ART'S ORGAN ADVENTURE.
BY MATTHEW WHITE, JUN.
The Dicksons were spending the winter in Paris, and Art, who was fourteen, resolved to make the most of the grand opportunity thus afforded him of thoroughly exploring the handsomest city in the world. He had "done" the galleries, the churches, the prisons, and the palaces with the rest of the family; but now that all the principal points of interest had been visited, his mother and sister became absorbed in "dressmaking and millinery" while his father spent hours at the Herald office reading the American papers. As neither of these occupations was lively enough to suit the taste of an eager, restless boy like Art, he took to going off on long exploring trips by himself, up, down, across, and around the city!
"Now, Arthur, do, I beg of you, be careful," his mother would say to him. "If you could speak French, I wouldn't worry, but as it is, what if you should get lost?"
"Why, I'd just call a cab, sing out through my nose as loud as I could the name of our hotel, and I'd be back here"—Art was going to add "in no time," but recollecting that he was not supposed to be riding behind his father's fast team in New York, changed it to "some time."
One morning he had planned to spend on top of an omnibus running on a route he had not yet been over, but on awaking he found quite a snow-storm raging in the air, although the flakes melted as soon as they touched the heated pavements.
Now Art had not seen snow before all that winter, so when it had cleared off he determined, instead of taking his omnibus ride, to walk out to the Bois de Boulogne and feast his eyes on the "genuine article."
He set out about eleven, walking at a brisk pace in order to be back in good season for lunch at one. There was plenty to see on the way, so although the distance from the hotel to the Bois was a long one, it did not seem a great while to Art before he came within sight of a pure white covering of snow on tree, shrub, and grass. His boyish heart thrilled at once with delight, although he could not but acknowledge to himself that a hill and a sled would not have come amiss. As a substitute for these he fell to making quantities of soft snow-balls to shy harmlessly at nowhere in particular.
"I suppose, though," he presently reflected, "if one of those gens-d'armes should happen to see me, he'd march me off to the Bastile (if it hadn't been pulled down), for fear of my snow-balls suggesting bullets to this revolutionary people."
As this thought struck him he fired what he resolved should be his last shot, which, as it happened, just grazed the money cup on top of a hand-organ in the next path.
The organ was resting on a portable stool, and behind it Art could see its owner sitting on the low iron railing. He was drinking coffee or soup out of a cup filled from a bottle in the hands of a little girl seated on a basket in front of him. The group made quite a pretty picture, which the lad stopped a moment to gaze at, thankful that his snow-ball had not disturbed it.
Then a squirrel nearer at hand caught his eye, and he stood watching the cute little fellow frisk about, with his bright eyes and gracefully waving tail, for fully five minutes.
Presently, however, the confused sound of many voices coming from the other path again turned Art's attention in the direction of the hand-organ. He soon saw that it had been left by the man in charge of the little girl, who was being teased by a company of school-boys.
One of the latter had possessed himself of the bulging cotton umbrella which had stood leaning against the post, and was making as if he were going to run off with it, while the little girl chased him about, scolding at a terrible rate in her fast French.
At first Art was inclined to think that the boys were only in fun. But when he saw two of them catch hold of the organ and hurry away with it into the woods while the girl was running around the corner after her umbrella, all his American blood was up, and he started after "the young highwaymen."
"I may not be a match for both of them in a fight," he reflected, as he sped along, "but perhaps I can frighten them a little;" and making his voice as deep as possible, Art shouted out after the runaways, who, thinking a gen-darme was on their track, dropped the organ in the snow, and dashed on at double-quick.
Our hero slackened up a bit until they were out of sight, and then hurried forward to see if anything had been broken. Luckily the organ had escaped all damage, and picking it up, Art started to carry it back to the little girl. But somehow he could not recollect the exact direction from which he had entered the woods, and after tramping about through the snow for some time, he was compelled to put his burden down and rest awhile.
"Well, well," he mused, as he wiped the perspiration from his forehead, "this is a pretty fix for me to get myself into. I wonder what the fellows at home would say at seeing me lug this hand-organ about through the woods as if I were an Italian looking for a monkey. And, after all, I don't believe those fellows really meant to steal it. Very likely they only wanted to hide it from the little girl. Still, it was a mean thing to do, and I'm—" But at this instant he became aware of a man running toward him, shouting and shaking his fist, and before Art could make up his mind what to do, he saw that it was the organ-grinder.
Forgetting for the time that ten chances to one the man would not understand a word he said, Art at once began explaining to him how he had recovered his property, when, to his amazement, he was suddenly interrupted by a rough grasp on the collar of his coat, and a torrent of French fury, which ought to have caused him to tremble in his shoes, if he had only deserved and comprehended it.
