"He ran towards the bull and opened his umbrella quickly.""He ran towards the bull and opened his umbrella quickly."
The fierce creature lowered his horns and seemed uncertain whether to charge his enemy or to flee before him.
Again George fired off his umbrella as if it were a gun, and this time the bull decided it would be better to retreat in a dignified way to his own domain. You may be sure George lost no time in getting out of the field.
'My brave boy!' his mother whispered when the breathless children had arrived home and had told their story. 'How thankful I am that I have an obedient son!'
'But, Mother, I nearly disobeyed,' George confessed, and he grew pale when he thought what it would have meant if he had not arrived in time.
M. H.
Though the sounds made by insects may not in themselves be musical, according to our standard of music, yet many insect performers give us great pleasure, perhaps because of the pleasant memories which they call up. Who among us does not love the hum of the bee? How delightful is the lazy drone of the great steely-blue dor-beetle, as he rambles along in the twilight of a summer night! The lively chirping of the cricket, too, has inspired more than one poet, and the great novelist, Charles Dickens, used it in a well-known story.
Fig. 1.—Above, leg of American Grasshopper, magnified; musical instrument at T. Below, musical instrument of American Grasshopper, greatly magnified.Fig. 1.—Above, leg of American Grasshopper, magnified; musical instrument at T. Below, musical instrument of American Grasshopper, greatly magnified.
The simplest means of making a noise is that used by the beetle known by the grim name of the 'death-watch.' In our own houses this little beetle often causes great alarm by the ticking or tapping sound which it makes by striking its head against the wall. Ignorant people look upon this noise as a warning of approaching death; but, really, it is meant to charm and attract any other beetles of the kind which may be within hearing!
Fig. 2.—Cicada, as in life.Fig. 2.—Cicada, as in life.
Fig. 3.—Cicada, showing "drums" (marked D), magnified.Fig. 3.—Cicada, showing "drums" (marked D), magnified.
But many insects, like the crickets and grasshoppers, have a specially constructed instrument on which they play. Fig.1shows a part of the instrument used by an American grasshopper. It is formed by a row of tiny teeth, markedt, placed along the inner side of the thigh of the great leaping leg. When this creature feels very happy, or wants to charm his mate, he produces a shrill sound by rubbing these teeth across the hard 'nervures,' or wing 'veins.' What these teeth are really like can be seen in the lower part of the illustration, which shows eight little spear-heads set in sockets. These are 'teeth,' which act much as a comb would do if drawn lightly over a tightly stretched wire.
Fig. 4.—Scorpion, in act of "playing."Fig. 4.—Scorpion, in act of "playing."
The 'stridulation,' as this form of musical production is called, in some locusts is so loud that it can be heard on a still night for a distance of a mile. Some South American locusts are such wonderful performers that the Indians keep them in wicker cages, in order that they may enjoy the playing. There is a North American locustwhich is quite famous as a musician. It is known as the Katydid, on account of its peculiar notes, which resemble the wordsKaty-did-she-did. This note is kept up throughout the night. Our field-cricket plays by rubbing a row of teeth, about one hundred and thirty in number, placed on the under side of one of the supporting rods, or 'veins,' of the wings, against another rod very like it, but without teeth, in the upper surface of the opposite wing. First one wing is rubbed over the other, and then the process is reversed.
A near relative of the grasshopper, the cicada of North America and of Southern Europe (fig.2), has a really wonderful instrument, rather like a kettle-drum. But it is an unusual sort of kettle-drum, for it is played from within. The drum-heads are shown in fig.3, markedd, one on each side of the creature, like the drums on a cavalry horse, except that they are underneath the animal in the case of the cicada. If the 'skin' of the drum be removed, a very complicated instrument is seen, and this, by causing vibrations, increased by the tightly stretched drum-head, gives rise to the sounds for which these insects have long been famous.
