Harper's Round Table, October 8, 1895 Part 7

Till her main and fore with a cras.h.i.+ng roar Plunge down to the spouting spray.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE FIGHT IS DONE AND THE DAY IS WON.]

The fight is done and the day is won, For a burning wreck is she,

[Ill.u.s.tration: HER DECKS WERE RED WITH HER GALLANT DEAD.]

But her decks are red with her gallant dead, And never a cheer cheer we.

And over our side comes Dacres then, Our brave but conquered foe; He pa.s.ses on by the silent men, And his head is hanging low.

He gains the deck, and he holds to Hull The hilt of his gallant brand, But the Captain waves the sword aside And takes him by the hand: "The true, true sword of a true, true man Shall stay his own for ay, But a hat I'll take when the land we make, For the bet at Lisbon Bay."

And up in the quiet sky the stars Came twinkling one by one, And over the quiet sea the moon In silver sweetness shone.

Our sails were white in the peaceful light As westward did we bear, And a fiery s.h.i.+ne on the dim sea-line Was the last of the _Guerriere_.

And here's to the skipper!--of all the men That ever sailed the sea There was never a one like Isaac Hull To handle a s.h.i.+p, said we.

_And that is the tale that was told to me By the man with the tarry queue, Who sat with a spy-gla.s.s in his hand, And gazed on the waters blue; His hair was white, but his eye was bright, And straight was his ancient form, And his brown old face bore many a trace Of the battle and the storm._

TODDLETUMS HAS A DREAM.

"Oh, papa, I had a bully dream last night. Want to hear about it?"

"Why, yes, Toddletums. Let's hear what it was."

"Dreamt I was dead, and playing baseball among the stars."

"Well, Toddletums, I am sorry to hear you speak of that as a 'bully dream.'"

"But it was, papa. I was no more than dead when I got among a lot of spirits, big fellows all dressed in white, and they knowed right away 'bout my being the best catcher on the Rangtown nine, so the first thing they said was, 'Hurray! here's our great catcher at last,' and before I knew it I was catching back of one of those big white fellows, and, what do you think, he was using the tail of a comet for a bat. 'Way off in the distance (say, they have awful big diamonds up there) was another fellow pitching, and all he did was to pluck one of the stars out of the Milky Way and throw it at me for a baseball. Say, papa, you've seen those falling stars? Well, they say they're meteors. Now that's nonsense, 'cause they're the b.a.l.l.s the catchers up there misses.

"By-and-by our side (that's the Comets, you know) got in, and the score stood 16 to 0 in favor of the Milky Ways. By-and-by it was my turn at the bat, and I felt kind of afraid, 'cause the comet's tail looked awful bright, but I seized it and swung it round two or three times, and it didn't burn a bit. 'One ball!' cried the umpire as the pitcher sent a star singing past me (and it wasn't fair, either,'cause they pitched it when I was trying the bat). I braced myself for the next one, and then that pitcher thought he'd fool me. Making out to s.n.a.t.c.h a ball from the Milky Way, he turned around, and, reaching 'way out, what do you think he did? Why, he grabbed our world, that we're living on, and threw it at me with all his might. Well, they couldn't knock out the Rangtown catcher that way, for I just swung the bat around, and hit the old world an awful crack. I bursted that comet bat all to pieces and hit a foul. I looked up, and there was the world a-comin' right down into my hands. It was a fine chance, and I couldn't let it pa.s.s, and I just caught it.

"All those fellows began yelling 'foul!' and then I woke up. And, papa, what do you think? I had fallen out of bed, but I had a bully time, though."

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE PUDDING STICK]

This Department is conducted in the interest of Girls and Young Women, and the Editor will be pleased to answer any question on the subject so far as possible. Correspondents should address Editor.

"Do write a Pudding Stick about table manners." Why, of course, dear Molly, I will, if you wish it, especially as you say you speak for the girls of your Round Table Chapter. I wish you would imitate Molly, and often suggest the topics you like best--you young people of the Round Table Order.

There is nothing very puzzling about the etiquette of the table. One who knows how to behave elsewhere knows how to behave at the table. The chief thing to be remembered is that good manners everywhere rest on a strong foundation of common-sense and kind feeling, and that n.o.body is clumsy or awkward who is free from self-consciousness. If one is thinking of herself and of the sort of impression she is making, she will be likely to blunder. You must dismiss yourself from your mind.