He did comprehend the tight clutch by which he was held, however, and quite naturally began to grow highly indignant at the injustice done him.
"But don't I tell you I half raced my legs off to get your organ back for you?" he cried. "Why, I actually believe you think I was one of the fellows that stole it!"
Then, as the man took a still firmer grasp of his coat, and began a louder series of exclamations, the boy became finally convinced that this was really the state of the case.
Explanations were of no avail; indeed, they only seemed to make matters worse, for whenever Art attempted to make himself understood either by loud talk or dumb-show, the organ-grinder only gripped deeper and rattled on faster.
"Well, this is a go!" muttered our hero to himself as he finally gave up all resistance, and tried in vain to call up a word or two of French that would be likely to help him out of the scrape. "He must certainly know that I'm not French, but I don't see that that makes any difference to him. I wonder, though, what he's going to do with me?"
This query was soon answered, for now the man made signs to Art to pick up the organ.
"What! he wants me to carry the thing for him!" and the lad's hatred of injustice again rose up strong within him, causing him to shake his head in a most decided fashion.
For reply the Frenchman simply shrugged his shoulders, and muttered the word "Gens-d'armes."
This was enough for Art. As has been already stated, he had a decided prejudice to becoming intimate with the Paris police, and as the spectacle of his being marched off to jail by one of them, before he could hope to make himself understood, passed before his mental vision, he stooped down, picked up the organ, and walked on by the side of its owner, who all the while kept a hand on his shoulder.
It was certainly a most humiliating situation, but Art managed to extract some degree of consolation from the reflection that he was being wronged. Then he suddenly recollected the snow-ball he had thrown which had nearly overturned the money cup.
"He must have noticed it, after all. What an awful combination of circumstances against me! I wonder if I can't buy him off?" and as he stumbled along beneath his burden, Art began to calculate how much money he had in his various pockets.
"But no," he suddenly resolved, "I will not act as if I were guilty. I did what I thought was right, and now I'll stand by the consequences. I know that I'm innocent, which is lots of comfort, and surely the Frenchman will soon let me go when he sees how meekly I take my punishment."
By this time they had reached the edge of the woods, and the man was leading the way along one of the paths in the direction of the city.
"Where on earth is the fellow going to take me, I wonder?" mused Art, "and what can have become of the little girl and the big umbrella?"
Presently they left the park behind them, and now our hero was given to understand that his punishment was but just begun; for suddenly the man stopped, opened the camp-stool arrangement, motioned to Art to set the organ on top of it, and then intimated that he expected him to turn the crank.
"Never!" cried the boy, excitedly, and he attempted to shake himself free of the Frenchman's grasp. But the struggle that ensued only served to draw a gaping crowd around them, and Art speedily saw that the easiest thing for him to do was to submit.
So, with the man's hand still on his shoulder, he caught up the crank, and began to grind out the waltz from the Chimes of Normandy, all the while busily wondering how he could get back to the hotel in time for lunch, and thus save his mother a deal of anxiety.
Once he had thought of mentioning the name of the hotel to the organ-grinder, but as often gave up the idea when he recollected in what capacity he would be obliged to traverse the principal boulevards in order to reach it.
By this time faces began to appear at the windows of the houses, and pieces of money were now and then thrown out. Some of these fell quite a distance from the organ, and having noted this fact, Art set to work to contrive a plan of escape.
The Frenchman, however, was not to be easily fooled, for whenever he was compelled to leave Art's side in order to pick up a coin, he pointed to the crank and made a circular motion with his arm, to intimate that his ears were open if his eyes were turned away, and that the instant the music ceased he would know the reason why.
Still our hero hoped for success in his scheme, in spite of the Frenchman's wariness, so he played steadily on and waited his opportunity, meanwhile taking from one of his pockets with his left hand a five-centime piece, which is equal to one cent in American money.
Presently that for which he had been watching happened. The second story window of a house three or four doors off was opened and some money thrown out. The man started to pick it up. As soon as his back was turned, Art quickly transferred his sou from his left hand to his right, continuing, meanwhile, to grind out the tune with the former. Then with all the dexterity acquired as pitcher on the nine at home he threw the money on ahead of the organ-grinder, started on a run up the street and around the corner.
He knew that the neighborhood—that of the American quarter—was a quiet one, so he dashed on fearlessly until he came out on the Place of the Star, in the centre of which stands the magnificent Arch of Triumph.
