Harper's Round Table, June 9, 1896 - 1

It was a morning of yellow fog. The whole world appeared a sheet of shifting, silent ochre. Up beyond the bluff the sallow outlines of the houses faded upward into sinuous curves of restless mist. The sands of the beach looked like a reflection of the fog that wrapped the sea in its curtain of gold. The old pier jutted out an uncertain brown line with sparkles of silver along its wet columns, like the flashes of big guns seen through their own smoke. The swells loomed suddenly out of the yellow curtain with a quick flash of light along their crests, a curving of brown shadows in their hollows, and then a plunge into hissing fields of mellow foam. It was one of those blinding mornings of dead gold, when the fog hangs low over the earth, and the brilliant sun, shining in a clear sky above, forces its intolerable glory downward through the mist. The human eye is helpless on such a day, and seeks vainly for a moment's relief among the sombre shadows in the crannies of the ground. It was just the sort of a day to tempt the Old Sailor to sit on the end of the pier and try to look through the fog. So Henry and George walked down to the old meeting-place, and there they found him gazing into the water with a meditative countenance. As usual, he did not look up when he heard their footsteps, but broke into one of his silent laughs. The boys, without saying a word, sat down beside him, and presently he exclaimed:

"W'ich the same you is great navigators. 'Cos w'y, ye can steer straight fur this 'ere pier in thick weather without no obserwations wotsomever, relyin' on dead reckonin' an' general sagaciousness."

The boys held their peace; and presently their friend spoke again:

"But that are not so easy fur to do at sea. Leastways ef it was, Cap'n Philander Montgomery Boggs, of the Al Kamakh an' Kangaroo liner Queen O' Spades, wouldn't 'a' made Wakaufoo w'en he were a-steerin' fur Al Kamakh, w'ich the same are on the west coast o' Hindoostan, as any one can tell wot are bin there, an' this 'ere old sailor are him."

"Won't you please to tell us about that?" asked George.

"Wot d'ye s'pose I are a-doin'? Singin'?"

George looked so humble at this rebuke that the Old Sailor burst into another of his hearty, silent laughs, vainly tried to see through the fog once again, and then exclaimed:

"Pickle me in a tin box full o' oil fur a bloomin' sardine ef this here ain't the werry identical kind o' day wot it happened on. I were in Calcutter, w'ich the same it ain't no sort o' place at all. I landed there from a consid'able v'yage, an' had five hundred dollars a-comin' to me, an' I got 'em, too. So I laid out to have a good time in Calcutter. I staid there a month, an' at the end o' that interestin' period I didn't have nothin' left o' my five hundred 'cept a linen duster an' a black eye."

"Why, how was that?" exclaimed Henry.

"My son," said the Old Sailor, solemnly, "that 'ain't got nothin' to do with this 'ere yarn wot I'm a-tellin' of. An' also it ain't perlite fur to try fur to switch gentlemen off the course. Now where were I?"

"In Calcutta, sir," said George, with grave respect.

"An' not so werry good, too. Bein' as how I were on my beam ends, I made shift to see as how I could git afloat ag'in. So I walked down to the docks. Down in the big dry dock I see the Queen o' Spades jess ready to git out. I axed a few questions, an' I larned that she'd been undergoin' repairs an' were to sail fur Al Kamakh the next day, with a scratch crew. I'd bin in Al Kamakh oncet, an' I thort as how, not bein' a werry pertikler pusson, I'd jess as lief go there ag'in. So I went aboard the Queen o' Spades an' interjooced myself to Cap'n Philander Montgomery Boggs. An' he sez to me, sez he, 'Ye jess come right. My second mate he went ashore yistiddy, an' he never come back, an' now he can't come back nohow; an' you can have his berth ef you want it.' An' me wantin' putty much anythin', havin' nothin' to speak on 'ceptin' the linen duster an' the black eye aforesaid, I took that berth.

