ON WHEELS.
BY THE CAPTAIN.
To Boston boys Decoration-day of this year was a day long to be remembered; for in addition to the usual military parade, with its wagon-loads of flowers and beautiful floral designs to be placed on soldiers' graves, they had another procession to review—one that was as novel as it was interesting. It was a procession, a mile and a half long, of bicyclers; or, as they are more generally called in this country, "wheelmen." They were the members of the League of American Wheelmen (L. A. W.), gathered, 800 strong, for their annual meeting; and as they rode through the beautiful streets of what is known in Boston as the "Back Bay District," in double file, with gay silken flags marking the positions of the various clubs, bugles sounding, burnished wheels flashing in the sunlight, and thousands of spectators cheering, many a Boston boy determined then and there to become a wheelman.
While most of the wheelmen in this gay procession were men, its rear was brought up by some fifteen or twenty boys, who, under charge of one of the most experienced and graceful riders of the country, made a most creditable show, and proved themselves to be good and careful riders. The picture on the preceding page shows the contrast between them on their 36 or 40 inch bicycles, and their tall Captain on his 56-inch machine.
In the evening the wheelmen had Boston Music Hall, with its great organ, all to themselves, and here the most expert among them gave exhibitions of fancy riding that were very wonderful, as you may imagine by looking at the picture, and seeing "the way some folks ride."
Now it does not seem to me at all surprising that, after seeing all this, the Boston boy should be filled with an intense desire to become a wheelman; nor should I be surprised if every boy who reads this article should also long to own and ride a bicycle.
Well, if you, or your parents for you, can afford it, and you are a strong, healthy boy, there is no reason why you should not become a wheelman, and join the great parade that will take place on the 30th of May next year.
Some boys are afraid that they will fall while learning to ride, and therefore don't dare try. Such boys will never learn, nor do we want any cowards among our wheelmen. Of course there must be some falls, and some little danger attends the sport; but no more boys are hurt in learning to ride or in riding a bicycle than by foot-ball, base-ball, cricket, lacrosse, horseback-riding, or a dozen other manly sports in which boys always have engaged and always will. A little experience will soon teach the rider how to exercise the care necessary to prevent falls. He will learn to lean well back in his saddle when descending a hill, when about to apply his brake, or upon striking a stone or other obstacle. He will learn to lean forward when ascending a hill, and to dismount rather than to try and force his machine through sand.
That bicycling is a healthy exercise is a fact beyond dispute, as any physician who has the slightest knowledge of the bicycle will assure you. Velocipedes, or "bone-shakers," were injurious; bicycles are not.
Good bicycles for boys of from ten to sixteen years of age can be bought for from twelve to twenty dollars, and the very best will not cost over fifty dollars.
A good, easy-running bicycle can be driven up any ordinary hill, provided the road be smooth and hard, and a party of wheelmen, travelling over the ordinary roads of the Eastern States, will cover greater distances each day than if their means of conveyance were horses and carriage.
A moderate amount of luggage, sufficient for a week's trip, may be carried on the bicycle without inconvenience, and the perfection that has been reached in hub and head lamps renders it almost as safe and easy to ride by night as by day.
The best and most sensible bicycling suit consists of the uniform adopted by the L. A. W., which is of light gray throughout—blouse, flannel shirt, breeches, stockings, and polo cap, or helmet. If too warm, the rider can take off his blouse, and carry it very comfortably, rolled tightly, and strapped to the handle-bar of his bicycle.
Before closing I want to say a word about drinking. When a rider becomes very warm, and perspires freely, the temptation to drink, and to drink a quantity of almost anything that offers, is very great. Refrain from drinking anything just as long as you can, except at meal-time, or after your day's ride is over. The more you drink, the greater will be the desire to do so. If, while riding, your thirst becomes unbearable, to rinse your mouth several times, and take but one swallow of cool water, will refresh you as much as, and do you more good than, copious draughts. In riding through the country, be very careful where and what you drink. Water from wells or springs in small quantities is generally good. Water from ponds or streams is apt to be bad. Milk and lemonade are both good. In England the wheelman's favorite drink is milk and soda; in this country it is a soda lemonade: both are good. Beer is bad, very bad—almost the worst thing you could drink. It does not quench thirst, but increases it. It causes you to perspire freely, it takes away your wind, and leaves you panting and exhausted at the top of easy hills.
If the boys who are interested in bicycling have any questions to ask that have not already been answered, let them address "The Captain," through Our Post-office Box, and he will try and furnish the desired information.
[CHATS ABOUT PHILATELY.]
BY J. J. CASEY.
IV.
Already many of my young friends are making inquiries about counterfeit stamps. I am not at all astonished. Similar inquiries have been made almost since the time when stamp-collecting came into vogue. Collectors were swindled at the very beginning. Collectors are swindled every day. And the swindling trade will go on as long as there is a collector who can be swindled.