"But what bothers me," says Ruth, "is the fact that there is no fixed rule about what to do, and what not to do. Which is right, to take my soup-plate from the waitress, or to let her take my empty plate and set the filled plate in its place herself? And in some houses you are helped to salad, and in others you have to help yourself when it is handed to you. Is it rude to ask for a second helping of something you like? or, when you decline a thing, is it proper to explain that you like it, but it does not agree with you?"

As to the last of these little worries, my dear child, never do that.

Never tell your hostess or your friends that lobster gives you cramps, and stuffed olives produce heart-burn, and pastry causes dyspepsia. It is in the worst taste imaginable to speak of these effects, and wholly needless. You may always pa.s.s over or decline a dish of which you are not desirous of partaking. It is usually right to ask for a second helping of some viand which pleases you, and your hostess will consider herself complimented by your doing this; but the exception is, when the meal is a formal one of numerous courses, and when you are doing so would r.e.t.a.r.d the orderly progress of the meal. In doubt about any little detail, look to your hostess and follow her example. The waitress is trained to certain ways, and she will do as she is accustomed to; you have therefore no responsibility.

In talking at the table, if the company is large, you will usually converse more with your neighbor than with the circle as a whole. But at home and in the family, or at the house of an intimate friend, you must do your share of the entertainment. Save up the bright little story and the witty speech, the funny sayings of a child, the sc.r.a.p of news in your Aunt Mary's last letter, and when a good opportunity offers, add your mite to the general fund of amus.e.m.e.nt.

There are dear old gentlemen--and old ladies too--who have favorite stories which they are rather fond of telling. People in their own families, or among their very intimate acquaintances, hear these stories more than once--indeed, they sometimes hear them till they become very familiar. Good manners forbid any showing of this, any look of impatience or appearance of boredom on the part of the listener. The really well-bred woman or girl listens to the thrice-told tale, the well-worn anecdote, says a pleasant word, smiles, forgets that she has heard it before, and does not allow the dear _raconteur_ to fancy that the story is being brought out too often. Good manners at the table are inflexible on this point. You must appear pleased. You must give pleasure to others. You must make up your mind to receive gratification by imparting it.

Once in a while an accident happens at a meal. A cup is overturned; some unhappy person swallows "the wrong way"; somebody makes a mistake. Look at your plate at such a moment, and nowhere else, unless you can sufficiently control your face and appear entirely unconscious that anything has occurred out of the usual routine. Take no notice, and go on with the conversation, and in a second the incident will have been forgotten by every one.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Signature]

ON BOARD THE ARK.

BY ALBERT LEE.

CHAPTER X.

Tommy stared for some minutes at the antics of the Ibexes, and then turned to the ex-Pirate.

"How very odd!" he remarked.

"Very," a.s.sented the other. "Aren't you beginning to feel sort of queer?"

"I don't notice any motion at all," replied Tommy.

"I don't mean _that_," said the ex-Pirate, looking reproachfully at the little boy. "But, personally, I am beginning to become affected by all these animals. I almost feel as though I could become a second Abou-Ben-Din."

"A second Abou-Ben-Din?"

"Yes," continued the ex-Pirate, scarcely noticing the interruption. "But I hardly think it would pay. I doubt if there are any other craft hereabouts."

"What are you mumbling about, anyway?" asked Tommy.

"I was not mumbling at all. I was thinking of Abou-Ben-Din. _There_ was a pirate for you!"

"I never heard of Abou-Ben-Din," said Tommy. "I've read about Captain Kidd and the Dey of Algiers, and lots of others--but that's all."

"Well, if you had allowed me to read the first sixteen chapters of my autobiography," exclaimed the ex-Pirate, becoming somewhat excited, as he always did when the subject of his autobiography came up, "you would have known all about Abou-Ben-Din by this time. He was a Hindoo."

"But can't you tell me about him now, just as well?" pleaded the little boy, anxious to get another pirate story.

"I might," answered the ex-Pirate, meditatively. "I might. It is a favorite story of mine, but I don't think this is very good company to tell it in."

"Why is not it?"