"The next day we got under way. The reg'lar run o' the Queen o' Spades were from Al Kamakh to Kangaroo, Australey, an' she'd bin a-repairin' at Calcutter 'cos there weren't no dock big 'nuff to hold her atwixt that an' London. She were called the Queen o' Spades 'cos she dug so many holes in the bottom o' Al Kamakh Bay a-goin' in an' out, she drawin' twenty-seven feet of water, an' the bay havin' only twenty-nine feet in the channel, an' it weren't much o' a channel at that. Fact is, the Al Kamakh an' Kangaroo line, owin' to the permisc'ousness o' their steamers about hittin' ground, were gin'rally knowed as the Overland Route. Howsumever that 'ain't got nothin' to do with this 'ere yarn wot I'm a-tellin' yer. Waal, we 'ain't got no such steamers here as them. W'y, the Queen o' Spades are six hundred and fifty feet long, an' are got four smoke-stacks, each one hundred feet high, an' big enough around fur to march a company o' soldiers through in full front. An' they don't carry only one mast jess fur signalling an' they make twenty-two knots an hour all the time, 'ceptin' goin' to harbors, w'en they sometimes don't make no knots at all; 'cos w'y, they're aground. An' the cabins is all full o' gold an' diamond fancy-work an' stained glass winders till ye'd think ye was in a palace. They has to have 'em like that 'cos the most passengers is Indian princes an' rajahs an' bunnias an' jampanis an' khitmatgars an' things goin' down to Australey to drink the waters for jungle fever; an' them fellers all has to have a floating palace, or else they go home an' start a new war with England, an' so Tommy Atkins has to git killed some more.

"Waal, we didn't have no heaven-borns aboard w'en we steamed out o' Calcutter, 'cos the ship'd bin a-repairin', an' were goin' back to Al Kamakh under a short crew—jess 'nuff to work her around—an' she were to git her reg'lar people w'en she got there. But she were all purwisioned, 'cos she were to sail right off from Al Kamakh. So we hustled her right out to sea an' turned her up to putty nigh twenty knots right off. Cap'n Philander Montgomery Boggs, sez he to me, sez he, 'We are a-goin' to make a werry fine passidge.' An' him bein' Cap'n o' the ship an' me second mate, I didn't say nothin', but I were putty pertickler sure that either him or the clouds in the nor'west was mistook. It turned out as how it were him. I've noticed that it gin'rally are that way. Clouds is seldom mistook. They gin'rally knows w'ether they be goin' fur to rain or blow, while sailor-men sometimes is out o' their course on that p'int.

"Waal, we hadn't bin to sea more'n a day w'en it come on to blow from the nor'west. I dun'no' but I've told ye that I bin to sea a good many years. Anyhow, I never seed it blow harder. It blowed so hard that the ship laid right over onto her side, an' then she slid off to leeward so fast that she couldn't be brought head to the seas. So the Cap'n decided that he'd have to let her run afore it, w'ich the same he done. An' w'en she was afore it, the wind would cut the tops off the seas astarn of her an' send 'em whizzin' over the deck in solid blocks o' flyin' water, an' they'd fall into the sea ahead o' her an' kick up back waves that rolled in over the bows jess as if we was a-takin' the seas head on. The water were three feet deep on deck all the time, an' the crew went about in the dingy. I 'ain't never seed nothin' like that in all my sper'ence at sea; but then ye can't most allus gin'rally tell wot'll happen in the Injun Ocean; 'cos w'y, it ain't no decent, ordinary ocean, but a sort o' heathen place, fit only fur razor-backs an' piccaroons.

