"The men set to work to load their muskets.""The men set to work to load their muskets."
"''Tis the very man!'""''Tis the very man!'"
This striking story belongs to the days of the Great French Revolution of 1792. The hero is a young Englishman, the son of Colonel Mainwaring, of the 2nd Dragoon Guards, and at the time the story opens he is on a visit to Paris to his uncle and aunt. Before we narrate one or two striking incidents of his life in France, however, we must say something, very briefly, about the French Revolution, during which so many terrible things were done that it was known as the Reign of Terror. One of the grievances of the people in France was that the power of the nobles had greatly increased, so that they did as they liked. Though they claimed unlimited privileges, yet they refused to take up the responsibilities of their position, and even evaded the taxes which they laid on the shoulders of the people. One unpopular tax was thegabelle, or salt tax, which compelled every person to bring a fixed quantity of salt every year, and made them buy it of certain people who alone had the right to sell, and charged enormous prices. The peasants, too, had to work on the roads for nothing, leaving their farms and little plots of ground whenever they were ordered. They could not earn enough to live on, and what with heavy dues to their lords, and the State interference with trade, they were in a wretched plight, and discontent was widespread. Then famous writers, moved by what was going on around them, wrote strongly against the abuse of power by the nobles and the King, teaching that kings were but the servants of the people. The poor, ignorant, downtrodden peasantry, urged by the selfish trading classes who used them for their own ends, united in a great movement to take away the privileges of the nobles. The serfs flung off the heavy yoke, and went to the worst excesses, burning and wrecking the palaces of their former masters, utterly ruining them and driving them out of the country.
The Commons, or National Assembly as they styled themselves, did not stop when they had introduced reforms that were really needed, but did just as their passion against the aristocrats and the rich dictated. Things passed from bad to worse when the King, who had the right of refusing the proposals of the National Assembly, exercised his right and vetoed (fromveto, I forbid) two of their decrees. This made the people furious. All this was new to Garth Mainwaring, as also was the procession of noisy people, marching through the streets to the beating of drums, carrying banners, and howling and shouting at any well-dressed people they met. Garth saw the mob battering at the doors of the King's palace, calling for his Majesty to come out, and when the King, in quiet dignity, stood before them, they ordered him to put on the red cap of liberty, and grossly insulted him and his beautiful Queen and their children.
Garth had felt his blood leap up as he witnessed this, and in his young enthusiasm he longed to fight on the side of the royal prisoner and his nobles. On the evening of one dreadful day, during which the mob had done wild things, as Garth was passing on towards the Rue Saint Honoré, he heard a faint voice on his left hand. It came from the figure of a man huddled in a doorway, who had been mortally wounded and was rapidly dying.
'Sir,' gasped the man, in English, 'Sir, save my daughter. Go to her, sir, and give her her father's dying blessing.'
'I will go, sir,' said Garth. 'Will you tell me your name?'
'The Baron de Méricourt. I was in the palace. I got away as by a miracle, but I fell among the ruffians here, and they have done for me. Waste no more time, I implore you. Save my darling Lucile, and tell her her father——' But here, with one more gasp, he died.
Another striking adventure befell our hero at Nantes. It was after he had offered to throw in his lot with Bonchamps, a leader of the loyalists, and donned the white cockade of those whose watch-word was 'for God and the King.' He was asked whether he would make an attempt, as they were to attack Nantes, a stronghold of the 'Blues,' to find out the enemy's position. Of course he agreed; there were no dangers in the path of duty that could deter Garth. He was disguised in a peasant's dress, and carried a basket full of live pigeons, which he was to offer for sale as he journeyed. Nantes was a strong position, strongly fortified and manned by the enemy, yet the brave peasants and loyalists of the Vendée determined to endeavour to take it for the young King (for the unhappy Louis XVI. and his beautiful Queen had been put to death by the influence of the more savage leaders of the Revolutionary party). It was late in the evening when Garth started. It would be nearly midnight before he could reach the city. When he came within two miles of the town he saw a barge, laden with wood, moving slowly down the river. Hailing the old man on board, who was holding the rudder, and allowing the laden craft to drift down with the tide, 'Holà,' cried Garth, 'Hé! can you give me a lift down to the quay?'
