to something like this:
Then comes that wonderful art of counterpoint, culminating in the building of a grand and complex composition out of two little phrases, called subject and answer, which flash and frown one against the other like lightnings against a blue-black sky. The student has to learn all about form—how a symphony is constructed from the humble beginning of a simple motive like this:
Furthermore, he must study instrumentation, and learn how the small army of voices in the modern orchestra are to be used. He must know their compass, their capacity for fast performance, the notes upon which it is possible to make trills, the keys in which they stand, and, above all, the character of the writing best suited to them. And again, he must be acquainted with the history of his art, for without it he is quite ignorant of the purposes of the composers whose works he attempts to perform. What a light it throws upon the correct interpretation of Mozart to know that in his day smoothness, finish, and a singing tone were the requisites of good playing. What a valuable thing it is for the pupil to know that Mozart desired to have the passages flow like oil, and that he was opposed to all decided violations of the time. What a flood of illumination it throws on all music to know the meaning of the three great periods of musical history, polyphonic, classic, and romantic. These subjects are taught to classes by lectures and special teachers; but it is a sufficient evidence of the light-mindedness with which most pupils approach, music that not more than five per cent. of the conservatory students enter these classes. The composition classes, of course, are only for very advanced students. Indeed, in Dr. Antonin Dvoràk's composition class at the National Conservatory several well-known composers are to be found.
And what do the music students outside of their study and practice hours? You can see them by the dozen at concerts and at the opera. They are especially conspicuous at the matinée entertainments. They have a school-girlish look, coupled with an air of wisdom, and they devote great attention to pianists' hands and arms. If the student is an aspiring young vocalist, she uses her opera-glass continually. I said to one of them at an opera matinée once,
"Why do you constantly watch Madame Lehmann through your opera-glass?"
"Well," she replied, "my teacher says that I must keep my tongue flat, because all good singers do, and I'm trying to see how Madame Lehmann holds hers."
"And how does she?"
"I can't see it all; I believe she has swallowed it."
Another said to me:
"I am watching Mr. Paderewski's wrists. My teacher says I must keep my wrists up, and there he goes every few minutes and lets his drop below the key-board."
"Perhaps when you are as far advanced as Mr. Paderewski," I suggested, "your teacher will allow you to do as you please with your wrists."
It takes time and devotion to make a good musician. I know that Mr. Paderewski is in the habit of practising from four to six hours a day, in addition to the performance of his long and difficult concert programmes, in order to preserve the skill which he acquired by long and wearisome labor. Even the men who play in the orchestras spend several hours each day in practice, for fingers will grow stiff and awkward unless they are used constantly.
The training of hawks was a recognized profession in the last century. There were men who devoted their lives to it, and drew immense salaries for their labor. Louis XIII., who was devoted to this sport, and always rode out with his falconer and falcon for a hunt before going to mass in the morning, paid his trainer by the day a sum which seemed fabulous. Poor Louis XVI. did not care for the sport, and dismissed trainers and falcons from his service as an unnecessary expense.
So much time and pains were taken in the training of these birds that it was the occasion of a regular technical language, understood only by those who were versed in the art and the sport. Training the bird was called "manning it." Jesses were part of the bird's equipment, and consisted of narrow strips of strong leather fastened to its leg, by which it could be held when not on the hunt. Flat gold or silver rings called "varvels" were attached to the end of these jesses, with the owner's name and address written upon them. Bells were frequently tied to the leg of the bird, so that when it flew out of sight it could be traced by sound of the bell. To teach the bird to do what was called "jumping to the fist" was a great art, and took great time and care to accomplish. And a pretty sight it must have been—a sight quite worthy of being portrayed in Queen Matilda's embroidered tapestry—to see the bird, eager and impatient, about to spring to its master's fist. The graceful motion could not, of course, be represented in a picture, but as we imagine it, we cannot wonder that hunting with hawks was even more fascinating than hunting with hounds. And then to see it spring from the gauntleted fist into the air, and soar far away until it became a mere speck in the sky, yet never forgetting its resting-place, and returning to it after a flight of many a mile.