Whenever there is an opportunity to defraud, no matter how small the amount to be gained, there are always found persons ready to take advantage of the fraud. In the early days of collecting, scarcely a collector was free from the swindlers, either in the shape of forgeries of little-known stamps, or out-and-out humbugs in the shape of stamps that never existed. But with increased study came knowledge, and this knowledge was directed in great part to exposing the swindlers and their vile wares. But the trade was not put down. All the known stamps, both common and rare, were counterfeited in enormous quantities, and sent to agents, who by high-sounding advertisements, and under cover of a "Stamp Company" with a name as long as your arm, and with a prospectus more glowing than the prospectus of De Lesseps's Panama Canal Company, sold these counterfeits to the beginner as "great bargains." Master Jones envied his neighbor's collection because it contained some stamps which cost twenty-five or fifty cents each. But by chance Master Jones receives one of these glowing circulars from "The Great American Stamp Company" (with agencies in the principal cities), offering unheard-of bargains. A country has become bankrupt, or some enterprising member of the firm has persuaded a postal administration to sell to him for waste paper its stock of uncurrent stamps, and hence he is able to sell these great rarities for a mere trifle. Master Jones takes the bait, sends off his little earnings, and if he receives an answer at all—in nine cases out of ten he receives nothing—he is amazed to find a large assortment of rare stamps, some fresh and clean, others nicely cancelled, but all tending to make Master Jones feel that he will soon humble the pride of his neighbor. Like older human nature, he keeps his purchases secret, as he wishes his victory to be a most glorious one for himself, the defeat a most humiliating one to his neighbor. But sooner or later Master Jones finds that he has been made a dupe. Not one of the stamps he has purchased is genuine. Those so nicely cancelled are as bad—in fact, worse than those which are clean. For the counterfeiter, with an ingenuity which might have found employment in better spheres, even counterfeited the government cancelling marks.
Now this is not an imaginary case. It is, rather, the experience of thousands and thousands of collectors, each one of whom has been swindled more or less by this vile trade in counterfeit stamps. It is impossible to estimate the injury resulting to Philately. If it were the dimes and quarters thrown away which alone were to be considered, the loss might be repaired. But it is the disgust, the doubt, following the disclosure, that cause thousands of young collectors, who were enthusiastic in their new hobby, to throw away their collections, and betake themselves to other pastimes.
But it is not always upon the beginner that the counterfeiter or the dealer in fraudulent stamps tries his hand. The trash that he sold to the beginner was in truth trash, and trash of the worst sort. When he could not succeed in getting copies of the wood-cuts that adorned the pages of many of the stamp journals, he had wood-cuts made, most miserable in execution, which could never have deceived the collector who at any time had caught sight of the genuine stamp. The counterfeiter often tried his hand at imitating the rare stamps, and in this, even among collectors who claimed to a certain knowledge of what is good and what is bad in stamps, he met with some success. In these cases, to give plausibility to his specimens, he charged a very high price for them. These counterfeits are of the finest execution.
In many countries, when the supply of low values runs out, the higher values are utilized by printing on the face of the stamps the expression of the value needed. And in other countries, notably many of the Portuguese colonies, the stamps of the home country are made to do service by having printed on them the name of the colony in which those stamps are to be used. The counterfeiter has stepped in here, obtained the genuine stamps before alteration, and then printed upon them a forged inscription either of place or value. They are very dangerous, of course, but not half so dangerous as a late trick which has been exposed. Many stamps are printed on water-marked paper. Water-marked paper has, so far, escaped the counterfeiter's arts. But it seems that some sheets of the water-marked paper on which were printed the stamps of Tuscany were obtained in some way or other from the post-office, and on these the counterfeiter printed forgeries of the rare Tuscan stamps. However suspicious the stamp itself seemed, it was printed on water-marked paper, and as this had not yet been proved to be counterfeited, the stamps would readily pass. Exposure came, but not until the forger had made many dupes, and had pocketed his ill-gotten gain.
Besides these counterfeits which are made exclusively for the collector, and which, therefore, are worth nothing, is another class of counterfeits which have been made exclusively to swindle governments. Because of this fact, and because many of them have actually franked letters through the post, these counterfeits are more valuable to the collector than the corresponding genuine specimens.
To give all the facts concerning counterfeit stamps, and the means of distinguishing them from the genuine, would take up every line of Young People for many mouths to come. This of course it is impossible to do. But a few words of caution will not be out of place. If you decide to purchase, deal only with dealers of established reputation, and require a written guarantee that the stamps sold are genuine. Have no transactions with "Stamp Companies," which so often have been proved to be cloaks for swindling concerns. Keep clear of great bargains. Remember that stamps have a market value, and that any great departure from this value is suspicious.
There are no counterfeits of United States stamps or stamped envelopes, except in two instances: 1. The 5-cent and 10-cent stamps of the 1845 or first government issues have been counterfeited by the Post-office Department, although the genuine dies and plates are still in existence. These the government sells at face value; but to the philatelist they are worthless. 2. Stamped envelopes of the 1860 issue—1-cent, 3-cent, 4-cent, 6-cent, and 10-cent. Genuine specimens of these envelopes are worth from twenty-five cents for the 1-cent envelope, to fifty or seventy-five dollars for the 10-cent envelope. But the counterfeits were sold for a few cents each.