'Who are you?' asked the bargeman, Jules Viard by name.
'A poor chap with a pair of pigeons to sell.'
The man agreed to the request, and Garth sprang on to the barge as soon as it came within jumping distance, and it resumed its slow passage down the river. Presently the vessel was steered alongside the quay, where the good-natured boatman made her fast for the night, sleeping in her himself to save the few sous he would otherwise have had to pay for his bed; but Garth went along on the riverside, as he wished to look about him to learn what he could of the strength and position of the enemy.
As his wooden shoes clicked on the stone paving, he stripped them off and strung them round his neck. The cathedral clock struck the hour of midnight. On and on he went, using his eyes well. He had reached the Paris road, up which his friends of the Vendean army would probably approach, when he saw an immense obstruction. Climbing a tree, the better to look about him, he found thatthe obstruction was a big redoubt, very solidly constructed. Scaling garden walls and getting behind the redoubt, he satisfied himself that it could be taken from the rear, and being by this time very tired, he lay down under a hedge to sleep till daylight.
The next morning he sold his pigeons to a lieutenant of the National Guard for forty sous, and spent the rest of the day walking about the town with his friend, Viard the bargeman, leaving him at nightfall to begin his return journey. Turning down a narrow passage leading to the river, between two high warehouses, he saw three men, and, as it turned out, men whom he had met before, all enemies to the King's cause. One of them, the Mayor, stopped him.
'Well, my man, where are you going?'
Garth turned his head aside.
'Where are you going?' repeated the Mayor.
'Down to the river, citizen. Came in last night on a barge to sell pigeons.'
'On a barge, eh? Were you molested by the brigands?'
'No, citizen; I joined the barge some two miles up, and saw nothing of brigands.'
The man standing to the left of the Mayor started as he heard the tone of Garth's voice. He looked closely into Garth's face, suddenly pulled off his hat, and with a quick cry, ''Tis the very man!' tried to seize him. Quick as thought, Garth slipped aside, then, before the other two had recovered from their surprise at their companion's strange action, he rushed at the Mayor, threw him over backwards, turned and flung his basket in the face of the other, then wheeled round and ran as fast as the clumsy sabots would allow him, clattering down the passage towards the river, the man behind him shouting, 'Help! a spy—a brigand—help!' Two of his enemies dashed after him, and the Mayor picked himself up and toddled off as fast as his short legs would carry him to call up the nearest guard, two hundred yards away. The National Guard was soon aroused, and the whole garrison was under arms. The dauntless Englishman reached the river. He did not hesitate; pulling off his shoes and flinging them at his pursuers, now only ten yards away, he plunged into the river. A soldier with his gun arrived, pointed his musket at Garth's head, and fired; Garth twisted over and dived, and the bullet hit the water just behind him. Others of the guard came up, fired at his bobbing head, but missed it. On he swam boldly, determinedly; and now the firing has ceased, although he can hear the clamour. His courage and presence of mind had saved him; he was now in a friendly country, and the first man he met was wearing the King's cockade!
But here we must leave our hero, proud that he was an Englishman, and that he afterwards distinguished himself by many deeds of valour, passing unhurt through many dangers, from the worst of which he was rescued by his old friend, Viard the bargeman. How he presently married Lucile de Méricourt, and accepted an appointment at Lisbon, and what became of his friends and foes, is all told by Mr. Rendel in his fine and stirring book, which every British boy who is ready to cheer pluck should read for himself.
James Cassidy.
FOOTNOTES:[4]The King's Cockade, by H. Rendel. (Wells Gardner, Darton, & Co., Limited, London.)
[4]The King's Cockade, by H. Rendel. (Wells Gardner, Darton, & Co., Limited, London.)
[4]The King's Cockade, by H. Rendel. (Wells Gardner, Darton, & Co., Limited, London.)