And this glove, or gauntlet, upon the hand of the falconer, and sometimes the monarch, was an important feature of the equipment. It was made of thick buckskin, and the royal gauntlets were wondrously adorned with gold and silver threads, and even jewels, set in forms of flowers and family crests. The bird itself often wore a helmet bedecked with plumes and jewels, to be removed, however, when it was pluming itself for flight. The call to the hawk was a spirited cry—"Yo-ho-hup—yohup—yohup"; and another, "Helover—helow—helow—helover."
When the bird was taken out and exercised, with a view to keeping him in good physical condition, as well as in thorough acquaintance with the various things taught him by his trainer, it was called "weathering."
The distance accomplished by these birds in a short time seems almost incredible, and this circumstance alone would make them a terror to their victims. Few birds could compete with the falcon. Its flight was as rapid as it was untiring, keeping always a little above the victim, and swooping down upon it in such a way as to make resistance impossible. In the air the heron itself was unable to resist his assailant, but if the two fell to the earth the heron had the advantage, and the falcon rarely escaped without losing one or both eyes. It was the eye always at which the heron aimed. A German Duke is said to have wept bitterly when his favorite falcon, falling to the earth with a heron in his talons, lost both of its eyes in the encounter which took place on the ground.
Lovers of dogs insisted that the hawk came to the "lure" only—the "lure" being the feed which constitutes a part of the training—and was never actuated by an affection for its master. But lovers of falconry declare the falcon to be capable of warm and lasting affection. A Colonel Johnson, of the Rifle Brigade, was ordered to Canada with his battalion. He had devoted much time and expense to the "manning," or training, of two falcons, and he took them with him across the Atlantic. During the voyage, after feeding them, he would fly them every day. Sometimes they sailed far out of sight, but always returned to the master. One evening, after a longer flight than usual, one of the falcons returned alone; the other, the chief favorite, was missing. Colonel Johnson made up his mind that he would never see his falcon again, but one day, after the arrival of the regiment in America, he saw a paragraph in a Halifax newspaper announcing that the captain of an American schooner had in his possession a fine hawk, which had suddenly made its appearance on board his ship during his passage from Liverpool. Colonel Johnson believed this bird to be his much-prized falcon, and obtaining leave of absence, started in pursuit of it. He went to Halifax, saw the captain of the schooner, and asked permission to see the bird. The captain refused the request, "guessed" that he would keep the bird himself, and asserted his disbelief in the Englishman's story. Colonel Johnson proposed that his claim to the ownership of the bird should be put to the test by an experiment. It was this: Colonel Johnson was to be admitted to an interview with the hawk, which had shown no partiality for any person since its arrival in the New World, and had repelled the caresses of its new owner. If at this meeting it exhibited unequivocal signs of recognition such as would convince the by-standers that Colonel Johnson was its original master, the American captain was to surrender all claim to it. Several Americans present admitted this test to be perfectly reasonable, and the captain was persuaded to acquiesce. He went up stairs, and returned with the falcon. The door was hardly opened before the bird jumped from the captain's fist and perched upon the shoulder of its long-lost master, rubbing its head against his cheek, taking hold of his buttons and champing them playfully in its beak, and evincing by every way in its power its delight and affection. The verdict was unanimous. Even the hard-hearted captain relented, and the falcon was restored to its rightful owner.
From instantaneous Photographs taken of W. O. Hickok, Inter-collegiate Champion.
Although putting the shot and throwing the hammer are events usually performed by the same man in an athletic competition, it is a fact, nevertheless, that the two things do not go well together. The hammer develops the pulling muscles in the back and arms, while the shot, on the other hand, develops the pushing muscles.
At one time Hickok, the present inter-collegiate champion, devoted himself exclusively to the shot, and soon got himself into such form that he could put 45 feet at any trial. Then he started in to practise with the hammer, and found his best throw measured only 110 feet—his best former record being one hundred and forty odd. He kept on systematically working then at both weights, but he soon noticed that the shot went down as the hammer went up, so that in a month he could scarcely do 40 feet. At the next inter-collegiate contest he put the shot 44 feet, which he considered a lucky performance—and it was—although before training for the hammer event for the same contest he had put over 45 feet.