"Howsumever, there we was a trollopin' off to the south-east at a rate o' speed that were puffickly disgustin'. The gale blowed itself out in about eighteen or twenty hours, an' the old man sez he to me, sez he, 'Now I reckon we'd better climb back to where we b'long.' So he puts her head due nothe. But bless ye! it went an' fell flat calm, an' then sot in with a yaller fog with sun behind it, jess like this here werry identical one this mornin'. The Cap'n he were putty mad, and he jess ordered full speed kep' up, 'coz he sez, sez he, 'I 'ain't got no more time fur to go buggaluggin' aroun' here,' jess like that, him bein' Cap'n Philander Montgomery Boggs o' the Queen o' Spades. Lookouts was doubled forrard, o' course, but we hadn't bin runnin' ahead fur more'n four hour w'en scrape, bump, biff! we was hard an' fast agroun'. The Cap'n he danced on one leg, an' talked Greek; but there we was. An hour later the fog lifted, an' wot d'ye think we saw?"

"Rocks and reefs all around you, with the sea breaking over them!" exclaimed Henry.

"Not so werry good," responded the Old Sailor. "The Queen o' Spades had run plumb straight into a small harbor, sort o' horseshoe shaped, with a long narrer p'int runnin' out on each side. There she were stuck fast in the sand, an' a werry consid'able number o' half-nakid savidges standin' on the shore a-grinnin' an' wavin' spears. Putty soon a big canoe started out from the shore an' come towards the ship. In the starn o' her there were a werry tall savidge wearin' a werry big red coat with one epaulet. Cap'n Philander Montgomery Boggs sez he to me, sez he: 'That are the chief, an' he are a-wearin' the coat o' some English ossifer wot's bin wracked here.' An' that bein' werry plain fur to see, I didn't say nothin' at all. Waal, w'en the canoe got close 'nuff we could see that them was the werry thinnest an' starvedest lookin' lot o' savidges ever knowed. W'y, their ribs stuck out so their sides looked like old-fashioned washboards, an' their faces looked like overgrowed English walnuts. They pulled up the canoe a few yards off an' made signs that they was hungry, an' they looked it. So the Cap'n, seein' that we was there thort as how we'd better make friends with 'em, an' he inwited the King—the feller in the red coat—to come aboard an' git some grub. The steward sot out a fine lunch in the first-cabin saloon, an' the Cap'n he showed the King aroun' while it were a-gettin' ready. We soon found out as how that there King could talk consid'able English, but he wouldn't tell where he larned it. Waal, I wish you could 'a' seed that there King eat. The steward put out a lunch for six, an' blow me fur pickles ef the bloomin' one-epauletted cannibal didn't eat it all, an' holler fur more.

"'Give poor savidge puddin',' sez he.

"'Look a-here, Kingsy,' sez the Cap'n, 'how long is it sence you filled your hold?'

"'Werry poor island dis,' sez the King—'werry poor. Eat nuts an' wild berries. Poor savidge werry hungry.'

"'Steward,' sez the Cap'n, 'fill him up solid. Give him some o' those doughnuts ye make fur the babbus in Al Kamakh.'

"Waal, byme-by the King got 'nuff, an' went ashore. He hadn't bin there an hour afore we seed a hull regiment o' savidges to work astarn o' the ship. They was drivin' logs down into the water, an' droppin' big rocks in an' shovellin' sand.

"'By the great hook block!' yells the Cap'n, 'they're a-buildin' a breakwater astarn o' us so's we can't git out o' this 'ere trap!'

"An' that were wot they was a-doin'. Nex' thing we knowed canoes commenced fur to come off ag'in, an' the hull of the King's court come aboard. There was Squilli Gee, keeper o' the Red Coat; Solo Primo, lord high berry-picker; Effie Tombi, nut-cracker to his Majesty; Toto Poto, lord high admiral o' the canoe fleet; an' Kala Poobi, secretary o' the palace. They was mostly joints, ribs, an' cheek-bones, them fellers, an' all they wanted was a square meal. Squilli Gee informed us most politely that ef we didn't feed 'em they would fill us full o' holes. So we fed 'em. Them fellers numbered jess thirty, an' they stowed away purwisions fur a dinner fur a hundred fust-cabin passingers. They went ashore, an' at six o'clock in the evenin' the King comes off ag'in, bringin' his wife an' fam'ly. There were jess eight o' his wife, an' the hull o' 'em weighed about 600 pounds. There was thirty-seven o' his fam'ly, all so thin that w'en they stood sideways ye couldn't see 'em. One o' 'em fell through a scupper into the sea, an' he were so thin he couldn't float; so he were drowned. An' wot d'ye s'pose the bloomin' King sez?"

