ory required, but appearance of manuscript, spelling,
construction, character, and plot were to be considered. Stories were
required to contain not more than two thousand nor fewer than one
thousand words. There were a few under five hundred contestants, some of
whom were as young as ten, and in one case seven years. Many stories
were extremely clever, considering the ages of their authors.

The First Prize is won by a Knight who lives in Delaware. His name is
Henry S. Canby, aged sixteen. A Knight, also from a Southern State
(South Carolina), won the first prize in the Table's previous story
contest. The Second Prize is won by a Lady. She is thirteen, and lives
in Minnesota. Her name is Nancy Howe Wood, and the title of her story,
which will be published in order, is "An Exciting Game." The story
standing third is "Joey's Christmas." It reached us bearing no name of
the writer, although it said it was intended for this contest. Owing to
this oversight by the author we cannot award it the Third Prize. We
will, however, give the author, when found, an extra prize of $10. Will
he or she write us? The Third Prize is awarded to the story standing
fourth. It is "The Beverly Ghost," by Jennie Mae Blakeslee, aged
fifteen, a resident of New Jersey. The Table congratulates the winners.

Stories by the following authors are specially commended, the order of
that praise being indicated by the order in which names are printed:
Upton B. Sinclair, Jun., Frances Chittenden, Constance F. Wheeler, Edith
den Bleyker, Alice E. Dyar, Mande Newbolt, A. D. Parsons, Oliver Bunce
Ferris, Agnes Barton, Fanny Fullerton, Joseph B. Ames, Helen H. Hayes,
Louis E. Thayer, George Clarkson Hirts, George W. Halliwell, Jun., Janet
Ashley, Ray Bailey Stevenson, Edith Eckfield, Gay Hugh Leland, Helen L.
Birnie, Virginia Louise De Caskey.

An Old Civil War Veteran.

Living here is the oldest cavalry horse of the civil war. He belongs to
Sergeant B. F. Crawford, Company C, Sixteenth Pennsylvania Cavalry, who
captured him in Virginia just after his owner had been shot from his
back. He was then eight years old. Now he is forty, as black as coal,
save for some gray hairs in mane and tail, and still fond of martial
music, especially on Decoration day, the local parade of which he always
forms a part. Last year he went to the National Encampment of the Grand
Army at Pittsburg, but he is too feeble to go to another. "Old Ned" is
his name, and he is a