To become successful in this event requires long and persistent work, just as in hammer-throwing. Shot-putting is a great science to develop, and it usually takes several years before an athlete can really become proficient in the event. The beginner must first strengthen his arms, giving particular attention to the development of the triceps and deltoids. This is best accomplished by work on the parallel bars, and by pounding a bag, as in boxing. The latter exercise cultivates swiftness. Sprinting is also an important exercise for a shot-putter, for it teaches him to be quick and light on his feet—a most important feature of the general preparation.
In addition to these things he should, of course, constantly work at putting the shot—in the gymnasium in winter, and on the field in the open-weather months. Let me say right here to the beginner, always use a 16-lb. shot. Shun a 12-lb. shot as you would a shuttle-cock. If you feel you are not strong enough to use the regulation weight, do not under any consideration go into training for the event. Wait until you are strong enough. There is plenty of time. The shot is an event that only strong and well-developed young men should indulge in—and if you feel you are not strong enough to handle sixteen pounds, you had better devote your energies to some other branch of athletics. The man who works with a 12-lb. shot is like the boy who prepared for entering the cavalry by riding assiduously on merry-go-rounds. In other words, practice with a lighter weight is a waste of time; you will have to learn all over again when you take up the regulation 16-lb. shot.
The shot is put from a seven-foot circle, along four feet of the circumference of which is placed a board four inches high. This is the so-called front of the circle, and the put is measured from this board to the nearest mark made in the ground by the shot. A fair put is one that has been made without any part of the competitor's body having touched in front of the circle or on the board before the measurement is made. A put is counted a foul if the competitor steps over the front half of the circle or on the board before the measurement of his put has been made—and the foul counts as a trial. Therefore be sure to remain in the circle until the field judge has measured and registered your put.
The careful athlete will always spare his right arm as much as he can. For instance, when he picks up the shot he will hold it in his left hand, and he will do the same while he steps into the circle and gets his footing. After this has been secured he will roll the shot over into his right palm—as shown in illustration No. 3 on the opposite page—and then he is ready to start.
Assuming as easy a position as possible, let the shot be well balanced in the right hand. Do not grip it tightly. In starting off, as shown in the fourth illustration, place the whole weight of the body upon the right leg, holding your left arm forward as a balance. Then take a quick hop with the right leg, all the time keeping the shot as near the shoulder as possible. Upon alighting after the hop, touch your left foot to the ground—and it ought to fall very close to the board rim. This is the position shown in the sixth illustration. The seventh shows the next movement, which is the transposition of the feet.
The correct attitude for getting across the circle on this hop is crouching. Then, as soon as your left foot touches ground, you bring it swiftly backward, throwing the entire right side of the body forward; and you turn half around, so that the right shoulder will be in the exact direction in which the shot is to be put. After the impetus upward has been given by the legs and body, shoot the arm outward with all the force at your command, the motion being just such a one as you would make with the clinched fist against the sparring-bag. This motion—the change of feet, the lift, the turn, the thrust—is a very rapid one, but the photographs illustrate it very well in the last two pictures of the series. Furthermore, this movement must be perfectly uniform from beginning to end, with no jerks and hitches; but it takes long practice to acquire a perfect smoothness.
The shot must be allowed to leave the hand easily, and the forward effort of the put must be so regulated that the equilibrium of the performer will be maintained. The perfect performer allows his body to bend forward just to that point where, should he go half an inch further, he would be forced to step out of the ring.
The beginner should practise with the shot for a good period every-day. He should work until he begins to feel tired, but after he has become master of the event—say in a year or so—he need practise but two or three times a week, and he will find that his form and powers are thus best retained.
In England the university athletes put the shot from a ten-foot square instead of a seven-foot circle. This gives them a certain advantage over American athletes, for they get a longer run, and thus more speed, and hence a greater momentum at the end. Hickok can put the shot from two to three feet farther from a ten-foot square than he can from a seven-foot circle, and with practice he believes that he could do even better. If an unlimited run, or series of hops, were allowed, the record for putting the shot would certainly be much greater than it is at present; but there is no doubt that the average form of athletes who take part in this event would be very much lower than it is now with the present scientific restrictions.
The first important indoor games of the season were held on Saturday, February 8th, in the Eighth Battalion Armory by the Barnard School. There were ten events on the programme, all of which were open, and a cup was offered to the visiting school winning the greatest number of points. This trophy went to Berkeley, who took two firsts and one second, and still, no doubt, retained something up her sleeve.