"Why, what did he say?" asked George.

"'Let him go,' sez he; 'I got more on 'em now than I kin feed,' sez he, jess like that, him bein' a miseraceous savidge, with more ribs 'n a line-o'-battle ship. Waal, that there fam'ly o' the King's they could give the court p'ints on eatin'. Howsumever, the Cap'n he sez, sez he:

"'Steward, fill 'em all up full to the hatches. Byme-bye we'll get the hull island fed, an' then all on 'em'll go to sleep. Then we kin go an' knock over that there breakwater, an', ef the tide sarves, mebbe we kin git out o' this cussed trap.'

"That sounded all right, but it didn't work no more'n a tramp will. Them bloomin' savidges wouldn't go to sleep a bit. They kep' right on pilin' up stuff astarn o' us, an' we knowed that every rock they dumped in were a-makin' the channel wuss an' wuss. The nex' mornin', bright an' 'arly, off comes the King an' his blessed court fur breakfast. An' wot d'ye think?"

"What?" demanded both boys, eagerly.

"Them fellers was thinner than they was the day afore! Cap'n Philander Montgomery Boggs sez he to me, sez he, nothin'. 'Cos why, he were so knocked aback as he couldn't say any thin' 'ceptin' nothin', w'ich the same he said. An' I agreed as how there were nothin' else to be said.

"'Poor savidge werry hungry,' sez the King. 'Give poor savidge mutton-chop, beefsteak, veal-cutlet, ham an' egg, fried sausidge, liver an' bacon, quail on toast, poached egg, graham roll, and chocolate.'

"'Wee-ow-ow!' yelled the court, jumpin' up an' down an' lickin' its chops.

"'Look here, Kingsy,' sez the Cap'n, 'how long d'ye think this 'ere are a-goin' to last?'

"'Big ship; much grub; eat fur month,' sez the King, sez he.

"'An' wot'll ye do arter ye eat all we got aboard?' asked the Cap'n.

'Oh, poor savidge werry sorry then, werry sorry,' sez the King, sez he, lookin' fur all the world as ef he was a-goin' to cry; 'but have to eat sailor then.'

"'Wee-ow-ow!' sez the court, werry mournful.

"'May I never see blue water ag'in!" sez the Cap'n.

"'Werry likely you won't,' sez the King, an' with that he jess blubbered an' cried like a babby.

"Waal, them bloomin' beggars eat enough to sink a lighter, an' then they went ashore an' sent off the fam'ly. The steward he were jess about half crazy; an' the head cook he really were a ravin' lunatic, an' jess didn't do nothin' but dance around yellin' orders to cook things. Nex' day it were the same thing all over ag'in, and nex' day, too. All the time that one-epauletted King kept his gang a-workin' on that breakwater, an' inside o' a week it were puffickly certain the Queen o' Spades were shut up in that bloomin' little harbor fur to stay. Waal, to make sight o' land at the other side o' this 'ere yarn wot I'm a-tellin' ye, I'll say that this 'ere sort o' thing kep' a-goin' fur three weeks, an' then the steward he went to the Cap'n, an' he sez to he, sez he, 'There ain't more'n another three days' grub aboard.' An' the Cap'n, sez he, 'Arter dark to-night we'll put that into the boats an' go to sea, an' leave the Queen o' Spades here till we can send a gunboat arter her.' Half an hour later the King come aboard ag'in, an' he were so thin now that the red coat hung around him like a wet rag, w'ile his blessed court looked like a section o' picket-fence turned up on end. Them fellers was just wastin' away a-carryin' sich loads o' good grub. W'en the King see the Cap'n he went up to him with tears in his eyes, and sez he to he, sez he:

"'My dear, dear brother, poor savidge see man put food in boat. You go to go away at night. Don't. My canoes catch you, an' then we eat you all the sooner.'