From this point twelve different avenues diverge. Quickly selecting the one leading furthest away from the spot where he had left the organ, Art walked rapidly down it until satisfied that he was safe from pursuit. He then crossed over to the Boulevard Haussmann, and in twenty minutes was safe back at the hotel.
When he related his adventures to the family, his father said he ought to have appealed to the police, and his sister called him a goose for having stood it as long as he did.
But not so with the mother. Mrs. Dickson drew him to her side and whispered that he was her gallant American knight, and after that Art could not regret his attempt to right a wrong, although he often says that the man did not deserve the sou he had thrown him so successfully.
[THE SNOW.]
Hurry and skurry! Hurrah for the snow!
How the flakes dance, and how the winds blow!
Run for the sleighs, and for mufflers run,
Little ones eager for frolic and fun.
Pull on the mittens, and ring out the bells,
Jolly, I say, is the music that tells
Winter has come and the Snow King is here—
There! a big snow-ball hit me on the ear!
[TOBOGGANING.]
BY B. HARDWICKE.
This sport, under different names, is popular both in Canada and Russia. Before Nihilism had terrified a great part of the life and gayety out of the Russian court, it was a popular pastime even among members of the imperial family.
As soon as the Neva was frozen over sufficiently to bear the weight, two immense piers of solid ice were built at distances of about a quarter to half a mile apart. On one side there was a flight of steps to the top, and on the other a precipitous descent at about an angle of forty-five degrees. The sport consisted in descending this incline in a small sleigh, or toboggan. The pilot and his one or more passengers having descended the first incline, ascended the steps of the other pier on foot, and made the return journey. The trip was repeated back and forth until the parties were weary of the sport.
THE TOBOGGAN.
A toboggan may accommodate three or four persons, as shown in our picture, but the smaller sleighs made to hold only two are more common in Russia. A very slight movement suffices to guide the toboggan, or to throw it out of its course. The steering is done by the occupant of the back seat. An inexperienced pilot, finding his toboggan careering toward the right, is apt to put too much force into his efforts to change its course, and so upset both himself and his passengers. The toboggan responds to the slightest touch. A stick of wood is sometimes used in the guiding, but it can be readily done by the hand.
To enjoy a toboggan ride it is necessary to be well skilled in the art of guiding the sleigh, or to have great confidence in the person who is to do the steering. By the time the toboggan has reached the level, it has acquired velocity sufficient to carry it a very long distance.
In Canada, where some people who are not fond of cold weather assert that the winters are "thirteen months long," tobogganing is a most popular sport. While the nights are enlivened with balls, hops, and concerts, the days are devoted to snow-shoeing excursions and tobogganing parties, in which all, both sexes and all ages, join, and which brighten the hill-slopes and river-banks throughout the dominion.
The Canadian toboggan proper is a light curved slip of birch bark, daintily painted or embroidered in quaint Indian style, which glides down the icy slope with delicious swiftness, and, skillfully guided, carries its occupant far along the level ground at the base. In some places in Canada there are courses of wood erected, and during the long winters the sport can be frequently enjoyed.
There is just danger enough in tobogganing to make it exciting. An incautious guide may upset his passengers or run into another toboggan. The pace being from thirty to sixty miles an hour, a collision may result in some serious bruises. In most places the course chosen is some natural declivity where the undulations may be smoothed down so that the incline is even. Water is sometimes poured down the slope and allowed to freeze, so as to increase the slipperiness of the surface.
If any of our readers should have an opportunity of indulging in the sport, they will do well to bear in mind our advice, and if they undertake to act as pilots, must be very careful not to get excited. The fun which boys in the United States call coasting is only tobogganing on a small scale; but the prepared course and the long run of the sleigh on the level make the pastime much more exciting. Toboggans are sold at all the large general stores in Montreal and Toronto. There is very little demand for them in New York, but they may be obtained through a firm in William Street, New York.
[FUN AND PICTURES.]
BY CHARLES BARNARD.
Within a year or two there has been introduced into this country a new set of tools for girls and boys that will not only enable them to procure a great deal of useful information, but lots of downright fun as well.
The first thing necessary is a small wooden box painted black, and having a brass tube placed in one side. In this brass tube is a lens. You see what that is. It is a camera. With the camera is a set of sticks, hinged in the middle, and called a tripod. When folded up, it makes a neat package that can be carried in the hand. When opened and set up, the camera is placed on top, and kept in place by a screw.
There is also a little cap for the tube of the camera, and two, or even more flat little wooden boxes, with openings at each end, closed by wooden slides. There is also a small pocket-lantern that gives a red light. Before we can do any work we must buy some sensitive plates. These come in packages of a dozen each, wrapped in black paper. They are called gelatine plates, and sometimes dry plates. They are so sensitive that the smallest ray of white light would ruin them at once. We must open the package, therefore, by the light of our lantern in a dark room when we come to put our plates in the little wooden boxes. Say we take two and put them back to back; that gives us a chance to take four pictures.