The Barnard team captured six firsts and two seconds, and showed that there is plenty of strong material in the school from which to develop a promising team for out-door work in the spring. All the events were interesting to watch, there being no handicaps, and the junior races were especially good, being rather more "for blood," perhaps, than the others, and being always a better field for surprises, as new material of an unknown quantity is continually appearing there.
Four records were broken, and the little fellows did most of the figure-smashing. W. S. Hipple, who made such a good showing against Kilpatrick last fall, defeated Irwin-Martin in the quarter-mile run, and then lowered the half-mile in-door record, made by Martin two years ago, from 2 m. 14-2/5 sec. to 2 m. 5 sec.! The time of the man who finished second to Hipple was 2 m. 19-4/5 sec. Beldford lowered the record for the mile. He took the lead from the start, but had a sharp tussle with Manuel of Pingry's toward the end, beating him in by only a few yards in 4 m. 54-2/5 sec.
Moore ran the first heat of the 60-yard dash in 7 seconds, and repeated his performance when he won in the finals. He took another first in the 220, which was the only sprint run without heats. His time in this was 26-1/5 seconds, with Goetting of Brooklyn High second. The in-door scholastic record for the Junior 60-yard dash was made by Moeller, Columbia Grammar, in 1893, 7-2/5 seconds. At this Barnard meeting, Wilson, Leech, Hewitt, Armstead, and Tebyrica each won his heat in 7-1/5 seconds, but Armstead came home first in the finals in 7-2/5 seconds. The record for the Junior 220-yard dash went down likewise. The old mark was 28 seconds, made by Wilson last year. Wilson ran his first heat this year in 27-2/5 seconds, Millard got the next in 27-3/5 seconds, and Wilson took the final in 26-4/5 seconds.
The high-jump mark only got up to 5 feet 6 inches, where Pell and Brown tied. The hurdles looked like an easy thing for Beers, but in the final heat he had a hot tussle with Herrick and Harris, winning on a close margin. On account of a claimed foul the two latter had to race over again, and Herrick won in 8-1/5 seconds. Beers had cleared the distance in 8 seconds.
The summary of points made follows:
| Name. | Firsts. | Seconds. | Thirds. | Total. |
| Barnard | 6 | 2 | .. | 36 |
| Berkeley | 2 | 1 | .. | 13 |
| Brooklyn High | .. | 2 | 1 | 7 |
| Stevens Prep | 1 | .. | .. | 5 |
| De La Salle | 1 | .. | .. | 5 |
| Cutler | .. | 1 | 1 | 4 |
| Colombia Grammar | .. | 1 | 1 | 4 |
| Pingry | .. | 1 | 1 | 4 |
| Adelphi | .. | 1 | .. | 3 |
| Trinity | .. | 1 | .. | 3 |
| Oxford | .. | .. | 2 | 2 |
| Alling's Art | .. | .. | 1 | 1 |
| Drisler | .. | .. | 1 | 1 |
| Dwight | .. | .. | 1 | 1 |
At the meeting of the Long Island I.S.A.A. last week the protest entered by Brooklyn High against Adelphi as a result of the League game of handball, played between them the previous week, was decided. The protest grew out of one of those inexplicable misunderstandings about rules which seem to crop up every now and then in all kinds of sport. In this case the High-school claimed the game on points, while Adelphi wanted the game on actual wins, which were 5 out of 7, the points being 133 to 131 in favor of High-school. According to the Y.M.C.A. rules, which were adopted by the League, Adelphi won; but both captains were ignorant of the rules, and agreed on playing for points. Before the game was well advanced Captain Forney of Adelphi found out his mistake, and declared he was playing for games won.
The decision reached was the most natural and logical one. It was found that both teams had violated the rules equally by agreeing to play for points, and the game was awarded to Adelphi, because that team had won in accordance with the Y.M.C.A., and consequently the L.I.I.S.A.A., rules. This case is somewhat similar to the one which cropped up on the football field last fall in this same Brooklyn League. It looks as though the captains did not keep very well posted on the rules. And yet one of the first things a captain should do is to know these by heart. Talk with the captain of a Yale or a Harvard university team, and there is not a question of the most intricate nature covered by the rules of his game that you can corner him on. It ought to be the same way with school captains. Slipshod knowledge is worth nothing; absolute familiarity with the law is vital.