The great traveller-naturalist, Fritz Müller, tells us that musical contests between two or three rival cicadas—only the males play—often take place. As soon as one had finished his song, another immediately began, then another, and so on all through the night. Another naturalist, Bates, tells that when in the Amazons he used to listen to the cicadas, which began with sunset. The tune began with a jarring sound, and ended in a long loud note, like 'the steam-whistle of a locomotive engine!'
In insects which hum the sound mainly comes from the abdomen. In flies and humble-bees, for example, the 'voice' is caused by air rushing out from the mouths of the air or breathing-tubes. But these sounds are deepened by the vibration of the wings. Those who know something of music will understand what is meant when they are told that the note of the honey-bee on the wing is A; its ordinary 'voice,' however, is an octave higher, and often goes to B and C. From the note produced by the wing, the speed with which it is vibrated can be reckoned. Thus, the house-fly, which produces the sound F, vibrates its wings 21,120 times a minute, or 335 times a second; the bee, which makes the note A, 26,400 times a minute, or 440 times a second!
But, besides insects, there are many spiders and scorpions which may claim to be musical. The instrument of the spider is formed on the same principle as that of the grasshopper—that is to say, by a raised tooth-like edge, which can produce vibrations. Beneath the front of a spider's head there is, on each side, a stout jaw, ending in a long, movable fang, like a claw. Behind this jaw is a short leg, formed like a walking leg, and known as the 'palp.' It is never used, however, for walking, but is carried straight forwards, so that the inner surfaces of its joints are close to the outer surface of the jaw. Now, whenever the 'palp' is moved, it is rubbed against the 'teeth' in the jaw, and this consequently, in many spiders, produces a sound like the humming of a bee! In some spiders which have this apparatus, the sound produced cannot be heard by human ears.
It is to be noted that, whatever the sound produced, its purpose is to serve one of two very different ends. It may be used, as in some spiders, when it is found only in the males, to charm its mate in courting; for she has a very bad temper, and must be approached most cautiously. But in the case of the huge bird-eating spiders, this curious buzzing sound appears to be made for the purpose of frightening its enemies, which, connecting the buzzing sound with the power of stinging, give the spider a wide berth as soon as the buzzing begins! To make itself appear more terrible, the spider raises the fore part of the body and legs high in the air, and thus, partly by this threatening attitude, and partly by the sound, persuades those about to attack that 'discretion is the better part of valour!'
The scorpion hisses. Some describe the noise as like that produced by rubbing the finger-nail over the hairs of a stiff tooth-brush. The vibrating instruments are found in different places, according to the species of scorpion. But the plan of its construction is the same in all, and is like that of the spider. Thus, in some species (as in fig.4) there are, at the outer side of the base of the great pair of pincers, a number of sharp spinelets, shaped like a tiger's 'fang.' These make up the 'scraper.' Against it the scorpion rubs a number of tubercles, or little rounded bodies, which are seated on the base of the first pair of walking-legs; these form the 'rasp.' The movement of the rasp on the scraper produces the hissing sound. Sometimes the hissing is produced by a similar rasp and scraper placed on the inner surface of the little pincers which project in front of the body, between the two great pincers. In other cases the rasp and scraper are found, the rasp on the top of the base of the little pincer, the scraper on the under surface of the overhanging shield of the body. But, however formed, the noise produced is similar, and appears to be meant to terrify enemies. This purpose is further aided by the habit the creature has, when angry, of turning the poisonous sting at the end of the tail over the back.
W. P. Pycraft, F.Z.S., A.L.S.
Noucherivan, King of Persia, had a very violent temper. One day he condemned a page to death for having by accident spilled a little sauce over him while waiting at table. The page, knowing that he had no hope of pardon, proceeded to pour the whole contents of the plate over his master. Nouchirevan, almost forgetting his anger in his surprise, asked the reason of this outrageous act.
'Prince,' explained the page, 'I am desirous that my death should not injure your renown by being undeserved. All nations esteem you as the most just of sovereigns, but you would lose that glorious title were it to become known that you had condemned one of your slaves to die for so trifling a fault as the one which I first committed.'