"An' with those words the King commenced cryin' an' shakin' his head, an' the court set up another wee-ow-owin' like a convoy o' cats in a Noo Yawk aryway. Waal, we made up our minds we'd got to die, and yet none on us didn't want to die 'less he were obleeged to."

The Old Sailor paused as if overcome by his recollections, and George said, in a suppressed tone,

"But you didn't die, did you?"

"My son," answered the Old Sailor, "I ain't no ghost; I'm a peaceable, hard-workin' sailor-man. An' may I never live to see a four-horned grampus ag'in ef this 'ere ain't the circumstigious picooliarity o' our escape. The next mornin' the hull sea an' sky was a sickly green; the sun were a sort o' greenery-yaller; an' it were dead calm, with a big swell outside. The Cap'n sez he to me, sez he, 'We're a-goin' to have a fearful gale or a hearthquake or somethin'.' He hadn't more'n got them words out o' his mouth w'en we seed the hull island rockin' an' shakin', an' heerd a termenjous rumblin', like a freight train goin' past. 'Look! look!' yelled the quartermaster. An' lookin' w'ere he p'inted, we see astarn o' us a wave fifty feet high rollin' in from the sea. It come right on over old Kingsy's breakwater, an' pickin' the Queen o' Spades up as though she were a yaller chip, it carried her right over one o' the p'ints o' the harbor an' into the deep water outside.

"'Hooroar!' yells the Cap'n. 'Full speed ahead, an' we'll see w'ether his Royal Red Coat's canoes'll catch us now.'

"And off went the old Queen o' Spades at twenty knots an hour, and in two days we was in Al Kamakh."

"And well out of it," said Henry.

"I dun'no'," said the Old Sailor; "'cos why, the steam-ship company wanted to make Cap'n Philander Montgomery Boggs pay fur the grub he fed the savidges; an' w'en I left they was a-fightin' over it in the courts yet."

[SONG.]

BY MARIE L. VAN VORST.

Show me the place where the white heather grows,
Kind little fairies in bonnets of blue.
Why don't you tell, when they said that you knew?
Nobody knows!
Show me the place where my little dream goes—
(I wake in the morning the sky is so blue)—
They said that you sent it. I thought that you knew.
Nobody knows!
What have you done with my pretty red rose?
It fell like the down on the thistle I blew.
They said you bewitched it—oh, say, is it true?
Nobody knows!

[THE AMERICAN NIGHTS' ENTERTAINMENTS.]

THE ROSE FESTIVAL.

BY EMMA J. GRAY

eneath a most capricious sky Mabel stood sedately wondering whether or not she could wear her white tulle frock this afternoon and not have it forever ruined, when all in a moment the sun disappeared, the leaves of the trees rustled, and Mabel's hitherto sedate face saddened dolefully. Had not her mother happened near there surely would have been a shower of tears, for she had counted so very much on going to the festival. But mothers know how to manage, and putting her arm around Mabel's shoulders, she caressingly said: "Don't cry, whatever you do; wait for that when you know you cannot go; perhaps this afternoon will just glisten with sunshine, and then think of all the tears you'll have wasted! Why, only look here; there are cobwebs in the grass"—and Mabel's mother stooped to examine, thus making herself quite sure she was not mistaken—"and you know, dear, what they say, 'that cobwebs in the grass is a sure sign of a clear day.'" And so it was that Mabel's tears never really got beyond her eyelashes, and her long doleful face changed into blushes of sudden delight.

When the afternoon came, the cobweb test was proved true, for the dew fogs stole away in line and column, the warm, rich, gladsome sunshine leaped over hill, lawn, and road, and gave a tint of amber, purple, or rich red rose, according to the way the trees leaned or their stately branches swayed and curved.

The country was the majestic Berkshire section; and Mabel, who had but just entered her teens, was with her mother visiting her Aunt Lucretia in her country home.

