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Boys, whatever you may do,
Play the game.
Though your triumpks may be few,
Rather lose than not be true:
Though the rules may worry you,
Play the game.
Boys, wherever you mav go,
Play the game.
Let your friends and comrades know
That to cheat is base and low;
Scorn to strike a coward blow—
Play the game.
If you win or if you lose,
Play the game.
Never mind a scratch or bruise |
Or a tumble, but refuse
Sneaking trick or paltry ruse— t
Play the game.
Football, cricket, bat or ball—
Play the game. |
Though you stand or though you fall, |
Life has one emphatic call, !
One great rule surpasses all—
Play the game.
Soin years of toil and care |
|
:
:
Let your deeds be true and fair,
Honest, fearless, straight and square,
Never mind a loss, but dare
Play the game.
Jeary lig passed. Man thousands of
birds, and insects
stincts. It was a seduction planned by an
exquisite, yet ironic, fate.
It chanced one morning as he sat alone
in his camp, his two native helpers being
at a distance—it chanced that a rustling
in the brakes attracted his attention. He
ran toward the thickets and there saw a
huge boa-constrictor swallowing a small
srison bird. Dr. Lestarte lar flew to
modern repeating-pistol, but the snake, |
having §ngorged the bird, merely stretch-
ed itself fixed its bleak and feline |
eyes upon him. ificent lay its length |
of brownish green, with sharp ge-
ometrical designs, brilliant lozenges and
triangles. The glossy, tapering body was
bent into the curve of a perfect ogee.
It was one of the rarest of the species
of the boa; it was the verysame prophet-
ic serpent once worshipped by the ancient
peoples of Central America, the inspired
snake that whispered awful mysteries to
the priests. Dr. Lessart had never seen
a live Boa divinologuax, but he knew its
markings well. Ere he had left German
an offer had been made him by a rich
vate collector of Berlin for just such a
—five hundred marks for every metre
of the snake's length if brought to Ger-
many alive.
Lessart’s hand fell from his pistol. He
turned and ran for his three-looped lariat
which he had learned to throw with won-
derful skill. As he again a ached the
Spot where he had seen the Pr the rep-
le begun to creep away. He saw its tap-
ering, glistening body writhing in long
and sinuous curves through the under-
brush of the forest. The scientist plunged
after it, flanking it on one side, then on
the other, whenever an opening offered in
the brakes and ferns. He hoped the
snake would coil about a tree or make
for some open spot where he might rope
it. Now he tracked it by the eye, now by
the ear. Once the snake halted amidst a
mass of colossal ferns and lifted its pointed
head starred with its baleful sparkling
eyes. The two glowered at each other
for a moment, then the boa went winding
on. The zest of the chase, the price at
stake and the enthusiasm of the scientist
drove Lessart on. The path of the snake
lay almost in a straight line, as though he
were making for some goal. Thus for
two hours e man pursued the fleeing
n
t last the forest thinned into a clear-
of low shrubs and Toward
Is the serpent glided swiftly.
Here,” said the man to himself—"here
I must master divinologuax—or else good-
by to him!”
Lessart heard a peculiar call as he rush-
ed forth between the trees of the jungle.
In the centre of the clearing there stood
a tall young native woman, her black
smouldering eyes bent in his direction, a
look of alarmed defiance upen her face,
her attitude aggressive and alert. The
gigantic snake was winding itself about
her shapely body lik ine | the
pely body like some thick vine like some forest goddess, a theme for po- they
about a slender tree. It rested its oblong
head upon her bare brown shoulder. The
woman stroked it softly and murmured to
it. The look she levelled at the doctor as
he advanced was cold and haughty; she
frowned at the lariat he carried in his
hand. The eyes of the snake glittered
like frosty crystals, beaming with a pallid
fire, waxing and waning. It was as if a
myriad needles of light from those
small eyes. Dr. Lessart had mastered the
native tongue. In these words he ke
the superb and native Diana before him:
“I greet you, maiden. I followed the
snake, for I thought it wild. How could
} lyioy you were its mistress? It is a
beautiful snake and I would buy it for
what you may ask.”