Anybody watching a chance meeting in the street between two animals must see that they hold some sort of conversation. By sounds, signs, or both, they 'pass the time of day,' and make remarks. After settling affairs in their own language, they part, either as the best of friends, or, more frankly than politely, saying, 'Well, I hope I shall never seeyouagain!'
Out in the fields, what horse can bear to see another horse, or even a donkey, turned into the next paddock without running up to have a chat with him? Horses that work together are always on speaking terms. Much rubbing of soft noses, pricking backwards and forwards of the ears, with a snort, playful bite, or whinny, is their talk. After much talk of this sort between two splendid cart-horses, standing in harness, I once saw a fine plan carried out. They had been drawing a heavy load, and were quietly enjoying their feed, each from the nosebag dangling at his head. But the corn dwindled and the last grains of it were hard to reach. It was then that a brilliant idea struck horse number one. He lifted his bag to the middle pole, which he used as a prop; but then there was no room for his companion's bag on it. Horse number two, apparently after asking leave, hoisted his own bag even higher still, and, balancing it on his friend's head, fed in comfort. The pair munched peacefully on, and next day I saw them doing the same thing again.
All animals have a language of sound and sign, which they use as intelligently as deaf and dumb men use the means of expressing thought invented for them. Creatures that live in troops are always under the control of a leader, who manages them by word of mouth or by gestures.
Lieutenant Shipp, in his memoirs, tells of a Cape baboon who was so dishonest as to bring his companions to the barracks, to carry off the soldiers' clothes. The thefts became serious, and a party of soldiers were told off to march against the robbers, and to bring back the booty hidden in the caves of the baboons. But the animal warriors were too cunning. They sent out scouts, to watch the enemy's movements, told off about fifty of their number to guard the entrance to the caves, and posted the rest at various points. The soldiers saw the baboons collecting large stones, and the old grey-headed rascal, who had been ring-leader in raiding the camp, was seen giving orders like a real general. At a scream from him they rolled down great stones upon the men, who were forced to retreat.
Comic as the monkey-folk sometimes are, they can make very touching appeals; they plead very earnestly in their wordless way for their own lives, and still more tenderly on behalf of their helpless young. A letter from Demarara thus describes a meeting between a mother baboon and two men with guns. Mr. S—— levelled his gun to shoot her. The animal seemed at once to understand what would probably take place, and appealingly held out in each hand a baby baboon. His friend said, 'Don't shoot.' 'No, I was not going to,' said Mr. S——. So Mrs.Baboon and her family escaped unhurt, the mother showing, it will be agreed, something greater than ordinary instinct.
"Balancing the bag on his friend's head.""Balancing the bag on his friend's head."
Something greater? Yes, love; the greatest of all instincts, higher than reason itself. It is when filled with love for her defenceless babe that the animal-mother learns, by many a wonderful makeshift, to appeal to our pity, and forgets herself for its sake. A beautiful instance of this was lately given in theDaily News.
A labourer, going along a lane, met a little robin redbreast. She flew boldly within reach of his hand, almost dashing against his face, and as he passed on tried to hinder him, uttering all the while piercing cries. At last he stopped at a hole to which she kept flying, and found a rat in the act of carrying off one of her nestlings. The labourer was able to kill the enemy by a blow of his stick as it darted across the lane, and the small mother, after hovering with a different and triumphant note over the poor little dead bird, went gladly home.
In countries where snakes abound, the shriek of a bird whose nest is threatened serves as a signal to its winged neighbours, who throng to the spot and drive away, or often kill, the enemy. Sometimes the ways in which creatures communicate are altogether mysterious. An old goose, who had spent a fortnight hatching eggs in a farmer's kitchen, was suddenly taken ill. She left her nest, waddled to a neighbouring outhouse, and persuaded a young goose to go back with her. The young one instantly scrambled into the vacant nest, and hatched and afterwards brought up the brood. The old goose sat down by the side of the nest to die. As the young goose had never reared a brood before, nor been inside the kitchen, the elder must somehow have explained the duties to her, and the younger have understood and accepted the charge.