The Long Island League has decided to hold annual in-door games henceforth, and the first ones will be given in the new Fourteenth Regiment Armory, Brooklyn, on Saturday, the 29th. The following events will be open to members from any school that is a member of the National Interscholastic Association: 75-yard dash, 75-yard dash (boys under sixteen), 220-yard dash, 440-yard dash, 880-yard dash, 1-mile run, putting 12-pound shot, running high jump, pole vault, and 75-yard hurdle. The rules governing entries and competition will be those of the Long Island Association and of the A.A.A. Entries close February 22d with H. O. Pratt, 232 Clinton Avenue, Brooklyn.
The convention of New Jersey schools, held in Plainfield last week, resulted in the formation of a New Jersey Interscholastic A. A. Its members are Plainfield High-school; Newark Academy; Pingry's School, of Elizabeth; Stevens Preparatory School, of Hoboken: Rutgers Preparatory School, of New Brunswick; and the Montclair High-school. It was decided that each school shall hold an athletic meeting every year. The State athletic meet will be held on the first Saturday in June, and the annual meeting of the association will take place on the same day. The association will control track athletics, baseball, football, and cricket.
It is encouraging to see so many associations starting up in various parts of the country, and I cannot but feel that the formation of the National Association has had much to do with it. The schools have realized what a great advantage it will be to have an established and recognized standard, and a central and controlling body; and knowing that the only way for them to become members of such a central or parent body is to first form an association, the result has been the organization of interscholastic leagues in many sections where hitherto there had been only a desultory sort of interest and activity in track athletics.
Another new association recently established is the Hudson River Interscholastic League. It is composed of the Mohegan Lake School, of Peekskill; Riverview Academy, of Poughkeepsie; and Holbrook's, of Sing Sing. Doubtless before long the many other institutions in the towns along the Hudson will see the advantage of belonging to an association, and will apply for admission. It looks now as if by the time the officers of the National Association get ready to make their announcement of the spring games there will be more than double the number of associations to answer the call than there was a year ago at this same period.
The ice-polo season has been a most successful one in Boston this year, and many of the games have proved exciting and close. Lack of space has prevented our giving any detailed account of the matches in this Department, but I hope to be able to publish the result of the winter's work and the scores of the League games, for the sake of the record, as soon as the finals have been settled.
The suggestion made by Professor Atewell, of the Columbia Grammar School, to hold an interscholastic gymnasium contest is an excellent one, and one that this Department heartily endorses. Such a contest has many advantages over an in-door track-athletic meeting, and now that most of the schools in the city are provided with gymnasiums, it would seem an easy matter to arrange one. Trinity School, at present, seems to take the greatest interest in gymnasium work of any school in the city. By gymnasium work I do not mean exercise in the gymnasium preparatory for track athletics. I mean work on the rings, bars, etc., and calisthenics.
The Graduate.
Any questions in regard to photograph matters will be willingly answered by the Editor of this column, and we should be glad to hear from any of our club who can make helpful suggestions.
To make violet tones the paper is first sensitized in the same way described for making red prints. Make a solution of 96 grs. of nitrate of uranium and 4 oz. of water. Put this solution in a shallow tray, such as is used for toning, and float the prepared photographic paper on this for twenty seconds; drain carefully, and pin up to dry in a dark room. If dried by artificial heat the paper is made more sensitive and prints more quickly.
As soon as the paper is dry wrap it in post-office paper, and then in black needle-paper—such as sensitive papers are wrapped in—and lay it away in a drawer or covered box till wanted. This paper may be prepared several days before using, but should not be kept too long.
To print, place in the printing-frame and expose to light. If the negative is thin, three minutes in bright sunlight or one hour in the shade or a very dull day will be necessary for printing, and if a strong negative, ten minutes in bright sunlight or two hours in the shade will be necessary.
Have ready prepared a solution of 8 grs. of chloride of gold and 4 oz. of water. As soon as the print is taken from the frame wash it for twenty-five or thirty seconds in hot water (120° Fahr.), and place face up in a toning-tray, and flood the print with the chloride-of-gold solution. The print does not show when it is taken from the frame, but is developed with the chloride-of-gold solution. When the detail is well out, and the color a rich violet, take from the tray and wash in running water or in several changes of water, till none of the coloring matter shows in the water. Pin by the corners on a flat board, and set the board in an upright position till the prints are dry.