This young native woman was comely
a greceful Her shadowy features were
lar and fine. A simple stateliness
was in her upright ca her expres-
sion was grave, her voice low and meas-
ured—modulated to the note and hush of
the forest. The tall and stalwart doctor
with his brown curls, tawny beard and
clear blue eyes she thus, as he
Seed before her in his garments of white
“"Ovada has known Xingu since he was
very young. My father was chief of our
tribe; my father gave him to me. I have
fed him with my own hands. Therefore
he is my comrade and my brother and
dwells with me.”
tis well," said the German, siiling
Yery pleasantly. “He is a very beau
I long to own him. I will not
harm him, but him alive. He shall
he Well ended 2 3c. I will make :
ment, n aught you may
have gold at my camp and the richest
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vanished a circle
Thence in a moments she
bearing a gourd that brim-
med with the clearest water. The snake
was no longer with her. The naturalist
drained the cup and thanked her. Then
i
5
:
“May peace be with you, Ovada, daugh-
ter of a chief.” :
He entered the jungle again and bent
i the camp. But he had
coming, for
| his eyes had been bent upon the thin trail
of
the great serpent. He shaped his di- |
rection by the sun, which was soon to set.
At times he caught a of his crim-
son face between the Panging drap- |
eries and snarled of forest. .
Many barriers of tion arose
in here stretches |
of water and lagoons forced him to finda
around them. Soon it dusky
a 2h Jight of the ungle dark-
of the twi-
he stood his whole |
a helpless bewilder- |
: Se was lost Yet he was
disturbed but li scarcely shaken out
of his pensiveness. The face of the hand-'
SUime tative woah was still before him,
the corruscal eyes Strange |
consort, Xingu. Lessart stood still in ;
darkness, thinking less of his pight than '
0 m. !
The broken plots of sky between the |
i
rats fronds grew dark and brought
between the deeper and lesser . |
between tree-trunks, intertwined ten-
and thorny brush, he
At length he stood once
space in
which he had met with that after-
noon. |
He gazed about him in silence for a]
moment, then called her name. He called |
it in a voice that surprised himself. Even
so he had been wont to call another wom-
an’s name in a quaint Old World garden
in which there pof the
heathen priest Laocoon and sons in
the toils of the avenging serpents. This
copy of the great classic masterpiece was
covered with fallen leaves and moss; it
stood before an ancient stone house in a
sleepy, idyllic, arch-ducal town of Ger-
many. Now appeared. She came
to meet him; some strange haste in his
heart forced him to hurry toward her.
“I am lost, Ovada,” said he. “I have |
wandered in a ring. May i find food and
shelter here for the night?” .
She smiled and replied, “Ovada is glad
to serve."
She led the way toward her hut, half-
hidden in its enclosure of trees. She lit
a splint of dry wood at the embers of a
fire which lay curbed within stones. She
spread a mat upon the ground and bade
him be seated. Then she brought a fish,
covered it with a paste of ered meal
and baked it in thecoals. This made his
supper, this, with fruits, cocoa and the
milk of cocoanuts. Silently she sat be-
side him and seemed pleased to watch
him still his hunger. Out of the shades
beyond the fire two sharp and shifting
eyes peered upon them from the crotch
of a small dead tree. They were the eyes
of Xingu. His great length festooned it- |
self upon the white and sapless branches
rubbed smooth with the passage of his
coils. When Dr. Lessart had done with
eating, and the fire began to fail, Ovada
arose and went into her hut of cane and
interwoven thatch. She emerged with a |
large flat basket of dried grass. Then she
Jronped at the base of the dead tree, and,
lo! the snake descended and coiled itself |
i
round upon round within his bed.
“Ovada and Xingu will sleep in the open
Sonigh t,” said she, “and you shall have
's couch."
He refused it straightly, saying he
would sleep under the stars by the fire.
But this seemed to displease her, so he
ave way and went into the hut to lie
gon a low settle covered with a
soft aromatic grass. Beyond the
saved curtain of thelow guirance the fire
still spread a glow of sinking
about him the teeming and endless night
life of the forest—bird, beast and insect—
made itself heard as if from another
world. Fitfully, rising and falling, now
dark and now alight, like fireflies in the
woods, his thoughts flew about the beau-
tiful brown woman and the ominous
green serpent.