This answer made such an impression upon the king that, ashamed of his passion, he pardoned the slave, and also tried by his bounty to atone for his contemplated cruelty and injustice.
C. J. B.
The middle letters of each word read downwards give the name of a well-known English poet.
C. J. B.
[Answers on page 290.]
10.—Valparaiso.
11.—Tar-tar.
Amongst our English vegetables, the potato is the most abundant and useful. It is liked by nearly all, and it is indeed a chief article of food in some districts. Other vegetables are largely eaten—cabbages and turnips, for instance—but the potato is in the greatest demand.
We have in the potato an illustration of a plant which belongs to a poisonous family, but has roots (or tubers) very nourishing and agreeable to eat. But if anybody was to eat the berries which follow the showy flowers of the potato, they would most likely be made ill, nor are the leaves wholesome to us, though they furnish food to the big caterpillar of the Death's-head moth.
We have to thank the Romans for bringing into Britain many fruits and vegetables; others, later on, came from France and Germany, or some other part of Europe; but the potato we owe to America. The potato first known in these islands, however, was not the one familiar now; it was the sweet potato, or Batatus, cultivated by the Spanish and Portuguese; it is supposed to have been brought over from the Continent early in the reign of Queen Elizabeth. It was a vegetable much liked by those who could get it, and this is the potato of which one of Shakespeare's characters says, 'Let it rain potatoes and hail kissing comforts.'
No one can tell positively who, of the voyagers to America, towards the end of the sixteenth century, it was who came upon the true potato and brought it back to his own country, more as a curious plant than for any other reason. Some have given the credit to the great Sir Walter Raleigh, but it seems more likely that he himself was not the discoverer, but one of his followers, named Heriot. In a book Heriot wrote he exactly describes the potato amongst his finds, calling it 'open-awk,' a name he had heard in America. 'There are roundish roots,' he says, 'some the size of a walnut, some much bigger; these hang together on the other roots, and are good either boiled or roasted.' By roasting he no doubt meant putting them in the hot ashes of a fire. The question of how potatoes should be cooked seems to have been troublesome at first. People dipped them in hot water, and then complained that they were hard, or sticky like glue. Potatoes brought to the table of King James I. are said to have cost two shillings a pound, and for a long while the vegetable remained scarce, perhaps because people did not know the best way to raise a crop as we do now, by planting slices of the tubers. Several of the old books only refer to it as an ornamental garden plant.
Sir Walter Raleigh does appear to have introduced this vegetable into Ireland, at least. Going one spring to his estate at Youghal, Cork, he took some potatoes, and gave them to his gardener, who planted them. Fine specimens had grown up in August, but the gardener did not think the berries were of any good, and told Sir Walter he did not admire the wonderful American plant. 'Then pull it up and throw it away,' said Sir Walter; but when the man saw the potatoes on the roots, he thought differently.
The first place in England where the potato was grown in fields was North Meols, Lancashire, about 1694. For many years the Scotch only grew it as a curiosity, till Thomas Prentice, of Kilsyth, stocked his garden with potatoes in 1728, and distributed them amongst the villages near. Early in the reign of Queen Victoria, it had become abundant, especially in Ireland; but the potato disease or murrain caused great distress in 1845 and later, nor has it ever been got rid of entirely. The potato has been introduced to our Indian Empire, and though it was unpopular at first, the people have since become partial to it.
J. R. S. C.
Doctor Abernethy, the great surgeon, was famous for his short, pointed sayings and good advice, as well as for his skill as a doctor. One day a gentleman who was accustomed to live in great luxury, and who suffered from gout in consequence of this easy life, came to consult him. He told the great surgeon all his ailments, and how he usually lived, and asked what he ought to do.
'Live on sixpence a day—and earn it!' was the reply of Dr. Abernethy.