In fine, if you have any doubt about your specimens, send them to some advanced collector for his opinion, taking care to inclose as much postage for the return of your stamps as you placed on your letter when you sent it. I shall be happy at all times to give any of my young friends all the advice which they may require about their specimens.
A CHILD OF SOUTHERN GERMANY.
[THE APPRENTICE'S LEAP.]
A STORY OF LONDON BRIDGE.
BY DAVID KER.
Sunset over London, on a fine summer evening in the days of "good Queen Bess"; tall, quaint old houses, with peaked roofs and countless gables, standing up on every side, and the Thames lying in the midst like a broad sheet of gold, save where it was flecked by the dark shadow of London Bridge, then a regular street, with houses along each side of it.
Just above the middle arch rose a house larger than the rest—that of Sir William Hewet, cloth-worker, and Burgess of the city of London. The sunset made a glory upon the windows of the old mansion, and lighted up the balcony, on which Sir William's baby daughter was crowing and clapping her tiny hands with glee at the sight of it, and stole into the work-room, where the youngest apprentice, Edward Osborne, was beguiling his task by singing the ballad of "Brave Lord Willoughby," which was as popular in that age as "Glory Hallelujah" is in this.
"Ah, if I could but have the chance of doing such a deed as that!" murmured the boy as he ended.
"Well, well, my brave lad," answered the cheery voice of old Sir William, who had entered the room unperceived, "you're on the right road to it by being diligent at your work. Keep to that meanwhile, and never fear but the chance of doing great deeds will come all in good time."
Little did either speaker or hearer guess how soon and in what way those words were to come true. Scarcely had the old knight left the room when the boy was startled by a sudden shriek from the balcony overhead, and by something white flashing past the window into the depth below. Sir William Hewet's only child had leaped out of her nurse's arms, and fallen headlong into the river.
The faint splash was instantly answered by a much louder one, and the distracted household, as they rushed in a body to the fatal balcony, saw Edward Osborne's brown curly head far down the shining stream, shooting straight as an arrow toward the tiny white speck that floated a little way beyond him.
"He has her!"
"No!"
"Yes!"
"No, he's gone past. Stay! he's turning again."
"Hurrah! he's got her at last. Thank God!"
The anxious father's straining eyes were already too dim to see anything clearly; but the joyous shout of his keen-eyed serving-men told him that all was well, and in another moment he was hurrying toward the scene of action as fast as his feet could carry him.
But the peril was not over yet. Good swimmer as he was, the furious swirl of the current, together with the weight of his own wet clothes and those of the child, was fearful odds against the brave apprentice. Twice his head dipped below the surface, and all seemed over; but he still held the rescued infant above the water with one hand, while struggling for life with the other.
"Courage, my hearty!" said a hoarse voice beside him. "Hold up just another minute, and all's well."
At the same moment a boat pulled by two sturdy watermen, who had put off from the shore on the first alarm, came sweeping up to the sinking boy. A strong hand caught the child from his failing grasp, while in another instant he was seized and dragged into the boat after her, just as the last remnant of his overtasked strength gave way.
"Git her head round, Tom," said one of the boatmen to his comrade, "and pull with a will, for that's the youngster's father running this way, or I'm much mistaken."
Scarcely had the boat touched the wharf on her return, when old Hewet sprang into her like a madman, and finding his child unhurt, flung his arms round the neck of the half-drowned apprentice.
"God bless thee, my son!" cried he, fervently. "Let them never call thee a boy again, for few men would have dared as much."
"Let them call him a hero," said a voice from behind.
The boy looked up with a start. Beside him stood the handsomest man he had ever seen, in a rich court dress, looking down upon him with grave, kindly eyes. It was Sir Walter Raleigh, famous even then as one of the greatest men whom England had ever produced, but destined to become more famous still as the colonizer of Virginia.
Ten years from that day there was a great merry-making in the old house on London Bridge, and Sir William Hewet, still brisk and cheery as ever, though his hair was now white as snow, sat at the head of his own table, amid a circle of guests whose names are in every history of England. At his right hand was his daughter's newly made husband—a tall, fine-looking young man, whose clear bright eyes faced that brilliant assemblage as boldly as they had looked down into the foaming waters of the Thames years before.
"This is the man to whom I have given my girl, fair sirs," said the old knight. "Many a rich man and many a grandee have asked me for her; but I always said, 'Let the best man win.'"
"And so he has," cried Sir Walter Raleigh, grasping Osborne's hand; "and the fairest lass in London may be proud to bear his name, for I'll warrant it will be famous yet."
Raleigh spoke truly. A month later, the ex-apprentice was Sir Edward Osborne; yet a few years, and he had become Sheriff; and when the Spanish Armada came, foremost among the defenders of England was Osborne, Lord Mayor of London, from whom the English Dukes of Leeds are still proud to trace their descent.