"Mrs. Baboon and her family escaped unhurt.""Mrs. Baboon and her family escaped unhurt."
It seems, then, that want of understanding on our part, rather than stupidity on theirs, prevents a closer understanding between ourselves and the animal creation. Though we are not able to bridge over the gulf separating speechless animals and men, we may at least take care that the dumb prayers of the 'lower brethren' never fall on wilfully deaf ears, or on unkind hearts.
Edith Carrington.
A Story of Adventure on the North Sea and in China.
(Continued from page 269.)
"'Good evening, skipper!'""'Good evening, skipper!'"
The result of Mr. Page's generosity was that when Fred and Charlie went to a tailor's, Ping Wang ordered a Chinese costume. A week later it was sent home, and when Ping Wang put it on, and permitted his pigtail to hang down, he looked quite a different man. That day the family were sitting talking over the coming voyage when a maid came in.
'A man wants to see you, sir,' she said to Mr. Page. 'He says his name is Skipper Drummond.'
'What a lark!' Charlie exclaimed to Ping Wang. 'Shall we carry him down the garden, and pitch him in the duck-pond?'
'Show Skipper Drummond in,' Mr. Page said to the maid, and as she departed he continued, 'Now, you boys and Ping Wang, go into the conservatory, and wait there until I call you.'
Fred, Charlie, and Ping Wang stepped into the conservatory, and seated themselves on a rustic bench, so that they could hear what the skipper said without being seen by him.
'Skipper Drummond, sir,' the maid said, as she reopened the door.
The bullying little skipper had evidently made a strong effort to look respectable. He was attired in a shiny black frock-coat, and had it not been for his brightly-coloured tie, one would have imagined that he was going to a funeral. In one hand he held a tall hat; in the other he carried two stiff-looking black gloves.
'Good evening, sir,' he said, as he stepped gingerly across the room, showing as much respect for the carpet as if it was newly-sown grass.
'Take a seat,' Mr. Page said, and he did so.
'I've come about theSparrow-hawk, sir,' he said, endeavouring to appear more comfortable than he felt.
'Yes.'
'We've had a grand time, sir. Every voyage theSparrow-hawkmakes she improves. There is not a trawler in the North Sea catches more fish than theSparrow-hawk. She's a beauty, sir; and every one in Grimsby and Hull knows it. Two of the big fleet-owners want to buy her.'
'I suppose that they did not offer so much for her as you are asking from me?'
'They offered more, sir.'
'Then why did you not accept one of the offers?'
'Because it wouldn't have been acting square with you, sir. I am a straightforward man, I am; and having offered theSparrow-hawkto you at a certain price, I bide by my word.'
'That is very good of you—very good, indeed. It is not often that I meet with such an honourable business man.'
Skipper Drummond sighed deeply, as if he was sincerely sorry for the fact that there were some men who were very dishonourable.
'My idea was,' Mr. Page said, after a few moments' silence, 'to purchase theSparrow-hawkfor my son, and start him in business as a steam-trawler owner. Perhaps it would be well if I introduced you to him at once.'
'I shall be proud to make the young gentleman's acquaintance. I am not a man to boast, sir; but if any one can produce a man that knows more about North Sea fishing than I do, I'm a Dutchman.'
'Charlie!' Mr. Page called out loudly, and in walked from the conservatory Charlie, Ping Wang, and Fred.
'Good evening, skipper!' Charlie exclaimed, cheerfully.
'Good evening, skipper!' Ping Wang added, equally cheerfully.
Skipper Drummond dropped his hat and gloves, and almost started out of his chair. Evidently he had never expected to see either Charlie or Ping Wang again.
'Have you brought us the clothes which we left on theSparrow-hawk?' Charlie inquired.
'And the pay which you owe me?' Ping Wang added.
'I thought that you were both drowned,' the skipper gasped.
'And no doubt you are almost sorry that we were not,' Charlie remarked. 'However, we have told my father what a wretched old tub theSparrow-hawkis. We have told him that she is rotten; that her boilers are worn out; that her gear is not up-to-date; that she has the smallest catches of any Grimsby trawler. We have told him also that you have been keeping down expenses by half-starving your men, and that you are the vilest little bully that ever held a captain's certificate.'