"'Live on sixpence a day—and earn it!'""'Live on sixpence a day—and earn it!'"
"Seven miles high!""Seven miles high!"
T
he frequent and successful voyages in balloons at last led scientific men to wonder if the ascents might not be used for solving some of nature's riddles, and so conferring benefits on mankind, instead of being undertaken only as pleasure trips. It was to help answer this question that, in 1862, Mr. James Glaisher began a series of balloon voyages. He was by no means the pioneer in this class of enterprise, for many others—both French and English—had been up with the same object some years before. But as Mr. James Glaisher, with his captain, Mr. Coxwell, went higher than any one before or after, his flight ought to be given special attention.
In order to make careful observations, it was necessary to take a large number of delicate instruments, and these were arranged on a board, which rested its ends on either side of the car. Seated before this narrow table, Mr. Glaisher meant to read the secret of the skies. When all was ready, Mr. Coxwell weighed anchor, and a few moments later the city of Wolverhampton, from which they rose, was almost lost in the vast tract of country upon which their eyes rested.
It was the third ascent these gentlemen had made together, and the wonders Mr. Glaisher had witnessed on the two previous occasions must have been more than enough to lead him to seek for more. He had pierced the densest rain-clouds, and had seen the shadow of the balloon on the white upper surface of the clouds surrounded by lovely circular rainbows. He had peeped through holes in these clouds on to the world beneath, which looked more like a misty picture than real meadows and towns and rivers. Such experiences were more beautiful than any tales of fairyland—because they were true.
But to-day he was to have a new and strange journey. At five thousand feet above ground the balloon entered a mass of rain-clouds, one thousand feet thick, and four minutes later they broke through into sunshine. Mr. Glaisher tried to take a photograph of these clouds from above, but the balloon rose too rapidly and kept turning round. At twenty-one thousand feet (or four miles high) Mr. Coxwell found it difficult to breathe, while it needed a great effort to tilt more sand over the edge of the car. Up and up they sailed—four and a half, five, five and a half miles—and the sky grew more and more intensely blue till it became, at last, almost black.
Even now, at a height of twenty-nine thousand feet, when hoar-frost was forming on the sides of the balloon, and the daring travellers were stung with a cold more severe than that of the coldest winter day, the instruments went on observing the wonders of the atmosphere without themselves being observed. Mr. Glaisher, who had for some minutes found a difficulty in seeing the small marks on his instruments, lay back quite insensible against the side of the car. He had not fainted suddenly. First, he tells us, his arms refused to move when he tried to reach the various instruments. Then, as his eyes fell on Mr. Coxwell, who had climbed into the ring to reach the valve-rope, he tried to speak; but the power of speech was gone, and a moment later he lost all consciousness.
The balloon was still ascending, and, to Mr. Coxwell's horror, he found that the terrible cold had turned his hands black, and robbed them of all muscular power. His position was one of great danger, seated as he was in that slender car miles above the earth, and so numbed by the cold that he could not hold the ropes. He reached the valve-cord at last, however, and, seizing it between his teeth, gave it two or three vigorous jerks. The balloon stopped ascending. Hooking his numbed arms over the ring, he dropped safely into the car. As he did so, he noticed that the blue hand of the barometer stood perpendicular.The balloon had ceased to climb at seven miles high!
His efforts to restore Mr. Glaisher were soon successful, and, by the time the earth was again reached, no ill effects from the wonderful adventure were to be felt.
We must mention six other passengers that took part in the journey: these were pigeons. One was liberated at three miles high, but dropped with wide-open wings like a sheet of paper until denser air was reached. A second, at four miles, was evidently a stronger bird, for it flew vigorously round and round, gradually descending. A third, dropped a little higher, fell like a stone; and another, thrown out at four miles, on the way down, took a comfortable perch on the top of the balloon.
This famous flight of Messrs. Coxwell and Glaisher is still a record. No other balloon has ever ascended to so great a height, and, when a similar attempt was made in France by three celebrated aeronauts, two of them lost their lives at a height of five miles, owing to the rarity of the atmosphere they had to breathe.