Wonder and mystery
twain. She was like some wild Lilith, he
said to himself, or like some maiden Eve
dwelling in her secluded with
great primal enemy. She was also
etry and ro
who
him and led his feet to err in the mazes
of the jungle. So ran his stirred and col-
ored fancy. He gave no thought to his
own camp upon the banks of Guru-
puy, nor to the two Brazilians who would
find him missing. His scholarly mind,
his disciplined soul, became peopled with
strange and goblin thoughts, mingled
monstrously with what was human and
what was bestial. The earth-ball revolved
about him. He saw the face of Europe
in the moonlight, in particular a weedy
garden with the mouldy statue of Lao-
coon, then into the circle of his vision
swam the shadowy jumgle-bower with
this Indian nymph and her terrible com-
rade the sacred Boa divinologuax. Long-
forgotten incidents dressed themselves
again as memories, ancient ghosts floated
through his brain,.and desires and
fears he thought long awoke in
every nerve and fibre like the tiny and
rapacious life of the forest at night.
Never had he felt so close to the majestic
and terrifying inwardness of Nature. She
seemed to incarnated in i mystic
world,
mal pair.
Little he slept that night.
ing Orvada led him
'in that
invested this | other”
mance, some
had woven her black spells about | Hand
spoke the while her fingers stroked the
head of the sl Xingu, his solid and
| scaly spirals close in his basket of
the itive chiefs and go dwell
once more with your people.”
“No," was her reply; “though I do not
always live here, yet I shall always live
alone—with Xingu—until I die."
“It is in truth very pleasant here, Ova-
da,” said Lessart, looking about him, “but
| he bade her farewell, saying with a gra- it is very lonely and also full of danger.
cious smile. {1
am a man and have two men with me,
and yet there is a great loneliness in my
t I have Xingu," said Ovada. Then
suddenly her eyes fell, the while a flush
arose in the ta cheeks, driven there
by something in bright blue orbs of
this white, noble-featured stranger. After
a while she said,
“White man, you likewise must be of
the blood of chiefs in your own land.”
He bent toward her, Smiling, and said,
“Why do you say that, Ovada ?"
She made no answer, but the red stain
in her cheeks deepened, and when she
raised her eyes they were filled with a
wistful shyness. Again he leaned forward
and touched her hand and asked her the
question. She answered at last that it
was because he had abeautiful beard like
the kings of his race. The id snake
now roused himself, and his long flat head
was reared a full yard above his firm,
com coils.
the German, shaking off his per-
ilous and insidious emotion, rose and
to depart. Ovada walked by
side for a long way to show him the
proper path back to his camp. She
nted out odd trees or misshapen
ches, large stones and other stones
“whereby he might know this way again.”
Finally she halted; they bade each other
farewell once again; he kissed her hand
with great ceremony. Then he set his
face to the north, she hers to the south.
At a certain distance he turned and saw
her watching him from between the trees.
For a moment he paused, then went on,
slowly pondering, ng at every step
some invisible chain that tugged at his
feet like the prickly vines that lay upon
the ground. When less than a mile from
his camp, he suddenly felt in his pocket |
{ and burst into an exclamation. He had
left his wallet in Ovada’s hut. In this wal- | tl
let there were things that were very pre-
cious. These were letters written by one
who dwelt in the crusting stone house
half buried in the negl garden with
the ruinous marble of the Laocoon group,
one who had waited very long for him,
| like the pale princess sleeping in the en-
chanted wood. He turned at once toward
the south and hurried back to the place
where Ovada made her home.
The thought of her loneliness came
over him in, of her loveliness likewise,
and her wild, yet regal, womanhood. It
was very pleasant in her little bower, with
its air of sylvan peace and Edenic domes-
ticity. Fair was Ovada, and young; she
‘was savage, but nobly sauvage; her cook-
ing and her ministrations were grateful
unto him. There was yet a whole year
for him to in this reeking wilder-
ness ere he served the full time of
his commission. Then, too, might she not
be of great service to him with her knowl-
e of the region and her woodcraft ?
Hidden and lurking instincts sent these
thoughts to his brain; here they caught
form and fire; theysank again as tempta-
tions into his heart. Was he following
her; was the old witchery at work, draw-
ing, driving him on? ell, no; he was
merely going for his pocket-book! He
laughed to think of his falling in love
with a brown savage girl, he whose milk-
white, blue-veined patrician dame with
long tresses of palest amber awaited him
in that hoary German schloss. He recalled
how they had plighted their vows—very
romantically, in y moonlight un-
der the marble group of the tortured Lao-
coon. Quite as romantically he had said
t and passionate moment, “If
ever | forget you, Amalia, may I
the fate of Laocoon!” .
cry came to his ears. He saw
bounding to him thro! the sun
and s of the jungle. She held aloft
the red leather wallet 1
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He is jealous of my lord, laughed his
mistress, who seemed to find a strange,
feline delight in the animal's
"but have no fear, for I shall not let Xin-
gu harm you.”