'And they also told me,' Mr. Page joined in, 'that you confessed to one of your men that you were about to sell theSparrow-hawkfor half as much again as she was worth. Let me assure you that you will do nothing of the kind. I would not give half the sum which you ask for her. From the first I suspected that you were a swindler, and it was to obtain proof of it that my son shipped with you as a cook. Have you anything that you wish to say in your defence, or will you go at once?'
Skipper Drummond picked up his hat and gloves, and without uttering a word walked out of the room. He was white with rage, but he dared not express his anger in words such as he would have used on theSparrow-hawk, for Charlie accompanied him to the hall door, and stood in the porch watching him until he had passed into the main road.
'We have seen the last of him, I think,' said Charlie, when the captain was out of sight; 'and I hope that I never meet another man like him.'
On the following evening the Pages had a much more welcome visitor in Lieutenant Williams, who availed himself of Charlie's earnest invitation to come and see him and Ping Wang before they started for China. In private life he was just as cheery, amusing, and good-tempered as on board ship. He told many interesting stories of his work in coper-catching and arrests for illegal fishing. He quite envied Fred, Charlie, and Ping Wang their trip to China.
'Perhaps you will be sent to South Africa,' Charlie remarked. 'That would be much better than going with us.'
'Certainly it would,' Williams declared. 'Active service is the best thing that a man in the navy can desire, but I am afraid that there is no chance of my getting to South Africa. At any rate, I shall go on hoping for foreign service of some sort.'
'If he has an opportunity,' Fred declared, after Lieutenant Williams had departed, 'he will make the most of it, I am sure. He is just the kind of man to do something big, and then laugh and pretend that it was a very easy thing to do. I wish that he was coming with us. However, it's no good wishing. I'm going to have a good long sleep for my last night in the old home. Good night, all.'
Charlie and Ping Wang followed Fred's example and went to bed as quickly as possible. They awokeearly, and later in the day reached Liverpool and went aboard theTwilight, which was to be their home for five or six weeks.
TheTwilightwas a cargo boat which had accommodation for twenty saloon passengers, but she rarely carried that number, as, her speed being but ten knots an hour, most people proceeding to China travelled by a faster and, consequently, more expensive steamer.
Soon after she had left Liverpool, Fred, Charlie, and Ping Wang began to wonder where the other passengers were.
'They can't possibly be sea-sick already,' Charlie declared, and then seeing the chief steward he inquired how many passengers they had aboard.
'Only you three gentlemen,' the steward answered.
Fred and Charlie looked at each other in amazement. They had fully expected that there would be all sorts of amusements to break the monotony of their long voyage, and their disappointment was great. However, when they found that in consequence of their being the only passengers each might have a cabin to himself, their discontent quickly passed away. And when they got well out to sea they had plenty of amusements, for the captain had the shuffle-board, deck quoits, and other games brought out, and with the second officer and chief engineer played the passengers.
When the three passengers wearied of deck games, they sat on the poop reading some of the books which they had borrowed from the ship's library. Fred sometimes brought out his medical books, but he obtained more practical than theoretical knowledge that voyage, for the ship's doctor—a young fellow who had been recently qualified and was taking a sea voyage, and small pay in return for his medical services—was completely prostrated by sea-sickness, and utterly useless as a doctor. Fred attended to him, doctored such of the crew as needed it, and successfully set a stoker's dislocated forefinger.
(Continued on page 285.)
The sailors in our submarines have found out a simple device to protect their lives whilst on their 'under-sea' trips. Every submarine that goes to sea takes out a couple of mice. If one of these mice shows symptoms of distress, it is a sure sign that the time for coming to the surface has arrived, and that the air of the closed box needs replenishing from the fresh air.
X.