The illustration of the scene in the balloon, on page 265, is copied from Mr. Glaisher'sTravels in the Air, published by Messrs. Macmillan & Co., Ltd., who have kindly given leave for its reproduction.
John Lea.
A Story of Adventure on the North Sea and in China.
(Continued from page 259.)
When Charlie arrived at his home, in an unmistakably ill-fitting suit of clothes and accompanied by a Chinaman, equally badly dressed, he caused great surprise to his family. If he had returned dressed in 'fear-noughts' and a jersey, or even in 'oilies,' they would not have been surprised,but there was nothing nautical about his present attire.
'Well, my boy,' Charlie's father said to him, after Ping Wang had been introduced, 'have you had a good time?'
'Well, not exactly,' Charlie answered, 'but I have discovered that Skipper Drummond is an old rascal, and that he believes he will have no difficulty in swindling you.'
'He is not the first person who has thought that and has lived to find that he has made a mistake. However, you can tell me all about it after dinner. You had better run upstairs and change your clothes.'
After dinner, Charlie related all that had happened to him, from the time he met the bow-legged cook until he came back to Grimsby.
'I suspected that you would have a rough time,' Mr. Page said, when Charlie had finished his story, 'but I never thought that you would meet with so many unpleasant adventures. However, as you have discovered that Skipper Drummond is a dishonourable man, I am not sorry that you went to sea. I don't suppose you will be in a hurry to go again.'
'I want to go very soon,' Charlie replied. 'I want to go to China with Ping Wang.'
'To settle there?'
'Oh, no; simply to recover Ping Wang's family riches.'
Mr. Page and Fred, not knowing whether Charlie was serious or not, made no remark.
'I'm quite sane,' Charlie declared, seeing that they were surprised; 'Ping Wang will tell you about it.'
Ping Wang, thus called upon, repeated the story of his father's death and the seizure of all his property by Chin Choo.
'But how do you know that Chin Choo still possesses the idol with the secret drawer?' Mr. Page inquired, when Ping Wang finished speaking. 'He may have sold it?'
'That is not at all likely,' Ping Wang declared. 'I know that he has had it fixed up in his chief room, and there it will remain as long as the house stands, or until Chin Choo moves somewhere else.'
'And you think that Chin Choo cannot discover that the idol contains precious stones?'
'I am certain of it. My father was a richer man than Chin Choo imagined, and the wealth that the murderer found in our house was more than he had expected. He is quite certain that he has found all my father's wealth. If he were not, he would never think of looking for it in the image.'
'But do you think it possible to get into Chin Choo's house and remove the idol without being discovered?'
'I am certain of it; of course, I shall watch for a favourable opportunity.'
'Well,' Mr. Page said, after a few moments' thought, 'I must think over the matter for a few days before deciding whether I can permit Charlie to accompany you.'
'I wish I could go with them,' Fred joined in. 'I don't desire a share of the treasure. I simply want to go for the experience.'
'But how about your studies?' Mr. Page asked.
'I wouldn't neglect them. I would read hard on board, and as my next examination does not come on for nearly two years, I shall have plenty of time. And when I'm in China I shall be able to study tropical diseases. Medical men are very keen on that, nowadays.'
'Well, if Charlie goes, I see no reason why you should not; but it requires serious consideration.'
'I will share my portion of the treasure with you,' Charlie said to his brother, but Ping Wang objected to that arrangement.
'We will each have a third of what the rubies realise,' he declared, and, in spite of all protests, he insisted that the division of the treasure, if they ever got it, should be made in that way.
Mr. Page listened in silence to their conversation. He was by no means convinced that Ping Wang's story was not an Oriental fiction, invented to arouse sympathy and obtain a free passage home. Now, as it happened, Mr. Page had a friend who was the senior partner of a large firm of Chinese merchants, and had himself resided in China for many years, and he decided, therefore, to question him as to the probability of Ping Wang's story. A day or two later Mr. Page went to London and had an interview with this friend, who confirmed many details of Ping Wang's story, and even came down to Lincolnshire to see the Chinaman in person.
