ASIATIC ELEPHANT,
followed by a brief history of his twelve years' experience in America, his death and restoration. His skeleton will be mounted by the museum experts, and will stand at the side of the stuffed hide.
[DOMINOES.]
After the dominoes have been laid face down upon the table, and well shuffled, each player—and there should be but two—draws seven cards, the one having the highest "double" leading the game. In case there should be no double out, the player holding the highest number of spots on one card is entitled to lead. The two then play alternately until the game is so blocked that one cannot match a piece; the other then continues until he blocks himself or plays all his cards, thus winning the game. In case both are blocked, each counts the number of spots on the cards left in his hand, and whoever has the smallest number wins the game.
The game is so simple, skill consisting almost entirely in the power of memory, that it cannot be hampered by many rules, but there is much advice which the learner would do well to remember.
In playing, lay down such cards as will enable you to play at either end the next time, if possible.
Play the cards with the greatest number of spots on them first, so that in event of the game being blocked to both you may stand a chance of winning by spots.
The numbers of which you have the most are the best to play, since your adversary is likely to have less.
When it is possible for you to block the game, do not do so if you have been playing high cards and your adversary low ones, for in that case the chances are that he will be able to "count out." It is dangerous to block your own hand until you have become so skilled in the game as to be able to form some idea of the size of your adversary's hand.
If you hold a double, and one or more with the same number, play it as soon as possible; but do not try to make a number for it, otherwise your adversary, if he be a good player, will see what you are trying to do, and prevent it. But if you hold a double of an end at which your adversary cannot play, work at the other end in the hope of shutting him out of the game entirely.
With a heavy hand, play first on one end and then on the other, to prevent any chance of blocking the game when the number of spots would count against you. A good hand is that having the greatest variety of numbers, as 6-3, 5-4, 2-1, 4-3, 1-0, 2-0, 0-0, and with it one can generally play every time, while a bad hand would be 6-6, 5-5, 6-2, 6-4, 2-2, 2-1, 1-1, and of course the very worst would be to hold all the doubles; but that would hardly occur in an actual game.
As an example of how doubles should be played, suppose your hand consisted of 5-5, 2-2, 3-2, 2-4, 1-0, 5-0, 6-2, it would be better in every way to play the 5-5, since your other double can be forced either by the 3-2, 2-4, or 6-2.
All Fives, or Muggins, is and should be played similar to the one above, save that the great object is to make the spots at both ends amount to five, or any number divisible by five without a remainder. If one plays 5-5 at the start, he counts ten. If 0-0 is played first, the 0-5 would count five to the player; then if 5-5 be played it counts ten, and 0-0 played on 0-5 counts five also. If 6-6 is at one end and 4-4 is played at the other, twenty is counted to the game, since twelve and eight make twenty. In this game he who can play 5-5 has the lead; and failing in that, he who holds 0-5, then 2-3; and failing in all, he who holds the highest card. The game should be fifty or one hundred points, and the winner counts all the spots in his adversary's hand at the close, adding them to his score, or, in case of a block, adds the difference between the lesser and the greater hand.
The Drawing game is played like the Double Sixes, save that when a player is blocked he must draw another card, and continue to do so until he can play. He who plays out first, or, in case of the game being blocked, he who has the smallest number of spots wins. This game really requires the most skill, since a player must remember all the cards, and try to form some idea of what remains in the pool and what his adversary holds. It is quite common to unite this game with All Fives, thus making a longer game of the former.
The Matadore game has more of the element of chance in it than any other. Each player draws three cards, and he who holds the highest plays first. After that the next player can only go when his domino, added to the one previously played, will make seven. Those cards having just seven spots on them, and the double blank, are called matadores, and may be played at any time, regardless of spots. There are, of course, but four matadores—6-1, 5-2, 4-3, 0-0. If one cannot play, he must draw until he can, or until but two are left, when no more can be taken. The number of points in this game may be made from twenty to a hundred, as the players decide.
[WASHINGTON'S BIRTHDAY.]
'Tis splendid to live so grandly
That, long after you are gone,
The things you did are remembered,
And recounted under the sun;
To live so bravely and purely
That a nation stops on its way,
And once a year, with banner and drum,
Keeps its thought of your natal day.
'Tis splendid to have a record
So white and free from stain
That, held to the light, it shows no blot,
Though tested and tried amain;
That age to age forever
Repeats its story of love,
And your birthday lives in a nation's heart,
All other days above.
And this is Washington's glory,
A steadfast soul and true,
Who stood for his country's honor
When his country's days were few.
And now when its days are many,
And its flag of stars is flung
To the breeze in defiant challenge,
His name is on every tongue.
Yes, it's splendid to live so bravely,
To be so great and strong.
That your memory is ever a tocsin
To rally the foes of the wrong;
To live so proudly and purely
That your people pause in their way,
And year by year, with banner and drum,
Keep the thought of your natal day.
Margaret E. Sangster.
[THE SKATING BRIGADE.]
BY ELIZABETH S. HICOK.
The boys worked hard that day, carrying sticks and dragging logs from the woods that bordered the banks of the Curve. The Curve was one of the many bends in the river that began its journey far up among the hills, whose summits could be seen from the town of Landon on a clear day.