Little flower, in meadow bright,With thy raiment sweet and white,Knowest thou who set thee there,Gave to thee a dress so fair,Caused thee from the ground to spring,Such a sweet and tender thing,Sent the rain and sent the sun,Sent the stars when day is done?Little flower, dost thou not knowIt was God Who made thee grow,Gave to thee thy lovely dress,Such as kings can ne'er possess;Set thee in thy little bed,Gave thee petals, white and red;Sent for thee the dewdrop bright,Shuts thy blossom up at night?Little bird, high in the air,Flying here and everywhere,Dost thou know who made thy wing,Gave thee thy sweet song to sing;Brought thee o'er the ocean track,Guided thee in safety back,Caused thee with the spring to comeTo thy green and shady home?Little bird, God made thy wing,Gave thee all thy songs to sing;Set thee in the woods and trees,Fanned thy nest with gentle breeze.He it was who brought thee home,Safe across the ocean's foam,To the meadows green and bright,Gave thee songs of sweet delight.
Little flower, in meadow bright,With thy raiment sweet and white,Knowest thou who set thee there,Gave to thee a dress so fair,Caused thee from the ground to spring,Such a sweet and tender thing,Sent the rain and sent the sun,Sent the stars when day is done?
Little flower, dost thou not knowIt was God Who made thee grow,Gave to thee thy lovely dress,Such as kings can ne'er possess;Set thee in thy little bed,Gave thee petals, white and red;Sent for thee the dewdrop bright,Shuts thy blossom up at night?
Little bird, high in the air,Flying here and everywhere,Dost thou know who made thy wing,Gave thee thy sweet song to sing;Brought thee o'er the ocean track,Guided thee in safety back,Caused thee with the spring to comeTo thy green and shady home?
Little bird, God made thy wing,Gave thee all thy songs to sing;Set thee in the woods and trees,Fanned thy nest with gentle breeze.He it was who brought thee home,Safe across the ocean's foam,To the meadows green and bright,Gave thee songs of sweet delight.
A
certain Khan of Tartary, making a journey with his nobles, was met by a dervish, who cried with a loud voice: 'If any one will give me a piece of gold I will give him a piece of advice.' The Khan ordered the sum to be given him, upon which the dervish said, 'Begin nothing of which thou hast not well considered the end.'
The courtiers, upon hearing his plain sentence, smiled, and said with a sneer, 'The dervish is well paid for his maxim.' But the king was so well satisfied with the answer, that he ordered it to be written in golden letters in several places of his palace, and engraved on all his plate.
Not long after, the king's surgeon was bribed to kill him with a poisoned lancet. One day, when the king needed bleeding, and the fatal lancet was ready, the surgeon read on the bowl which was close by: 'Begin nothing of which thou hast not well considered the end.' He started, and let the lancet fall out of his hand. The king observed his confusion, and inquired the reason. The surgeon fell prostrate, and confessed the whole affair. The Khan, turning to his courtiers, told them: 'That counsel could not be too much valued which had saved the life of your king.'
W. Y.
"He started, and let the lancet fall.""He started, and let the lancet fall."
"The women of Bohemia act as bricklayers' labourers.""The women of Bohemia act as bricklayers' labourers."
B
ohemia is a land of rugged mountains and towering pine-forests, with other beauties of its own. Not many years ago it was, to most English people, an unknown land; but in these days, when travelling is so easy and rapid, year by year an ever-increasing number of our countrymen find their way to this beautiful country in search of health and pleasure. You have only to cross the strip of silver sea that rolls between our little island and sunny France or misty Holland, and you may then rush on, borne by the fastest of express trains, over the level plains that greet you on landing, on through the beautiful Rhineland and the quaint old towns of Bavaria, till at length you find yourself in this land of enchantment.
Here, surrounded by the mighty forests, and shut in by the mountains, stands the town of Marienbad. Not very long ago it was a lonely village, inhabited during the summer months by peasants tending their flocks and herds on the pasture of the table-land. In winter it was almost deserted, given over to the wild storms that swept the mountain slopes and to the wolves and bears that roamed through the forests.