Ping Wang was delighted when he found that the merchant had lived in his country for many years, and could speak his language fluently.
'Ping Wang's story is, I am convinced, quite true,' the merchant said to Mr. Page, when they were alone, 'but his plan is a very risky one.'
'I know, but that has only made them more anxious to go. It is another case of "like father like son." If I had not travelled while young, I am sure I should never have settled down. And the fact that in every place I visited I found scores of Englishmen yearning to return home made me feel that I was a fortunate man to see our distant possessions without being doomed to pass my life in exile. I have sufficient money to keep a home for my children, but I want my sons to be able to earn a living and hold their own by themselves; and I think that, as I have the means to permit them to travel before settling down, they will do well to learn as much as they can of the world outside England. They shall go with Ping Wang. If they help Ping Wang to secure his inheritance, I shall of course be pleased, but I shall be glad for both the lads to gain experience, and I hope they will return in good health.'
A little later Mr. Page told Charlie and Fred that he had decided to allow them to go to China, an announcement which was received with great delight. The next day he went to the shipping agent's, and finding that a boat would start from Liverpool to Hong-kong in twelve days' time, booked saloon passages for Fred, Charlie, and Ping Wang.
'To-morrow,' Mr. Page said to his sons and Ping Wang after he had returned from the shipping agent's, 'you must see about your outfit. The time is very short.'
"There was nothing nautical about Charlie's present attire.""There was nothing nautical about Charlie's present attire."
'I think, sir,' Ping Wang said, 'that the clothes I have will be good enough.'
'Would you not like to go in your native dress?'
Ping Wang's eyes brightened.
'Yes,' he answered, 'but you have paid my passage.'
'Don't let that thought trouble you. When you have got back your jewels, you will be able to offer to repay me.'
'You are very generous, sir,' Ping Wang declared.
'Nonsense,' Mr. Page answered. 'You have been a good friend to my boy and have had a rough time since you have been in England. If you carry away a better impression of our country than you would otherwise have done, I shall consider myself repaid for what I have been able to do for you.'
(Continued on page 277.)
A Scene in Regent's Park.A Scene in Regent's Park.
Happiest of little Londoners are those who are so fortunate as to live near enough to the Regent's Park for it to form their daily playground. To them the wooded shores of the winding lake, with its three long arms crossed by bridges that rock delightfully, must seem like a little world, with mountains, bays, capes, forests, and many more wonderful things, just as in the great world itself. It is filled with so many living things that dwell round the banks of the lake—the stately swans, the many varieties of the duck family that swim and fly and chase each other all day long, the gentle moorhens gliding in and out of the rushes, and the mother vole or water-rat nibbling a juicy bit of grass in the sunshine, or swimming to cover with her babies on her back; and now and again the peace of this little world is rudely broken by the distant roar of a real lion or the shriek of a hungry hyena, which frightens all the smaller animals into silence.
Perhaps no greater benefit ever befell the good folk of London town than when, early in the nineteenth century, it occurred to the authorities to turn the old Royal Park of St. Mary-le-bone into a real people's park. A great many plans were suggested for laying out the ground. One very ornamental scheme was probably rejected because of its expense; in it a fine church was to form a central point, with avenues running from it like spokes of a wheel. The design which was accepted and carried out consists of four oval drives lying like rings inside one another; in the centre of the inside one are the Royal Botanical Gardens. Rare and wonderful treasures of vegetable life are kept there—flowering plants and shrubs, palms, ferns, mosses, water-plants, and trees from many lands, each the object of deep thought and care. From time to time grand floral fêtes are held in the gardens, and often on summer evenings Shakespeare's plays are acted in the open air.