So the year crept toward its close. At
intervals Dr. Lessart sent his men to
transport small crates and boxes to the
coast. There, once a month, a tiny freight-
steamer on signal near the mouth
of the Gurupuy and took them to the
nearest port, whence they were laden for
Hamburg.
A change came over Ovada, a sweet-
ness richer, more complex and benign, a
mild. majestic grace touched with a pa-
thos quite divine—Nature's gift to woman
in maternity. Then a child was born, a
man-child, golden of skin and in feature
perfect as its parents. Ovada was trans-
ported with joy, but the tall Lessart
stroked his beard grave'y and felt a new
and oppressive sense or his relation to
the universe. All day long Ovada fondled
her little son. Now her maddest caresses
were his, although she still hung ardently
upon her lord. But Xingu was utterly
neglected. No longer the smooth hand of
his mistress stroked his graceful arching
neck, no longer she permitted him to em-
brace her in his bright. magnificent coils.
When he came creeping to her as she sat
nursing the babe, and nudged her with
his hard, cold head, she drove him off.
The glittering eyes, the wide jaws, and
long snout frightened the child when Xin-
gu silently near and peered into the
baby's face as if to do it homage. When
Ovada chased the languishing reptile
away, Xingu would drag herself slowly
off, moving lamely. Then he wound him-
self into motionless coils that glistened in
the sun like polished figured bronze of
brownish green. But his dilating eyes
were like livid flames, shifting with a
Bagger) glare. Now he had two rivals in
the love of Ovada—which once he had
held alone.
The reptile brooded, and Lessart was
aware that even under the wrinkled lids
the round green eyes blazed with a quench-
less hate of him. His commission for the
director of the Royal Zoological Institute
at Hamburg was almost fulfilled. Soon,
if he chose, the period of his exile would
be over. But now it was no lo exile.
Lessart felt the shackles upon his heart:
he resolved to remain, he could not know
for how long a time—perhaps another
year. The jungle had made his soul one
with its own; the long hair and loving
{ arms of Ovada, the tiny hands of his lit-
e son, were mighty and compelling
bonds. One day his two servants, return-
ing from the coast, brought him letters.
One was written in a beautiful hand he
knew well; the envelope bore a crest
which was also sculptured in the morsel-
led stone at the entrance of an old, old
garden in which he had often sat. The
| letter was a summons; there was to be
| no answer to it save his presence. An-
| other letter was from the Director of the
| Zoological Institute, offering him an im-
| portant post.
Ludwig Lessart's heart was torn within
him; it was like a combat between the
two halves of him, between opposed hem-
ispheres, between passion and compas-
sion, between two long-sundered frag-
ments of his life. But part of his train-
ing had been military; the older duty
and the older memories swayed him; he
prepared to go. In three days he could
reach the coast where the little steamer
sent its boat ashore to gather up his
goods and trophies. Then he held anoth-
er sharp and drastic debate with himself,
but resolved at last that he must go in
secret. It was wiser that Ovada should
not know. Carefully he packed the re-
maining specimens which his two Brazil-
his eyes fell upon the lethargic spirals of
the slumbering Xingu and he yielded to
his old desire and temptation. hat mat-
tered Xingu to Ovada, now that Ovada
had a babe? The e was even a con-
stant menace to that babe. That night
while Ovada lay asleep, he caught the
snake in a stout basket, lashed it with
ropes,
upon the back of a little donkey they had
t with them. The fellows were
share | frightened, but Lessart added a gold’
y, and so they took with |
ing mass in the straining | Harper's Weekly.
piece to their
t.
The next night he himself was ready to
follow. Ovada and the
couch and embraced his mate, pressing
his lips upon hers.
.iforal time, then kissed it and gave it
back to
When Ovada
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. the shadow of the storehouse. In sheer,
ians were to carry to the coast. Then!
and gave it to his men to pack!
child were asleep |
behind | in the hut. His lantern stood without. |
Fully dressed and equipped with hand-
| catchi
Then he bent again and took the awak- |
ened child in his arms, holding it close
a
man ballads of his youth, drinking-songs
of his Srule days; he Cel sword-
songs of t belungen wory-
pale gentlewoman dwelt in the half-
ruined house that stood in the ancient
garden, must share this mood! He tore
a leaf from his note-book and filled it with
a message to her, rapt and wonderful
lines that were almost poetry.