Aunt Lucretia had no children, and didn't understand them very well, and Mabel's visit thus far had been rather unsatisfactory. But about two weeks before she was thrown all in a flutter because of an invitation to a Rose Festival, given by the daughter of "the richest man in the place"—so Aunt Lucretia explained, and with a positive shaking of her head from side to side, continued, "It would be an elegant affair, she knew, and she was much flattered that her niece had been remembered," etc. Besides Mabel, her aunt, uncle, and mother had been invited, the only difference in the character of the invitations being that to hers were added the rather informal words, "All the young people will personate favorite roses." And as she would surely be considered among the young people, and as the Cornelia Cook rose was Mabel's favorite, it took not a little ingenuity on the part of her mother and aunt to indicate this rose in her costume. But it was deftly, as also simply, arranged at last by fastening a bunch of these rose-buds on the top of each sleeve, edging the waist close to the neck with rose-buds also, and dropping a few at uncertain distances over the skirt—"as though she'd been caught in a shower of roses," was her uncle's pleasant criticism. So that it was no wonder, in consideration of the so far disappointing visit, dainty apparel, and the prospect of a gay party, that Mabel's blue eyes had looked anxiously for sunshine through the cloudy sky of the early morning.

It was shortly after three o'clock when the impatient Mabel stepped into the landau that was to convey her aunt, uncle, mother, and herself to the festival; and the horses, feeling the exhilaration of the charmed atmosphere, pranced and cantered along so rapidly that the few miles that lapsed between were soon over, and Mabel was at once bewildered with beauty and gayety. Already several emptied carriages had their wheels rolling towards home, while others had gone back of the broadly grand and altogether captivating gray-stone house to accept the hospitality of the stables graciously offered to their owners.

Just as Mabel was ushered into the bower of roses, which was the lawn's substitute for a reception-room, she overheard some one saying to her hostess:

"Queen rose of the rose-bud garden of girls,
Come hither, the dances are done.
In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls,
Queen lily and rose in one.
Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls,
To the flowers, and be their sun.
The Red Rose cries, 'She is near; she is near!'
And the White Rose weeps, 'She is late!'"

"All right, papa, I'll come at once;" and then, with a bow, smile, and hand-clasp for Mabel, she added, "You come with me, for you are a stranger here, and we will lead the opening dance together." Then throwing her head back merrily, so that her curls touched her fathers arm, she laughingly continued: "What a papa—'the dances are done!' They haven't commenced; nor will they until I start them"; and with the gay raillery which her father so thoroughly understood, added, "I shall punish you by asking you to help mamma to receive, not only for yourself, but for me too."

And then, with a winning smile towards the incoming guests, following close one after the other, and seemingly a perfect prism of color—for so smart and catchy were their gowns, frocks, and parasols—she tripped off merrily, holding Mabel's hand tight meanwhile, to where the musicians were hidden behind the clump of tall snowball bushes, and a moment later the dances began.

It was a rare sight, a revel of beauty. The older folks watched from garden chairs, and seats made softly comfortable with the abundance of mellow-tinted rugs and downy dainty-covered pillows. The boys could only represent roses by wearing their favorites as boutonnières, but the girls' frocks, sashes, and broad-brimmed hats were very suggestive, and marvels of exquisite color.

All the roses came to the festival—the Austrian in its brilliant yellow, Jacqueminot in its deep red; even the little Primrose came, though it was a question as to her right; however, we were not sorry to see her, for the delicious lilac-colored costume was a pleasing contrast and a set-off to the others. The hostess personated a Moss-rose Bud. Her frock was pink tulle over the palest of pink satin. She wore a girdle of rose-buds, rose-buds around her neck and arms, and her Leghorn hat was encircled with the same flower. This hat she sometimes wore, but oftener than otherwise it was suspended from her arm by its pink satin strings, and in this respect her guests would often copy her.