The northern side of the park is chiefly given up to the Zoological Gardens; and, indeed, to the world at large, apart from Londoners, Regent's Park often means nothing but 'the Zoo.' Probably it is safe to say that no other park in the world annually attracts so many visitors.
The collection at the Zoological Gardens was begun in 1828, and amongst the first arrivals were the lions from the Tower, for, from ancient days, lions and bears kept the old royal fortress lively. Great sums of money have been spent in securing fine specimens, and now Britons have the satisfaction of knowing that our Zoo is second to none. Amongst recent arrivals at the gardens were two young gorillas from Western Africa, who reached the Zoo in apparent health, but, as has happened on former occasions, after a few weeks the poor things sickened and died. Whether they suffer from the effects of the voyage, or whether the shock of their capture is too great for them, the fact remains that gorillas seem unable to endure the altered conditions of life which most of the other members of the great ape family can put up with.
But, with all the attractions of the Zoo, it would not do to be dependent on it for amusement, for even on Monday, 'the people's day,' it costs sixpence, and many of the park's most frequent visitors find pennies hard to come by. Pleasure has to be sought and found on the various recreation grounds, and, in fine weather, cricket and other games are usually in full swing.
A very favourite walk with many visitors is to Primrose Hill, north-west of the Zoo, which rises two hundred and nineteen feet above sea-level, where the air is usually clear and bright, whilst the view over London is very fine. The hill is the property of Eton College, and is separated from the Zoo by the Regent's Canal, as well as by the Albert Road. Beneath the slope is a fine gymnasium, which still further adds to the attractions of the park, and many fine terraces of houses line the outer circles.
The park takes its name from the Prince Regent, afterwards George IV.
Helena Heath.
'He is always very busy,' said one man to another.
'Yes,' answered a gentleman who knew the person in question. 'He is so lazy in getting up that he loses an hour every morning, and spends all the rest of the day in running after it.'
An hour lost means an hour which can only be regained by neglecting other work.
The Japanese are a wonderful people, and their foresight in even the smallest matters is really marvellous. Here is a case in point.
Late in 1904, when the time came to forward the winter outfits for their soldiers fighting in Manchuria, amongst the wadded overcoats and thick blankets were some hundreds of thousands of ear-protectors made out of rats' skins.
Even the military authorities were surprised by these, and wondered where the Government could have found so many rats as to be able to supply their soldiers with such soft and comfortable coverings for their ears.
It seems that two years ago plague was raging along the China coast, and, to keep the disease out of Japan, the quarantine authorities made war against the rats. In all the seaports and larger cities rewards were offered for each rat brought; small boys found this a delightful way of earning money, and the competition at once became very keen.
Every rat was duly registered, and the place where it was caught noted, and if any suspicious germs were found, the building from which the rat came was raided, all the rats in it hunted down, and the place disinfected. So the plague was kept out of Japan.
Meanwhile the rat-skins had not been thrown away; war was even then threatening, and ear-protectorsmightbe wanted.
So the rat-skins were all thoroughly cleansed and disinfected, and made into ear-protectors, and now have proved a great blessing to the soldiers in the field.
N
one of my early recollections of our pretty little home in England is so clear as that of the old grandfather's clock that stood in the hall. I remember that my mother and father were very fond of it, and when my brother and I once grumbled, saying, 'That old clock is always slow,' my mother reproved us with the words: 'Oh, children, you must not say that, for the fact that it often goes slow when the big hand is going up towards the hour was the very thing that once saved your great-grandfather's life.'
That was the curious thing about the clock. Every now and then, for some reason, the minute-hand seemed to work loose, soon after the half-hour, and, before it reached the three-quarters, it lost five minutes. It might manage to go a whole day without doing this; but sooner or later it always happened, so that the clock could not be relied upon for time.