These violet prints are very attractive for certain kinds of work. Flower studies, especially those of single flowers, make novel prints. A set of four different colored prints might be made and used as decorations for a calendar. Mount the prints on square sheets of heavy drawing or Bristol board, and on each sheet place a three months' calendar. These calendars may be obtained at any stationery-store. The cards may be further decorated by tracing fine gilt lines round the picture and calendar leaves. An appropriate motto may also be added to each sheet.
Of course the first of the year has already passed, and it may seem out of season for suggestions as to making calendars, but one of the prettiest birthday gifts to a friend is a calendar beginning with the day of the month which marks his or her birthday. Such a calendar is very convenient, for it laps over into the coming year, which is sometimes a great advantage. Instead of mounting the prints directly on the card, an opening may be cut in the card and the picture placed behind it, as described in "Tinted Papers," No. 1. If this is done, a thinner piece of card-board should be pasted on the back, not only as a finish, but as a protection to the picture.
Blue prints may be toned to a dark violet by first printing, washing them in clear water, and then flowing them with a solution of 1 part potassium hydrate in 300 parts of water, and again with a solution of 4½ oz. of alcohol (90 per cent.), 7½ oz. distilled water, 1 oz. gallic acid. This gives the prints a dark purple or violet color, not so pleasing as that made by the process just given, but, if not printed a too deep blue in the first place, look very well.
Tinted papers—with the exception of carbon papers and blue prints—are not found in the market, but must be prepared by the amateur.
Mr. Emil Dæche, Patron, of Jersey City, New Jersey, gives the formula which he uses for toning aristo paper whereby he obtains fine chocolate tones, and asks if prints made by this process will be permanent. The prints, if well washed, ought to be permanent, and not turn yellow. The reason why prints turn yellow after having been made some time is not so much the toning process as the fault of the paper. Aristo prints are not as permanent as albumen, bromide, or platinotype prints, or even those made on plain salted paper. Improvements are being made in aristo papers, and they are now of much better keeping quality than those first put on the market. If Mr. Dæche will kindly send a more detailed account of the process which he uses, we should be glad to publish it for the benefit of the members of the Camera Club.
D. & J. Anderson's Zephyrs,
Chene and Persian Effects,
Silk Mixtures,
Stripes, Checks, and Plaids.
French Piqué,
Printed Dimity,
White Emb'd Nainsook.
Frères Koechlin's Organdies.
you haven't seen it if you say it's like any other.
The CUPID Hair Pin never slips out.
It's in the TWIST.
HARPER'S CATALOGUE thoroughly revised, classified, and indexed, will be sent by mail to any address on receipt of ten cents.
This Department is conducted in the interest of Bicyclers, and the Editor will be pleased to answer any question on the subject. Our maps and tours contain much valuable data kindly supplied from the official maps and road-books of the League of American Wheelmen. Recognizing the value of the work being done by the L. A. W., the Editor will be pleased to furnish subscribers with membership blanks and information so far as possible.
It is practically impossible in this Department to give satisfactory answers to inquiries in bicycle matters. The questions are in many cases so similar, and yet just different enough to require separate answers, that it would require a good portion of this periodical to answer them. For example, many inquiries are received as to the best route from some town or city in one State to another town or city in an adjoining State. Of course these letters require separate answers in each case, which would be impossible. It is, however, quite possible to give here some general information as to the best methods of finding out such answers, each man for himself. In the first place, it is wiser in the end to join the L. A. W. You pay $2 per year for membership, which brings you free the road-book of your State, if there is one, and the L. A. W. Bulletin and Good Roads—a periodical that, among other things of value, gives you all the addresses, up to date, of consuls, chief consuls, and other State and central officers of the League. From these men all such information can be obtained. If you do not belong to the L. A. W., you have to pay $1.50 for the road-book and $2 for the Bulletin, which is the only paper in which you can find all the officers and consuls of the United States. The question then presenting itself to you, How can I ride best from A in Pennsylvania to B in Ohio? your course in seeking information is clear. Write to the chief consul of Pennsylvania and the chief consul of Ohio—whose addresses are in the Bulletin—and ask each to send you the road-book of his State. You will receive the Pennsylvania book free if you live in Pennsylvania yourself, but you must, of course, pay for the Ohio book. Having obtained these road-books, or book of maps, or tour-books (for each State has a different plan in getting up its books), pick out A, Pennsylvania, and B, Ohio, on the maps of each book, and then follow the routes on the maps which lead to some common point on the border. Here, then, is your trip marked out carefully, well described, and in a form that you can carry with you—and all at a cost of $3.50. If either State happens to have no road-book of any kind, write to the chief consul, tell him your proposed plan, and he will be glad to answer your questions to the best of his ability. If there is no chief consul, then that State is indeed benighted and behind the times—at least from a wheelman's point of view.
