had come to see the fun.

It was a beautiful sight. The wood had been piled up in pyramid form, and the flames rose red and yellow almost to the tops of the tall elms, those still sentries of the campus. How it spluttered and hissed and crashed and roared! and not even the Freshmen could drown the mighty voice, which spoke in so many different tongues, though they did their best; and as Braddy's brother, standing near the wagon which held the nine, watched the shooting, dancing, devouring flames his heart thumped so that it almost broke out of bounds, and he drew long, very long breaths.

The fire had died down somewhat, the cheering was more spasmodic and subdued, the time for speeches had come. Every one crowded closer, and the wagon, not the burning pile, became the centre of attention.

"Speech! speech!" cried '98. "A speech, Braddy."

Bradfield was not only the pitcher, but the Captain of the Freshman nine. So they forced him upon the high seat, and yelled for quiet. Braddy looked down upon the densely packed mass, hushed for the moment into something like stillness, and his nerve completely deserted him. There he stood, fair and boyish, a target for all eyes, but he could not say a word. He opened his mouth, he even gestured, but no sound came. It was a case of pure stage-fright, and the awkwardness increased with every second. "Fellows," he managed to stammer out—"fellows—"

But there he stopped. Suddenly the painful pause was broken by a high excited voice. "Tell 'em Princeton's the biggest college in the world, Tom, and that '98 can beat any Freshman nine in the country!"

It broke the spell. Long and loud were the cheers that followed this outburst, and "Braddy's brother," covered with confusion, was hoisted by a dozen hands into the wagon beside the nine. By the time that quiet had once more been restored Tom Bradfield had recovered his "nerve," and his speech on that memorable occasion will go down to posterity as one of the best on record. All the speeches were good, splendid, Bingo thought, for he heard, and understood, and thrilled with every word. When the final sentence had been delivered, and '98 had once more dragged the nine in triumph round the now visible cannon, and cheered them hoarsely for the last time, and when the crowd had begun to disperse, leaving the smouldering embers, and shouting and singing as they went, Braddy turned to his brother with a smile and said,

"Well, Bing, ready for bed?"

And Bingo answered with a sigh, "I suppose a fellow has to go to bed even after a Freshman fire."

"THE OLD-FASHIONED LAWYER."

Laura's cousins were coming to stay overnight, so she asked mamma if she might not invite some other school friends, and some of brother Will's, to spend the evening. And as these friends were pretty sure to come, mother and daughter held a conference as how best to entertain them.

"Why not have games?"

"The very thing! What would I do without your help, mother dear," was the impulsive answer.

"And the best game I know to start with would be The Old-fashioned Lawyer. That will rub away all shyness, and all will feel as though they were friends for a year."

Laura was delighted, and contentedly ran off to tell her brother. But Will did not know the game, and Laura had to explain.

"We'll need an odd number of players. But that can be arranged by you or I dropping out.

"The odd one must be Judge, to settle disputed points.

"The players must sit opposite each other in two rows, and the Lawyer is to stand in the centre between the rows. The Judge can sit in the big green chair, because it is high; for he must keep all the players in full view.

"The game begins by the Lawyer putting a question to the person at either end of one of the rows. But the one to answer is not the one addressed. And there, Will, is where the fun comes in."

"Who is to answer?"

"The person at the extreme end of the opposite row. And should he not correctly answer before the Lawyer counts five, he must change places with the Lawyer. And the Lawyer begins to count slowly out loud as soon as he asks the question."

"What if the person addressed replies.'"

"Then he must pay a forfeit.

"After the first question is answered, the Lawyer may address whomever he pleases, but the party addressed must remain silent; it is the opposite one who must answer. The Lawyer must of course ask questions that are possible to answer. If he should take advantage, there's the Judge to keep him in order."

"What kind of questions would you ask?"

"Why, ordinary ones. Whether or not a person paints from nature? Who is your favorite musician? Which do you prefer, rowing or sailing, tennis or golf? All kinds of questions like that. I don't believe one of us could tell the date of the first crusade, or who invented ink and when.

"And another thing, never look at the individual you intend next to question. For both he and his opposite neighbor would then be prepared. You must play very rapidly or it's no fun. And if any question or discussion occurs, the Judge must decide."

"That will be right jolly, Laura. Do you think the folks will all come?"

CORPORAL FRED.[1]

A Story of the Riots.

BY CAPTAIN CHARLES KING, U.S.A.

CHAPTER V.

For a mile after leaving its armory the regiment had marched through the beautiful residence portion of the city, cheered and applauded to the skies. Turning "column right," it had then threaded a narrow street, shop-lined and less sympathetic, had tramped in cool disregard through half a mile of railway property where, in groups of twenty or thirty, strikers and sympathizers recoiled, but scowled and cursed them, yet prudently refrained from further violence. Once in a while some street arab let drive a stone, then dove under the nearest car, and scurried away into hiding. Then came the lumber district, the swaying bridges where they broke their cadenced stride, and crossed at route step. Then in the gathering darkness the head of the column reached the outlying wards. Square upon square, section on section of frame two-story houses, the homes of citizens of only moderate means, and here, too, people clustered on door-steps or ran to gather at street corners and murmur God-speed and blessing, for less than a mile away now the western sky was lighting up with the glare of conflagration, and the direful word was going round that the mob was firing the freight-cars, and that, despite the efforts of fearless and devoted firemen, the flames were spreading to warehouses and factories along the line. Only a few minutes after sundown the first summons had banged on the gongs of the engine and truck houses of the west side. Then every fire-box for four miles along the lines of the Great Western seemed to have been "pulled," and in a wild confusion of alarms assistant chiefs were driving their clanging buggies, followed by rushing hose-wagons and steamers, all over the outlying wards, unreeling their hose only to have it slashed and ruined by swarming rioters, and they themselves, the fire-fighters of the people, men whose lives were devoted to duty, humanity, and mercy, brutally clubbed and stoned by overpowering gangs of "toughs" bent on mad riot and destruction. For hours from every direction the vicious, the desperate, the unemployed of the great city had been swarming to the scene, and the police force that, properly led and handled at the outset, could easily have quelled the incipient tumult, was now as powerless as the firemen. Oh, what if a prairie gale should rise and fan these flames, as