bicyclists, with extra blankets, and a cooking-stove, on which hot coffee was steaming when the corps arrived. Further on in the run the same hospitality was shown. At Streator a good-natured merchant distributed free soda-water checks to all, and as many as each wanted. One lady invited the cadets into her house and gave them cake and lemonade, and had all the girls of the neighborhood in to serve it. The notes of the "Assembly Call" were mighty unwelcome sounds that afternoon.

But besides the fun and the exercise and healthfulness of the journey, a good deal of useful information was absorbed. On the run out from Chicago the road followed the line of the new drainage canal, giving all a good opportunity to witness the blasting and the working of the giant machine shovels. At Springfield the corps visited the Legislature, then in session, and the home of President Lincoln. They were also received by the Governor. At Joliet they were taken through the penitentiary, and among other souvenirs of the place, each one carried away a piece of striped cloth from the tailor shops. These pieces did important duty later in the journey, most of them returning to Chicago in the form of patches to the well worn uniforms.

On the whole the trip proved most successful, and there is not much those boys don't know to-day about the handling of bicycles.

THE BICYCLE CORPS AT DRESS PARADE.

A PILOT'S STORY.

For a number of years I have been a traveller on the North River ferry-boats running between New York and Jersey City. One of the pleasures of these short trips has been in my interest and admiration for the skilful way in which such huge, unwieldy boats are handled by their pilots. The tides in the river are at times very strong, and especially so near the ferry slips. To prevent mishaps it requires the most careful manœuvring, as a small error of judgment might send the heavily laden boat crashing into the bulkheads. Such an accident would endanger the lives of the people on board.

When the heavy gong sounds, and the rumble of the paddle-wheels stops, and the boat glides silently over the water, it is then that the pilot and his engineer are on the alert—one with his hand on the wheel, moving it this way and that, and the other with his hand on the lever bar, ready to back water or go ahead, according to his signals.

I remember a story that a pilot told me, of which he was the hero. He did not tell it boastingly, but in a simple, quiet way, and not before a great deal of persuasion was brought to bear upon him. We were standing at the time on the lower deck of a ferry-boat belonging to the line upon which he was then employed. Pointing to a grimy young bootblack who was industriously polishing away, he said: "At one time I polished boots the same as that youngster is doing there. I loved the boats and the crowds, but more especially I loved to watch the pilot and the engineer at work. To see the latter polishing and oiling his machinery as carefully as a mother would dress a baby was my chief enjoyment. I dare say I knew every part of the engine as well as he did, or at least I thought so, and many a shine I let pass simply to see him work the boat in and out of the slip. This curiosity, or rather interest, on my part stood me in good stead at one time, as you will see. We were unusually crowded on the trip when my stroke of good luck took place, both gangways running past the engine-room being choked up with horses and wagons.

"Most of the drivers had gone forward, and I sat in my usual place on the ledge at the engine-room door alone. Bang! the first bell sounded to reduce her to half speed, and I glanced around to watch the engineer shut off steam. He was sitting facing the engine in his arm-chair, his chin in his hand, and his arm resting on the side of the chair. I was surprised to see that he made no move, and, thinking he was asleep, I ran in to shake him. By this time the pilot evidently thought something was wrong, and the big bell sounded twice, meaning, as you probably know, to stop the engine. I could not make the engineer move, and, without hesitating, I stepped across to the engine, and grasping the wheel, I shut off the steam and disconnected the eccentrics.

"Of course the engine stopped, and the pilot, thinking everything was all right, commenced to send down his signals. I was a little frightened—more at the idea of my working the big engine than at making any mistakes, for I knew exactly what to do. Well, we had some trouble making the slip, and I had to back her out. I can tell you, working that lever bar was no easy job. Then came the sharp tinkle for full speed, and shortly I had her well out into the river. Then came the bells to stop her, and again to reverse and go ahead under half speed.

"By that time I was very tired, but no longer nervous, and when we again neared the slip and the welcome bell to stop the engine sounded, I was very glad. The double signal to back water came, and I pushed the lever bar up and down twice before I got my last signal to stop. When I heard the rattle of the chains as they tied her in the slip I was worn out, and it seems to me I must have fainted, for when I came to it was in the presence of the pilot and some of the officers of the line. They told me the engineer had died of heart-disease; and in recognition of my services they placed me at school and gratified my ambition to become a pilot, as you see."

Hubert Earl.

CORPORAL FRED.[1]

A Story of the Riots.

BY CAPTAIN CHARLES KING, U.S.A.

CHAPTER VI.

Ten minutes later, while police and firemen, both protected by the First Battalion, were devoting their energies to checking the flames that were rapidly sweeping through the great repair shops, and the other two battalions of the regiment were clearing the blazing freight-yards of the last skulkers of the mob, the surgeon had established a temporary field-hospital in the open enclosure between the main entrance and the yards. Thither had been driven the two ambulances, conspicuous by the red cross of Geneva. Here, feebly moaning, lay poor Jim, kicked and clubbed into most unrecognizable pulp. Here beside him knelt Fred, still praying for tidings of his father. Slinking away from the scene of their recent triumph the rioters fled before the solid ranks of the troops, only to regather, though in smaller force, and resume the work of pillage and destruction farther along the line. And now the Colonel began to appreciate the full effect of orders to serve under police instruction. First he had to send Major Flint with his battalion to report to Police Captain Murray a mile away in one direction. Then Major Allen with the second was despatched far out to Prairie Grove. Ten minutes more and a third detachment was demanded to assist Police Sergeant Jaeger, now struggling with the strikers at the elevators along the canal, and when ten o'clock came the Colonel with his staff, his hospital, and something like a dozen officers and men, whose heads were cut by stones and coupling-pins, had just one company left in his immediate command. "B" had gone to the Prairie Avenue crossing, where a mail-train was stalled, and "L," Fred's own, was posted at the storage warehouse, half a mile northward. Fred himself still remained by his brother's side, while police and firemen, lantern-bearing, were searching through what was left of the long line