Another general set of questions which can be classified in an indefinite sort of way is the set which refers to training for long distances or short distances either for racing or for pleasure trips. General rules here can be laid down for training. In fact, the Interscholastic Sport Department is constantly giving suggestions in training for one particular event or another. Bicycle-training is practically the same as the preparation gone through by a man who is to run in the longer distances. Of course the principal part of the work is wheeling constantly day after day for certain distances, depending on the event for which we are training, gradually increasing speed or distance as the event is a short distance or a long tour. Muscular development and lung-power are required, and these must be practised by constant gymnasium work. Running slowly on the toes, rising and falling on one leg and then on the other many times, rising on the toes and falling back slowly on the heels two or three or four hundred times in succession without bending the knees—these exercise the proper leg muscles. But when the lungs and heart come into the question more care should be taken. Many strong men find that while their lungs and heart are vigorous for ordinary games, bicycling puts too great a strain on both, especially the latter. For instance, after riding steadily up hill and down hill for twenty miles at fifteen miles an hour, you begin to feel a stricture across the chest, you have that peculiar sensation as if you were tasting blood, and it is impossible to take a long satisfying breath which seems to "go" beyond a certain point down into your lungs. When these facts become noticeable, especially if you are not in the best of training, it is well to dismount and walk a little by your wheel, until you can mount again and ride with the mouth closed and the air entering your lungs through the nostrils. In fact, all riding should stop when the wheelman cannot breathe most of the time through his nose; otherwise the lungs are overtaxed, which may do no harm in occasional instances, but will in the end, if kept up, be injurious.
Wandering through the Italian quarter of New York lately, I came across a copy of Dante's Inferno. It was bound in very thick covers, and in looking it over a few days ago, I was much surprised to find a sort of pocket, partially disguised, in the under cover. It contained some sheets of manuscript written in a fine Italian hand. I had the manuscript translated, and found that it was a sort of diary of a young lad whose whole life must have been wrapped up in violins, for the records of his day-book are liberally interspersed with memorandums on that instrument. After reading the pages through, I found a little story among them, and for its curious interest, I give it herewith.
It seems the boy's family was of noble origin, and had grand designs for the future of their son, whose name was Paolo. Paolo, however, was averse to their ideas, as his only desire was violins, either to make them or play them, and ofttimes, in defiance of his father's orders, he would steal into a distant part of the house, and indulge in his love of playing. This had happened so frequently, and Paolo was fast growing to be a manly fellow, that his father rebuked him very strongly one day. He touched the sensitive chords of the musician's soul too much, and Paolo responded with hot words that led to his father's banishing him forever from the house.
Paolo went forth with his valuable violin, his one friend, as he thought, and passed on from town to town, city to city, playing for his living. He changed his name, and as time went by, his father, who sat brooding in sadness over his hasty action, never recognized in the name of a new brilliant maestro his banished son. A violin hung in front of his chair in the large hall, and he was accustomed to sitting there before it and dreaming of Paolo. One day, as the light of the afternoon was fast waning, he sat with eyes wandering over the instrument. Suddenly, almost like fairy music, the low sweet melody of a favorite piece of Paolo's came from the violin. He started back, fearing that he was mad; but no, the music was certainly coming from the violin. What could it mean? He seized it, and the moment he did so the music stopped. He dropped down in his chair again, and waited. Softly the strains came from the strings, and with a cry of grief the father called aloud for his son, only to hear a voice, and, turning, he found Paolo standing before him with outstretched arms. They were reconciled at last.