Of course, we were very eager to hear the story, and, as we sat round the fire that evening, my mother told us the following tale:—
'You know, children, that we have not always lived in England; my ancestors were French, and lived at Château Roquefort, in the province of La Vendée. When the great insurrection broke out in the year 1792, my grandfather, Philippe de Roquefort, was one of the leading insurgents against the Republic. For a time the insurrection was successful, and the Republican generals were driven across the Loire. But at last there came a time when Philippe de Roquefort saw that to resist any longer was hopeless, and, as he had a wife and a little son, he resolved that, for their sakes, it was prudent to flee to England.
'They had abandoned Roquefort itself three days before, but the evening before their leaving France, Philippe was obliged to ride over to the château (five miles or so from the little town where he and his family, with about a dozen trusty followers, had taken refuge) to fetch some important papers.
'The whole neighbourhood swarmed with Republicans, but, with his knowledge of the country, he reached the deserted château safely.
'The whole place had a forsaken air as Philippe entered the hall he knew so well, where all his happy boyhood had been spent; but one familiar object caught his eye—the old clock, which had been too cumbersome to take with them in their flight, and which was still ticking in its accustomed manner. Philippe secured his papers, and was just leaving the château, taking a last fond look at his home, when a heavy hand pulled him backwards, and, before he could reach his sword, he was bound hand and foot.
'"We have caught the bird in his own nest," said a loud voice—and the boisterous laughter of several men made the rafters in the old hall ring.
'Philippe saw that he had been captured by five rough Republicans, who dragged him into the middle of the hall and then sat round him, consulting as to his fate. At last they decided that, at a quarter to six by the old clock, he should be shot. They had some time to wait before going back to their camp.
'Philippe gave himself up for lost. The ruffians soon began to jeer at him, and asked if he had any messages for his friends. Then my grandfather lost all his patience, and throwing aside all prudence, cried: "Yes, you villains, if I had my faithful followers here, they would soon make an end of you."
'The men laughed at this, but suddenly a cruel idea struck one of them.
'"Yes," he said, "Monsieur shall have his way"—and, looking up at the clock, he continued: "It is now five o'clock; Pierre, the peasant's son, who lives yonder, shall ride with a message to these devoted followers. Monsieur shall be shot at a quarter to six; but he can write and tell his friends to be here at ten minutes to the hour; they will come and find Monsieur—five minutes too late. We can get away easily enough before they arrive."
'His comrades agreed to this plan, which gave an adventurous tone to their enterprise, and inflicted, as well, extra misery upon their prisoner.
'A scrap of paper and a pencil were given to my grandfather; but, as he was writing, Philippe remembered with joy that the old clock on which his captors were relying had not yet lost its five minutes that day; he had noticed this as he glanced round the hall before his capture; and, therefore, at a quarter to six—the time when, by the clock, he was going to be put to death—itmightbe ten minutes to the hour by the proper time—if the clock only went wrong for once at a convenient time!
'The peasant-boy, Pierre, was sent with the message, and the men settled themselves down to ransacking the house, exulting over the trick they were going to play.
'The time crept by. As a quarter to six drew near Philippe was bound to a tree, and the men set to work to load their muskets! Had the clock lost five minutes, or not? Every minute of waiting seemed like an hour, and Philippe could not be sure whether the hand had stuck still too long, or not. He thought it had, but could he trust his eyes in such a terrible situation?
'You can imagine my grandfather's feelings during those last few awful minutes! A hundred conjectures flashed through his mind. Suppose the boy never gave the message! or suppose the men were late! or suppose the clock was not slow after all!
'At last the Republicans were ready, and Philippe gave himself up for lost. Suddenly the sound of horses' hoofs was heard breaking through the undergrowth. The Republicans hesitated, and, as they stood undecided, ten or a dozen men rode up hastily. They were only just in time; the Republicans fought for a few minutes, but they were taken by surprise, and soon surrendered. Philippe was saved!'
'What a narrow escape, Mother,' we cried, 'and if it had not been for the old clock's habit of losing time——'
'Well, my dear, the story would have ended very differently.'