The Rambler had evidently started out in life with no definite plans as to its future course, except, perhaps, the one purpose of seeking an easy, pleasant way. To accomplish this it wandered in and out, and formed many little bays and inlets as it flowed carelessly along. At all seasons it offered irresistible attractions to the boys fortunate enough to live near it. What swimming holes could be compared with those of the Curve and the Dip? Where could better fishing be found than at the Angle? Could there be a cooler place to rest on a hot day, after a good pull at the oars, than under one of the stone arches of the bridge that spanned the river two miles above the town? In fact, at almost any time of year if a Landon boy was not around when wanted, it was pretty safe to conclude that the river was responsible for his absence.
But now it is winter. Though there is but a thin mantle of snow on the ground, the reeds and cat-tails are frozen stiff in the ice, and the willows look more dejected than ever, as they droop their bare slender branches to the ice-covered stream. But this winter scene is not a dreary one to a boy fond of skating, and the ice for miles up and down the river is as smooth as glass. The party at the Curve numbers sixteen, and they are all skaters.
It was a queer collection of wood that the boys had brought together—logs, large and small, branches of trees, and underbrush—but it suited their purpose.
"We have worked long enough," said Ralph Waring, a tall, overgrown lad, who was leaning lazily against a tree.
"We?" laughed a small energetic boy, pushing with all his strength against a large log that refused to move. "We!"
"Well, you, then," said the first speaker, good-naturedly. "Mr. Hastings did not bargain for this, I'll wager, when he said we could have all the wood we could use. We'd better go into the lumber business, with such a good start."
"Ralph is right," said Gordon Brice. "We have now more wood than we need. Besides, it is four o'clock. If we are to meet here at seven we must lay the logs and brush ready to light, and hurry home for a rest and something to eat. I'm tired as a horse and hungry as a bear."
The boys set to work again, Ralph doing his share, and soon a large cone-shaped pile stood in a cleared space near the shore.
"Now three good cheers for Washington's birthday," said Gordon. Hats waved in the air, and three cheers were given with hearty good will by all the boys, who then took the narrow path that led along the bank to the town.
It was somewhat past the appointed time that evening before all the boys were again at the Curve. Gordon had taken too long a rest, and overslept; Max Utley had mislaid his skates; and Ralph, of course, was late.
"On time?" drawled this delinquent, as he sauntered up to the group of boys, some on one knee fastening their skates, others sitting on a log as they performed this operation, and still others stamping a foot to make sure that all was secure before starting out.
"Yes, your time—half an hour late," replied Jack Foster. "We are all ready for the skate up the river, and do not intend to wait for any one."
"Don't expect any favors; don't deserve any," said Ralph, not in the least ruffled by Jack's remark. "Perhaps I can meet you on the down trip. I shall make the effort, anyway."
"Well, shall we set fire to the pile?" said Max.
Half a dozen boys were ready for this work, and after a number of matches had flared up and gone out in the haste of each boy to be the first to start a blaze, little flames were seen creeping in among the brush and reaching out blue and red fingers towards the logs.
Off the boys started then, Gordon at the head, and Ralph bringing up the rear.
It was a clear starlight night.
"To the Dip!" shouted Gordon. "To the Dip!" was sent back along the line, and on they sped.
It had all been planned. They were to skate to the Dip—a short distance up the river—and then return to spend the rest of the evening at the Curve, skating by the light of the fire.
At the Dip they rested a few moments, then started down the river, hand in hand, sixteen abreast. They skated fast, and for the most part silently, needing all their breath to maintain the steady motion.
"I wonder how the old Curve will look under fire?" said Clarence Bemen at last, to Ralph, who was at his right, working hard to keep up with his companions.
They were fast approaching the starting-place.
"We are almost there," said Ralph, breathlessly. "That's all I care about."
They could catch a faint glimmer thrown out from the fire over the ice directly in front. The boys, in their excitement, grasped hands tightly as with a long sweep they went round the point of land into the Curve.
But what do they see? They all stop suddenly, for on the bank in the full light of the fire was the figure of a man, tall and slight, and in military dress. A coat with broad rolling collar and with epaulettes on the shoulders was held together by three large buttons; the trousers were short, and met at the knee by high boots with flaring tops. The man wore a powdered wig, surmounted by a three-cornered hat. At his side was a sword, sheathed.
The skaters were too astonished to move forward or say a word. But at last Ralph, whose mind always moved faster than his body, said, emphatically,
"GEORGE WASHINGTON! AS TRUE AS I LIVE."
"George Washington! as true as I live."
Just then the man unsheathed his sword and waved it in the direction of the boys, as if wishing to summon them nearer.
"The old fellow looks kind of ghostly," said Max, irreverently. "But we are sixteen to his one. Come on! We will let him speak for himself, if he can speak."
On the line moved with slow long strokes, in perfect unison, till they came within a few feet of the shore.
"You come up in good style. I always like to see the young American show himself the soldier," said the strange man.
Then Gordon, as spokesman, said, raising his cap, "Have we the pleasure of welcoming to the Curve George Washington, whose birthday we celebrate?"