Paolo accounted for the wonderful music by leading his father to the other end of the hall and pointing to a small alcove behind a pillar, explained that everything spoken or played in that spot would cast the sound directly over to where the violin hung, and that as a boy he had discovered the wonderful echo, and experimented with it more than once. He had driven the nail in the wall years ago, and when he entered the hall upon his return, and saw his father sitting there before the violin, he resolved to try his love by use of that boyish experiment.
It would be hard to credit this story, were it not for the fact that such an echo is one of the show-cards of the guides in the Capitol at Washington, and several others are more or less famous through the world.
Hubert Earl.
This Department is conducted in the interest of Girls and Young Women, and the Editor will be pleased to answer any question on the subject so far as possible. Correspondents should address Editor.
I have been putting in order my top drawer. Do you keep yours in perfect order, girls? I have the greatest respect for you if you do. Mine gives me more trouble than I can begin to tell you about. However, if you could peep into it this morning you would admire it as much as I do, what with the boxes all closed, and the gloves smoothed out and laid lengthwise, and the handkerchiefs in small white piles, and the veils folded, and everything else spick and span, and beautiful to see! It will stay so, too—at least I hope it will—for at least a fortnight, that wonderful upper bureau drawer into which so many things go, and out of which so many things come. I'm afraid, though, that one of these days when I'm hurrying to catch a train, or somebody is waiting to speak to me, I'll dive down among the laces and boxes and gloves and cards and handkerchiefs, upsetting this and overturning that, and woe is me! the top drawer will be in a whirl of confusion once more. When I was a little girl I shared a drawer with my sister, who had a great deal of system and a natural talent for arrangement and compactness which I did not have, and therefore had to cultivate. We divided our territories by a pasteboard fence, and on her side there were always beauty and peace and harmony; a place for everything, and everything in its place. But I would rather not tell you very much about my side. I used to have clearing-up days then, and I have them still.
Now don't imagine for a moment that I began this talk just to let you know that I often have to fight against an inclination to be a little bit disorderly in my arrangement of my various things. I had something else in view. We are many-sided beings, you and I, and our top drawers are not the only parts of our belongings which are now and then the better for being gone over and straightened out and set right. Think about it, girls. Can you not, looking back across the last month, or the last week, or even over this very last hour, see that in something you did or said or thought you were mistaken, you were not quite unselfish, or you had not the fair point of view? Aren't you often sorry, after a hasty word, that you had not waited before you spoke? And, again, are there not times when you did not speak out bravely and strongly in defence of an absent friend? Clearing-up seasons are good for the soul, and one's mind and heart are the better for the taking one's top drawer in hand—one's top drawer where she does not keep ribbons and roses and belts and buckles only, but fancies and resolves and notions and dispositions and prejudices.
Speaking of clearings up, there are moods when we are frank and open with ourselves, and when we confess that we are not so sweet and amiable as we might be. Perhaps we are not so just as we might be. What fusses and frictions are caused by the sort of temper in the top drawer that explodes like a fire-cracker the instant a match of irritation comes within touching distance! What a disagreeable thing a certain sort of smile is, the hateful smile that comes out of the top drawer where vanity and jealousy lurk! When we are about it, we might as well, in our clearing up, burn and get rid of the bad tempers, the crossness, and the suspiciousness which help to make us and others wretched. To be happy ourselves and to make others happy should be our constant aim and effort. Above everything else, do not let us be contrary, like little Miss Mary in Mother Goose. Many people are so, and they make others very unhappy.
There is one little corner of the top drawer which is more important than any other. It ought to be labelled "Conscience." Here we should be careful that we never leave a single thing in confusion. Where we are in doubt whether an action is right or wrong we must settle it by the light of conscience, and our decision will be influenced by our general habits of thinking and doing, and by our every-day habit of asking our Heavenly Father's guidance for each hour of life.
Muriel.—Your letter interested me very much, and I will soon devote one of these talks to the subject you speak of so sensibly.
Anne T.—Why worry about your height? It is beautiful to be tall, if you carry yourself gracefully, head up, shoulders back, as a tall girl ought.
Louise S. M.—If you are tired of story-books, try biography. Have you read Miss Edgeworth's life, or that of Miss Alcott? Or take up a course of English history.