Then weariness overcame him, and the
growing heat as the storehouse lost its
shadow. Naked as Adam he walked up
the slope of the white beach to the fringe
of trees that bordered it and lay down
again in their shade. He fell asleep at
once, heavily, with the weight of his three
days’ travel upon him. The solitude and
silence were as of eternity, the sky was
void of a single flock, the sea as unmar-
red as the sky. In front of the sleeper
the endless silver stretches of the beach
lay unrolled; behind him stood the sullen
forest. Near the base of a tall, slim man-
grove Lessart lay extended like some
sculptured masterpieces of manly strength
and beauty—marble of body and bronze
of face and hands.
In the leaves above h‘m a light breeze
began to stir. But there was also some-
thing else that stirred the leaves. Soon
the whole tree began to quiver and trem-
Me he from the jowase brans hes
em a ape, g a glistening,
with a pointed head, in which gleamed
two radiant, greenish eyes Slowly, si-
lently, in a beautiful spiral the giant ser-
pent crept downward on the trunk and
coiled itself close beside the sleeping man.
It was Xingu.
He stretched forth his own arms as if
to embrace some one, and slightly raised
his body from the ground. ngu, with
his depressed head ambushed in his coils,
had followed e breath of the sleepin
man. His metallic eyes lightened
darkened like unsteady lamps. As the
man raised his arms, suddenly the snake
dashed at him. An arrow—lightning
might have lagged behind the invisible
rush of that head. In a flash one tense
and heavy coil lay whipped about the
neck of Lessart, another about his breast,
lettering his left arm Io bis Sie, 0a
cry escaped him ere ngu
Se an and forced down
the expansion of thechest. Tearing with
his one free and powerful hand at the
pitiless, crushing wreathings of the rep-
tile, the doctor led to his feet.
Swifter than thought the boa lashed an-
other loop about his thighs, straining till
bone and sinew cracked. The man, foam
bubbling from his lips, his face turned
purple and his eyes already swimming in |
darkness, stood for a moment, lashed in
the convulsions of the snake, then sway-
ed upon his heipless feet and fell to the
ground. Xingu did not release him until
the last flutter of life had passed. Then
slowly and majestically he unwound his
splendid rings, rolling the dead man up-
on his face. Gliding a little to one side, |
he made himself a cushion of his coils
and went to sleep.
A smile pa over Lessart's face. He
was dreaming. He stood beneath the
moss-covered statue of Laocoon in the
weedy, neglected garden of an ancient
German baronial house. The white arms '
of his lady reached forth to enfold him,
tightly, never to let him go again into
the wild, adventurous ily arms eager
as the marble coils of the serpents about
the body of the Greek priest and his sons.
When Ovada reached the beach it was
almost evening, This was the place
where she hoped to find her lord. And
here, verily, she found him, lying upon
his face, his body crushed and discolored
as with the binding of thick-girthed
ropes. She threw herself upon him and
wailed, and the ancient, infinite silence
of sea and shore and sky was broken by
an ancient and infinite grief. So she re-
mained until the babe upon her back be-
gan to scream. Raising her eyes that
lay like cold and lustrous stones under
her streaming hair, she saw Xingu ad-
vancing upon her. He came fawningly;
every wave-like motion was like a caress;
his eyes held a light that spoke of joy
and triumph, his head danced in an amor-
ous rhythm on his lustrous, erected neck.
Ne hove before Ber og valle on
e awaiti e old, unforgotten
er of her iy Then Ovado cried
out again, this time not in grief, but in
awful and unutterable rage. Ovada drew
the hatchet from her belt and with one
blow sundered the head of Xingu from
his body.—] Herman Scheffauer, in
Our Fishermen.
every i
United States is engaged in the task of
enough fish to satisfy the appe-
tite of remaining 399. In other words,
there are nearly a quarter of a million
men who catch fish not because they like
EE Ee TL
or it. ey catch a -
000,000 pounds of fish a year, and this is
worth, all told, upward of $50,000,000, or,
say, two-thirds of the total tal invest-
ed in the industry. A
of the capital, over $20,000,000, is Je rm
in vessels, of which a recent enumeration
land has by far the
| ber of fessional fishermen: Its figures
or
E ah
7 Se
inf
38%
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—*Yes; my daughter eloped.”
| Suppose you will forgive the young
The Homes of Wild Creatures.