"You have," replied the person addressed, bowing low, and speaking in a deep bass voice. "Of all the places where the anniversary of my birth is being honored to-day none has offered more attraction than this. It reminds me of scenes from my past life which can never be effaced from my memory. The cliffs that surround this Curve, this frozen stream, this fire even, built in my honor, recall the terrible winter at Valley Forge, and that memorable night when I with my brave followers crossed the Delaware."
Here the General drew forth a large bandanna handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes.
"Who can it be?" whispered the boys.
"And where did he find that rig—'The old three-cornered hat, and the breeches and all that'?" said Donald Gray, who was always ready, on every occasion, with a quotation.
Meanwhile the General had recovered from his emotion, replaced his bandanna, and resumed his speech.
"My experience amid the scenes of war has made me very sympathetic, and I am easily affected to tears. If you have studied your histories, as you should, you already know that I was very kind to my men, and always tried to make them as comfortable as circumstances would permit."
"The Commander-in-Chief is pretty eloquent," said Clarence to Ralph, "He is using large words. Have you any idea who it is?"
"I have my suspicions," answered Ralph, "but I am not sure. Hush! he isn't through with his oration."
"You all know the old fisherman down at the Ledge?" continued the speaker, inquiringly.
"Uncle Simon?" said half a dozen voices at once. "Should say so."
"Yes, Uncle Simon. I think there is not a boy here that he has not befriended, mended his fish-poles, disentangled his lines, patched his boats, saved him from drowning in summer and from freezing in winter. Well, Uncle Simon is down with rheumatism, and hasn't fire enough to keep him warm. When I happened to hear of the fine stock of wood you had laid in for a big bonfire, I thought now is Uncle Simon's chance to get warm. Now Uncle Simon's young friends can come to the rescue. What do you say, boys, shall we form ourselves into a skating brigade, pile the wood on these sleds that you forgot to take home, and carry it down the river to Uncle Simon? All in favor say 'Aye.'"
The response to this appeal did not come at once. The boys thought this rather a tame ending to their contemplated sport.
"One good turn deserves another," said the General, persuasively. "Remember that Uncle Simon has helped most of you out of some difficulty. Now, once more, all in favor say 'Aye.'"
This time there was not a boy that did not respond. The cliffs around echoed with the young voices.
With the General's assistance they set to work. Two large logs were laid on each sledge, with a third log on the top, and some brush that Max said would do for Uncle Simon's kindling wood.
"Eight boys to a sledge, four on each side, with a firm grasp on the strap, and no racing, unless—well, unless you have to keep up with the other sledge," commanded the General. "Now on with your skates again."
"Can you skate, General?" asked Gordon.
"Skate? Of course I can. Brigade is a pretty high-sounding name for so small a company, but we shall do the work of one."
"The fire is pretty low," said Jack, regretfully, as he looked at the fast-dying flames.
"I don't care," said Hugh Bently. "Uncle Simon sha'n't suffer from cold if I can help it."
Before starting off, General Washington produced a large covered basket from behind a log. This he placed on the front of one of the sledges, and secured firmly. He said that it was his present to Uncle Simon.
While these scenes were being enacted at the Curve, Uncle Simon, in his cottage at the Ledge, sat by his hearth, looking despondently into the fire that was fast disappearing up the chimney in smoke. His thoughts ran something in this way:
"I shall have to go to bed pretty soon and stay there to keep warm. No more wood, and nothin' to eat in the house."
Here a twinge of rheumatism made him screw up his face, and his thoughts became, in consequence, still more bitter.
"I've done many a good turn to folks in my life. Every boy in Landon ought to be here this minute waiting on me. The ungrateful little rascals, never to think of—" Just here his thoughts were interrupted by a loud rap on the door. "Come in," said Uncle Simon, starting up, then sinking back in his chair as another twinge seized him. "Come in."
But he was not prepared to see sixteen of the young rascals march in with skates on their arms, and headed by a tall figure in military dress carrying a basket. The small room was full.
"What's this? What's this?" said the old man.
"We are the Landon Skating Brigade," said their leader. "Our headquarters are at the Curve, and we have brought you some wood and some provisions for Washington's birthday. We intend to split the wood, too."
The boys looked at one another in dismay. This was more than they had bargained for, and Ralph gave a low growl of disapproval. The spirit of the occasion, however, was on them, and the General went on, uninterrupted:
"Perhaps you don't remember the boy you fished out of the Dip five summers ago, just as he was going down the third time?" With this remark the General took off his cocked-hat, and with it came the wig.
"George Hastings!" exclaimed the old man.
"Yes, George Washington Hastings." Young Hastings explained that he was home from college to spend his birthday, had heard of Uncle Simon having a visit from his old enemy, the rheumatism, and of the preparations going on at the Curve. "Then I planned this campaign," he ended.
"It beats everythin'—it beats everythin'! You are a second George Washington," said Uncle Simon, in a choked voice.
The boys made three more trips to the Ledge that night, and on the last one they insisted on giving George Washington a ride.
Uncle Simon did not suffer any more from cold or hunger, for he was cared for by the Landon Skating Brigade.