easily while riding. Then mounting will come more or less naturally, since the difficulty in this operation is not so much to get on the machine, as to start the wheel soon enough after gaining the seat to avoid falling off. To begin with, the girl should grasp both handle-bars firmly, facing forward, of course. By means of the hands the bicycle should be held absolutely perpendicular, neither leaning towards her person nor away from it. Then standing on the left of the machine, she should step over the gearing with her right foot and place it on the right pedal, which is moved just forward of its highest point in the arc; in other words, so that the first pressure which comes on that right pedal will force the machine ahead as fast as possible.

Having placed her right foot on this pedal, without bearing any weight on it, she then steps into the position over the gearing which will bring her weight as nearly as possible immediately over the centre of gravity of the machine. Having arranged her skirt so that it will be symmetrical when she mounts, she merely rises by stepping up on the right-hand pedal, and sits into the saddle by a slow, easy movement. Her weight on the right-hand pedal starts the machine forward, pulls the saddle in under her, and gives the velocity to the bicycle which she needs in order to keep her balance.

CORRECT METHOD OF DISMOUNTING.

One of the most important things about women's bicycle-riding is the ability to dismount not only gracefully, but at once in case of necessity. In this, as in mounting, there is no jump anywhere. The rider simply catches the left pedal as it begins to rise from the lowest point in the arc, and, bearing her weight on that pedal, allows herself to be forced upward out of the saddle. This not only brings her into a position to step out of the machine, but also brings the machine to a standstill, or practically so, unless she is going at a high rate of speed. When the pedal has nearly reached the top, and the machine is as near a standstill as possible, she steps, still bearing her weight on this left-hand pedal, out on the left side of the machine, putting her right foot over the left foot, and letting the right foot strike the ground first. Both mounting and dismounting are slow, even movements; there is no quick jump about them, and the motions are all gradual. As soon as you attempt to leap into the saddle, or leap out of it, you are almost certain to disturb the equilibrium of the bicycle itself, and then catastrophe is the result.

It only remains to say a word about riding with men and boys. Boys, as a usual thing, are in better physical condition for such exercise as bicycle-riding than girls. They can consequently ride farther and faster than girls; and as any girl of spirit will try to keep up with whomever she is riding, she is likely to strain herself. It is wise, therefore, for the girl to always insist on leading, or, as it is called, on "setting the pace," and it is also wise for her to make up her mind just where she is going to ride before she stops. The distance is then settled before the journey begins, and there is no question of riding farther than she thought she would at the start. If a girl sets out for a bicycle ride without any definite point in view, she is likely to ride away from home until she becomes tired, and then there is the whole distance of the return to be covered in a more or less wearied condition; and it is this kind of bicycle-riding which does the injury to women and girls.

WHAT MARJORIE COULD DO.

BY H. G. PAINE.

I.

"Fire! Fire!"

Marjorie Mason woke up with a start.

"Clang! clang!" went the fire-engine from around the corner.

"Whoa!" shouted the driver.

"Dear me!" thought Marjorie; "it must be very near here," and she jumped out of bed and ran to the window. The engine was already connected with the hydrant across the street, and the firemen were attaching the hose and bringing it—what? yes; right up the front steps of the Masons' house! One fireman was ringing violently at the front-door bell; and Marjorie wondered why her father did not go down to open the door. Perhaps the house next door was on fire, and they wanted to take the hose up on the roof. Still the bell rang, and now Marjorie could hear the firemen from the hook-and-ladder truck that had just come up breaking in the parlor windows with their axes.

"Why doesn't somebody go to the door?" she said to herself. "It will never do to have that dirty hose dragged through the parlor and over the new carpet!" and she jumped to the door of her room to run down and let the firemen in; but, as she opened it, a rush of hot air and stifling smoke blew into her face, choking and gagging her, and filling her eyes with tears. Then she realized for the first time that the fire was in her own house. She shut the door with a bang, and ran to the window, opened it, and looked out. As she did so a tongue of flame shot up in front of her from the window of the library, just underneath her own room. Her father's and mother's room was in the back part of the house on the same floor as the library. "Was it on fire, too?" Marjorie shuddered as she thought of it.

"And Jack!" Her brother Jack slept in the back room on the same floor as Marjorie, but the rooms did not connect. "Perhaps the fire is only in the front part of the house," she thought, "and the others don't know anything about it." She determined to arouse them.

Marjorie opened the door again. The smoke and heat were stifling, but there was no flame that she could see. Then she shut her eyes, closed the door behind her, and rushed down the hall to Jack's room. She had been to it so often that she could not miss the door-knob, even in her excitement. Fortunately the door was unlocked. She opened it quickly, and shut it behind her, gasping for breath. Oblivious alike of the danger and the noise Jack was still fast asleep, but she soon woke him up, and together they rushed to the back window. Looking down they saw their father helping their mother out upon the sloping roof of the back piazza.

At the sight of her poor mother, who was very ill, in so perilous a plight, Marjorie forgot all about her own danger, and shouting, "Hold on tight—I'll tell the firemen!" before her brother could stop her she had run back fearlessly to her own room despite the fact that the stairway was now all in a blaze. As she opened her eyes she saw the glazed helmet of a fireman at the window.

"GO BACK AND LOOK AFTER FATHER AND MOTHER!"

"Go back!" she cried; "go back quick and look after father and mother; they are on the roof of the back piazza!"

Then a strange feeling of dizziness came over her. She felt a strong arm around her waist. She dimly saw a kind face near to hers, and was conscious of being carried down, down, down, so far, so far, and of hearing people cheering a great way off.

II.

It was a very different house, the one that Marjorie went to live in after the fire, not nearly so nice as the dear old home where she and Jack had been born. In the first place, it was in a distant and different part of the city. The rooms were all differently arranged, and the furniture and everything in them were different. It seemed to Marjorie as if nothing had been saved from the old house. Even the clothes they all wore were different—very different, indeed; for they were black.

That was a sign of the greatest and saddest difference. Though the firemen had quickly gone through the basement