There is a pecular charm and interest
in the study of the homes of wild crea-
tures. Their efforts and the results in
building these, even if crude, appeal to
our sympathies.
We have admired, and, to some extent,
have jivuttigated the nests of the more
familiar birds; we have seen the squirrel
make his home in some dead tree or hol-
low limb; we have, perhaps, studied the
muskrat_and his peculiar, dome-shaped
i JPocple, howler » have had
opportunity of giving the matter ex-
tended study.
Among birds, the home of the bald ea-
gle is perhaps the most striking. possibly
use of the majesty of the bird itself.
It appeals to the imagination. Built of
huge sticks loosely interwoven, and situ-
ated on some lofty and inaccessible ledge,
with the bones of the eagle's victims
scattered round about, it gives a p
setting to the atern and savage character
of its builder. Here the eagle reigns su-
e, and here year after year he and
is mate rear their young. This is the
aerie from which he can scan the whole
countryside and, like the robber barons
of old, Jovy soll on all who his door.
Far in still, white rth, where
winter reigns Supete, is the home of
the polar bear. the long arctic
night approaches the bear retires to some
sheltered spot, such as the clift of a rock
or the foot of some precipitous bank. In
a very short time he is eff
cealed by the heavy snowdrifts. Some-
times the bear waits until after a heavy
fall of snow, and then digs a white cavern
of the requisite form size. Such is
hie hoe for six months.
r common | cottontail, or so-
called rabbit, does not live in a burrow
as does the English rabbit, but makes a
slight depression in the ground, in which
she lies so Ratly Pressed to the earth as
to be scarcely nguishable fiom the
dried herbage in which her abode is sit-
; uated. The rabbit is strongly attached
' to its home wherever it may be
and, even if driven to a great distance
from it, contrives to regain its little
domicile at the earliest opportunity.
One of the most gruesome among ani-
mal homes is the wolf's den. This is
simply a hole dug in the side of a bank
or a small natural cave, generally situated
‘on the sunny side of a ridge, and almost
hidden by bushes and loose boulders.
, Here the wolf lies snug; in and about his
doorway lie the remains of past feasts,
which, coupled with his own odor, makes
the wolf's den a not very inviting place.
Nevertheless there is something so dread
and mysterious about this soft-footed
{ marauder that it even lends a fascina-
| tion to his home.
A “fly-by-night’’ sort of home is that
| our rung bob-white, yet it seems
| to serve the purpose very well. Under
| the broad, low bough of a small pine or
cedar tree the flock take their night's
repose. Quail, in retiring, always sit in
a circle with their heads outward, and so
they rest, presenting a barricade of sharp
sya and sharper ears against possible
anger.
The home of the elegant little harvest
mouse next claims our attention. It is
built upon three or four rank grass stems
and is situated a foot cr so from the
ground. In form it is globular and about
four inches in diameter, Itis composed
of thin dry grass, is of nearly uniform
substance, and open and airy in construc-
tion. It shows great cleverness in this
little animal, which is the smallest of
mammals.
The winter home of the American red
deer is very interesting. When the snow
begins to fly, the leader of the herd
guides them to some sheltered spot where
provender is plentiful. Here, as the snow
falls, they pack it down, tramping out a
considerable space, while about them the
snow mounts higher and higher until
they cannot get out if they would. From
the main opening, or "yard," as it is call-
ed, tramped-out paths lead to the nearby
trees and shrubbery, which supply them
with food. In this way they manage to
pass the winter in comparative peace and
safety.
One could go on enumerating bird and
animal homes by the score, and they
would all be of interest. The present
space, however, will not permit of going
further. The writer has, therefore, sim-
ply described some of the more curious
of the homes, as well as those ting
the widest contrast.—St. Ni
The Outdoor School.
The outdoor school for sickly children
is becomi a feature of many cities.
New York authorized the opening of
twenty such schools, two of which are
coming general throughout the coun-
try. 's school is on the roof of an
a in a park; Providence
abandoned school-house; in Rochester,
the schoo RISTRed In & tent, is now ia
a portable building; schools in Chica-
go and Hartford are both held in army
tents, one on a roof the other in the
gropmis ef an old estate. ‘
Among most interesting of open-
a Ie ase ded deen
—Visitor-—~Have you men of varied
bent here?
Jailer—Well, most of "ems crooks.
i “Rot until they have located a place to
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