Gradually the wonderful qualities of its mineral springs became known, and now a crowd of fashionable folk pour into it during the summer, and in every direction trees are being cut down to make way for villas, and buildings of all kinds, which are springing up like mushrooms.
The peasant-life of the people continues wonderfully simple, and it is very amusing to watch this mixing of modern fashionable life with the primitive ways of the villagers.
English boys and girls would, perhaps, not care to go for a ride in the Bohemian waggons, as they are so fond of doing in ours during harvest-time. These waggons are made of a few long, wide planks, nailed together so as to form a kind of huge trough, and strengthened on the outside by cross-pieces of wood. This is placed upon the framework with which the wheels are connected, and then roughly fastened to it. These clumsy vehicles are drawn over the rough mountain roads by teams of patient oxen. Onfêtedays the cattle look very gay, for then they are decked out with ribbons of many colours.
The women of Bohemia work very hard indeed; they help their husbands in all kinds of work. Among other occupations they act as bricklayers' labourers. They run up and down the tall ladders with heavy loads of bricks or mortar, chattering gaily all the while as if life were one long holiday.
The houses are built in quite a different way from ours. First of all a complete skeleton house is set up, made of wood, and, when this is finished, the spaces between the wooden structure are filled in with bricks and mortar. Before the roof is put on, a large green bush is hoisted up as far as the eaves, and there tied to the scaffolding poles. This is supposed to drive away the pixies or wicked fairies, and no one would dare to put the roof on without the protection of the green bush.
The women also do the work of journeymen bakers. The loaves are of the long kind, sometimes jokingly called 'half-yards of bread.' These are carried on the backs of the women. They look very droll with their huge burdens, the loaves poking out in all directions above their shoulders, making a kind of background to their stooping figures.
Most of the people who visit Bohemia in order to take the mineral waters are very stout. They drink them to make themselves thinner, and the difference in their appearance when they arrive and when they leave is very great. They have sometimes to take mud baths, and it is very amusing to watch them going and returning from these. It does not seem to be a very pleasant way of spending a fine summer morning, but they appear to enjoy it all the same.
The Bohemians are very fond of music, and they never fail to greet any new-comers of importance with a serenade on the evening of their arrival.
Agrimy face,A muddy boot,A broken lace,And shabby suit;With threadbare knee,And dusty coat,And dirty collarRound his throat.
Agrimy face,A muddy boot,A broken lace,And shabby suit;With threadbare knee,And dusty coat,And dirty collarRound his throat.
Now see! his face isAll aglow;He's tied both lacesIn a bow;He's combed his hair,He's brushed his suit—There's not a speckOn either boot;His collar nowIs new and clean—A neater boyI've never seen.Yet Tom should be,Beyond a doubt,As clean at homeAs when he's out;For those who dress'Mid friends to roam,Should dress as wellFor those at home.
Now see! his face isAll aglow;He's tied both lacesIn a bow;He's combed his hair,He's brushed his suit—There's not a speckOn either boot;His collar nowIs new and clean—A neater boyI've never seen.
Yet Tom should be,Beyond a doubt,As clean at homeAs when he's out;For those who dress'Mid friends to roam,Should dress as wellFor those at home.
John Lea.
'What is the use of fagging like that on a hot day?' asked Harold Lock of his brother Frank, who came and flung himself panting on the grass beside him.
'I must keep in training: a fellow so soon gets slack and out of practice if he is lazy,' was the answer.
'Well, being lazy is good enough for me in the holidays,' the elder boy said. 'I should think it pretty hard lines to have to run a mile in this sun.'
'It makes all the difference, though, if you are keen,' Frank told him. 'I want to be the fastest runner in the school, and I don't want to go back and find I am easily beaten in the sports.'
'I don't see the good of it myself,' said Harold, rather scornfully, but Frank only laughed good-temperedly, and began to swing himself on a branch of the tree for change of exercise. If there was one thing he hated more than another, it was sitting still for too long a time.