It is a bright sunny day. Let us start for some fun and pictures. Ah! there's a girl knitting on the door-step under a grape-vine. She is busy, and sits quite still. We set the camera up before her. Point the brass tube at her, and draw out the bellows at the back of the camera. We have with us two sheets of pasteboard bound together at the edges, like a book, with black cloth. Hold this before the ground glass on the camera and look between the leaves or sheets of pasteboard. There is a picture of the girl. It is upside down, and a little dim and hazy. The first we can not help, and by moving the bellows in or out we change the picture until each twig and leaf is sharp and clear on the glass.
Now take off the ground glass very carefully, and place one of the wooden boxes in its place, taking care to put the two handles at the right, and to fasten the box to the camera by the clasp on top. Softly now! Do not stir the camera. Put on the cap, and carefully draw out the slide in the box next the camera. Steady. Take off the cap, and wait six seconds. Put on the cap, and put the slide in the box again. "Much obliged, little girl. We will send you your picture to-morrow." After that we see a boy fishing, a rose-bush in full bloom, and a pretty house by the pond, and we have a shot in the same way at each.
GIRLS TAKING EACH OTHER'S PHOTOGRAPHS.
Among other things we bought with the camera were three shallow pans and four paper boxes containing dry chemicals, together with a few cents' worth of oxalic acid in dry powder, a little sulphuric acid in a bottle, and a bottle of dry bromide of ammonia. We shall also find a small pair of scales and weights useful.
Now for work. Open the box marked neutral oxalate of potash, and weigh out two ounces, and put it in a bottle with six ounces of hot water. Then to this add a few grains of the oxalic acid. For measuring the water we use a glass graduate. From the box marked protosulphate of iron weigh out two ounces, and put it in a bottle with six ounces of hot water. To this add six drops of sulphuric acid. Let them stand until they are cool. From the box marked hyposulphite of soda take one ounce, and from the box marked alum two ounces, and put the chemicals in bottles containing six ounces of cold water each. Lastly, weigh out one hundred and twenty grains of the bromide of ammonia, and mix with two ounces of cold water. Pour the first two mixtures into clean bottles, taking care to keep back the sediment. For convenience, we will call the bottle of oxalate of potash No. 1, the iron mixture No. 2, the hyposulphite of soda No. 3, and the alum No. 4.
After supper we will light the lantern, open our picture game-bag, and see what we have captured. On the table we place the three pans, the numbered bottles, and bromide of ammonia, which is called the "restrainer." Now measure out one ounce of No. 1, and put it in one pan. Then add one-quarter ounce of No. 2, and a few drops of the "restrainer." In another pan pour enough of No. 3 to cover the bottom, and in the third some of No. 4.
Open one of the boxes, and take out a plate. Hold it right side up for a moment in a bowl of cold water, and then drop it lightly into the pan containing Nos. 1 and 2. Hold the pan in front of the lamp, and gently rock it up and down. Why, look at that! See that black spot on the plate. There's another in the corner. Oh, that's the sky. There are two more spots. That is—yes, that's the girl's dress. There's her face, and those two small spots are her hands.
Now wash the plate at the sink, and place it in the pan containing No. 4 for a moment. Then take it out, and put it in the pan containing No. 3. How strange! The picture is fading away. No. That's all right. Wait a moment, and then hold it up to the light. There it is, with the white film quite faded away. Give it one more washing, and place it in No. 4 for five minutes. Take the other plates and treat them each in the same way.
Next day we find that our four plates are regular photographic negatives, and if we take them to the photographer, he will give us prints of them at a very low price. Keep the negative, for if it is a very pretty one, you can have as many prints made as you wish. Another and cheaper way is to print them yourself. We buy a little picture-frame having a movable back, and called a printing-frame. We place in this one of the negatives, with the smooth side out, and lay over it a piece of paper called ferroprussiate paper, or sensitive paper, and locking the back of the frame, we put it in the bright sunshine for three or four minutes. Then we open the frame in a shaded room, and taking out the paper, we put it in a pail of water in a dark closet, and leave it floating there for half an hour. When we open the closet, we take out the paper, and hang it up to dry in the dark. When it is dry, there is the picture, in blue and white.
Any boy or girl twelve years old can do this work. The new tools cost only a few dollars, and they bring a great deal of fun, and in a little while a whole gallery of pictures.
P.S.—Don't forget to send the picture to the girl as we promised.