During the afternoon the hostess filled her hat full of rose-buds, and somehow she managed to keep it replenished, notwithstanding that she gave to each of her older guests a bouquet, repeating while doing so, as she rapidly walked from one to the other:

"Gather ye rose-buds while ye may;
Old Time is still a-flying.
And the same flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow will be dying."

There was a succession of archways on the lawn, built about ten feet apart—the frames, twelve feet high and six broad at their widest, being temporary, and only strong enough to support the various vines, mosses, and rose climbers with which they were covered. Through these arches various games were given, among them,

NAMING THE ROSES.

The musicians played something between a march and a reel, and immediately each boy signalled out the girl that matched his rose, and keeping time to the music, they walked through the first arch, and so on to the second, thus in rotation going through all. It was quite a long procession, for each couple kept about two feet back of the other. When all had thus passed through the last arch, they joined hands, thus forming a circle, and commencing with the first couple, entered the ring two by two. Two only being in at a time, when they came out the two that followed them in the march went in, and so on. When in the circle the boy asked the girl, "Which rose are you?" she answered. "Tell me, and I'll tell you." Oftener than otherwise his answer was, "I don't know," though once in a while he made a correct guess. When his answer was right, he asked the girl the language of her rose; but if he had made a mistake, he was obliged to leave the girl in the ring and stand under one of the arches; if the girl could not answer his question, she had to stand under an arch. If the boy left the ring before inquiring the roses' language, those forming the ring put the same question, and if the girl did not properly reply, she had to pay the same penalty as when not replying to the boy. When both questions were answered correctly, the boy and girl again joined the hands of the others forming the circle. When each couple has left the ring the game was concluded.

Among the rose-buds and their meaning are: White rose-bud, girlhood; red rose-bud, loveliness; white and red together, unity.

Another game was,

FINDING THE HARE.

The hare was nothing more nor less than a box made in exact copy of a hare, about six inches long. When opened it was found to be full of rose-colored and rose-flavored confectionery.

The company were told that a hare was hidden between two arches, and whoever found it was the owner. It was a most bewitching sight to see the merry hunt—such laughing faces, half hidden at times with long fluffy curls or broad-brimmed hats.

The florist had taken up a piece of sod, and underneath it, wrapped in white waxed paper, he laid the hare. When he replaced the sod, the hare's head was the only part left out, and the grass blades were so thick and long that it took considerable patience and sharp eyes to discover it.

The games closed with a visit to

THE PROPHETIC ROSE.

In the first archway was placed a huge rose made of tissue-paper of a deep red color, the petals being darker at the centre. The guests were told the darker petals belonged to the boys, and the girls should visit the rose first. Each girl in turn stepped towards the rose and broke off a petal. On the reverse side she read her fortune; for delicately pasted to the rose petal was a white one, and on this the girl's fortune was written. Everybody read their fortune aloud, for all were as interested to learn the future of their friends as their own. When the girls had finished, the boys followed in similar manner. Some of the fortunes were:

"Thou drawest a perfect lot."

"You will be wondrous happy."

"Mistress of the Manse."

"A curate—never slack in duty."

The last dance was the wreath quadrille, at which every one was presented with a wreath of moss-rose buds. The girls immediately bared their heads and put theirs on, while the boys hung theirs on their arms.

The games, dances, and all the merry play stopped at five o'clock, when under the trees was served a tempting and plentiful refreshment on tables but just large enough to seat from four to six people. The table covers were white satin damask bordered with natural roses, some with red roses, others with pink or yellow, while in the centre of each lay a solid triangle of roses, the same variety used for bordering.

Lemonade was served in rose-colored glasses; iced cakes were encircled with roses; some were left white, but others represented American Beauty or La France varieties, and the ice-cream and ices were in the prettiest of rose devices, one favorite being an overturned basket of Mermet roses.

When Mabel returned to Aunt Lucretia's she was very tired. "For, only to think of it, mamma, I was in everything. And wasn't you surprised to see me lead the dances?"

"I was glad, for Aunt Lucretia's sake. You were the stranger, and therefore had special honor."