The same evening the boys were on the platform of the little village station, watching some trucks being shunted from the main line on to a siding. Suddenly there was a loud cry from one of the men engaged in the work as a heavy truck got off the rails, turned over, and dragged another with it. No one was seriously hurt, but the station-master, who was soon on the scene of the accident, turned pale as he saw the obstruction on the line.
'Stop the down express!' he shouted. But the signal-box was a quarter of a mile away, and precious minutes would have passed before he could be near enough for his voice to reach the signal-man. By that time it might be too late to stop the express.
Then, like an arrow, a nimble little figure flew past him. It was Frank, his running powers put to some practical use at last. The station-master followed as quickly as he could. But when at last he came up breathless, he found that Frank had already done his work, and the signal was against the train.
'It's touch-and-go whether we have caught her,' muttered the signal-man, and they all held their breath as the rumble of the train was heard in the distance.
'She's slowing down—she's safe!' gasped the station-master, and he hurried down again, followed by Frank and the signal-man.
But it was only a few yards off the overturned trucks that the express was finally brought to a standstill. The few seconds gained by Frank's speed had saved her. Nothing could have prevented a terrible accident if the signal had not caused the train to slow down just in time.
The passengers crowded round Frank, and thanked him warmly when they heard the story, and a few days later came a more practical expression of their gratitude in the shape of a handsome gold watch.
'So your running was some good after all,' Harold said, and he no longer laughed at his small brother's hobby, but learned to admire the nimbleness of body which, with his ready wit, made him of so much use in an emergency.
M. H.
Most of us have a vague idea that what we call the 'ear' is only partly concerned with the work of hearing; but only a few know exactly what a complicated organ the ear, as a whole, really is. The external 'ear' only serves as an aid to the collection of sounds, and the real work of hearing is performed by a delicate organ inside the head. Seals, moles, whales, and porpoises, birds, reptiles, and fishes have no visible ear; yet we know that they are not deaf, though in many the hearing must be dull. In all these creatures the sense of hearing lies inside the head.
But the ears of insects must be looked for in strange places indeed, and, when found, they seem to bear no sort of likeness to what most of us call ears. They may be on the antennæ, on the trunk, or on the legs! In the grasshopper, for example (fig.1), the ear is placed on the abdomen, just above the base of the great hind-leg, so that this leg must be pulled down before the ear can be seen. When this has been done, there will be found an oval drumhead-like spot (figs.2and3); this is the outer surface of the ear. If you had sufficient skill to take away this part of the body, so as to show the inside of this drum, you would find two horn-like stalks, to each of which is fastened a small and very delicate flask, with a long neck. This is filled with a clear fluid, and corresponds to a similar structure within our own ears.
In the green grasshoppers—those delightful sprites of hot summer days—'ears' of a precisely similar structure are found on the fore-leg instead of on the body.
In a little gnat-like insect known as Corethra, common in England during the summer months, the 'ear' takes the form of delicate hairs growing out from the body on a stem, like the teeth of a comb; the base of what corresponds to the back of the comb is connected with a delicate nerve, and this, as in the case of the similar nerve in the grasshopper and locust, makes hearing possible.
Only in some ants and bees, and in some mosquitoes, is the organ of hearing placed on the head. We sayon, rather thanin, the head, because it is formed by a modification of part of the antennæ. A German naturalist, named Mayer, performed an experiment to prove that the hairs on these antennæ can be made to vibrate by means of a tuning-fork. Only those hairs which have to do with the production of sound answered to the notes of the tuning-fork, and these vibrated at the rate of five hundred and twelve vibrations per second. Other hairs vibrated to other notes, which were those of the middle octave of the piano and the next above it. Mayer also found that certain of these vibrations corresponded with the notes produced by the 'song' of the female mosquito. Consequently, when she begins to 'sing,' her tune, like the tuning-fork, sets in motion those hairs on the antennæ of the male which are tuned to these vibrations. Having once found, by the movement of his antennæ, much as a horse moves his ears, from which direction the sound is coming, the male is able to fly at once to his mate. From the accuracy of this flight, Professor Mayer believes that the perception of sound in these littlecreatures is more highly developed than in any other class of animals.