox which, before the bird’s advent, had been pa- tiently waiting a favorable moment for a spring, looks suddenly it from his hiding-place, on hearing the rabbit’s piercin scream, just in time to witness its hair-breadt escape. HOW PAT WENT GUNNING. SHURE Patrick Mahan was “ a broth of a boy," His mither‘s own darlint, as well as her joy; He was not very good, nor yet very bad, But was merely mischievous, “ a wild Irish lad;" Shure he always was ready for frolic or fun, So wan da ' he tuck down the old intleman’s gun, And quiet y st‘aling out through t 8 back dure, He made for the woods.—sure he‘d been there before: He loaded his gun clane up til the muzzle, Thin tuck out a bottle an’ whisky did guzzle; He drank iverv dhrop—shure he did that same, Thin looked all around for some sort of game; Up near the tree-top perched out on a limb, Sat a little sthriped squirrel, who was looking at him. When Pat spied the squirrel he looked all around For a rest for his un, but none could be found; Pat put the butt of 's gun ’gainst his own corporosity, And thin pulled the thrigger wid great pomporosity. Bang! wint the gun and m-er wint Pat, He looked round for the sqnirrel, and shure there he sat Right in the same spot—shure that was a mi per, He appeared not much frightened, but cri “ Chip- per! chipper f” “ Chipper! chip r!“ savs Pat, is that what ye cry, When it's mesel that is hurted enough for to die? Shure it‘s a moighty foin thing to cry chipper in fun- But it‘s not chipper you‘d cry at this ind of the 91m!” An Unexpected Encounter. THE neighborhood of the t0wn of Brewster, N. Y., has long been the home of showmen. Howe’s and Van Amburg’s shows started from that locality, and thereabouts many of the ani- mals have been housed for the winter. This side of Brewster there is a point in a small stream where it runs between the veryhigh and precipitous banks. It is on property belonging to one of the circus men, and once on a time his hippopotamus becoming aged, was turned loose among other stock on the grounds. One night two men were in this creek spearing eels. They carried a lantern to guide them. In their pro gross they came into the gulch, and were ro- ceediiig through it intent on their work, w en the li ht suddenly fell full and bright upon the huge ead of the hippopotamus. The animal was sitting in the stream, its monstrous head lifted and its (3:5 blinking in the strength of the light. The vil himself sitting there could not have been one—half the shock to these men as was the hippopotamus—“ the behemoth of Holy Writ.” With extraordinary presence of mind they dropped the lantern, and each taking a bank to himself, proceeded up it at once. It wasa loose bank of 'ielding gravel and sliding clay, and there ha been a heavy rain a day or two be- fore, and the soil gave way with them at every lunge they made in their agonized endeavors to reach the top. There were no remarks of an inele ant nature made by either one. W'hat— ever 'nowledge they may have possessed in re- gard to the genus hi popotamus, or whatever theory they held on t e subject anyway, they kept to themselves, and simply devoted t e time to climbing. Every nerve, every muscle was de- voted to this. They never once looked behind. They fought their way up the steep sides with a mad fervor, but they never looked behind. Once at the top they sped across the country like the wind, tumbling over the fences, tearing through the bushes, falling down and jumping up again, but still going, going, going. In the mean time the hippopotamus, being as fully alarmed as they were, got up on its feet as soon as possible and waddled away through the gor e, its motions bein greatly stimulated b the y- in gravel and t e general novelty of t e affair. It was a very enjoyable occasmn to the eels, and one they never cease to contemplate with the liveliest satisfaction. Whether the two men ever again met we do not know, but think it hardly likely—Danbury News. Original Suggestions in Carving. IT is now a question how you want the fowl carved. If company is expected to dinner it should be carved in a way to leave the fowl to the family and the bones to the mmpany. If it is for the family alone the wishbone should be 'ven to the baby, while the head of the family sgliould take the neck and be thankful that he has been spared to live another year. A fowl carves up like clock-work if one only knows' where to be ' . As every man has his weak ints, so hat a fowl, and there is no use spend- in over half an hour looking for it when the ba ance of dinner is waiting. Some men spit on their hands before picking up the carving tools. They mi ht as well spit on t e fowl. If carved with a Enife but little preparation is needed. The carver should remove coat and vest and se- cure a firm grasp for his feet, and muscle and faith should do t e rest. There are carvers who seem to imagine that if they can get under a fowl’s wing the. question is as good as settled— for the fowl. Such carvers have not studied an— atomy, either human or animal. You might as well expect to 51:0 a woman’s tongue by break- ing one of her 11 ers. Nearly all the fowls have about sixty di erent bones in their make- up, and you have doubtless seen .many which ap- ared to be all bone. These sixtybones are the rick-work, as it were, for the remainder of the fowl to be erected on, and Nature makes no mis- takes. If you strike the right bone in carving, the whole brick-work gives way in a heap and the carving is the work of only five minutes. If you don’t you ma saw away and jump up and down and blast t e man who sold it to you as long'as the table can stand up under it. The man who takes an ax to dissect a well-cooked fowl is resorting to brute force needlessly, and instances have been known where the ax has slipped from a fond father’s asp and killed a son just returned from Yale ollege, a polished boxer and oarsman. If the fowl has been fed on hoop-iron, buck-shot, and army overcoats, a hatchet will still answer all purposes—Detroit Free Press. l1 {DA/ll)!