"He deliberately lighted a cigar with a scrap of the burning rope.""He deliberately lighted a cigar with a scrap of the burning rope."
The ship was on fire! The boats were lowered, and were quickly filled by the terrified passengers and crew. Amid the general excitement, the captain alone remained cool and collected, and when the time came for him to follow the others, he did a very curious thing. Before descending the ladder into the boat, he shouted to his sailors, 'Hold on for a minute!' Then he drew a cigar from his pocket, and deliberately lighted it with a scrap of the burning rope which lay close by. This done, he went down steadily and slowly, and ordered his men to push off.
One of the passengers asked him afterwards, 'How could you stop at such a moment to light a cigar?'
'Because,' replied the captain, 'it seemed to me that unless I did something to divert the minds of the people in the boat, there would probably be a panic. Then the boat would have been upset, for, as you know, it was over-crowded. My seemingly strange act attracted your attention. Watching me, you forgot your fright and your own danger for the moment, and so we got off in safety.'
Apparent folly is sometimes wisdom in disguise.
E. D.
The Puff-adder is the most common, as well as the most deadly, of African snakes. It is generally about four feet long; the evil-looking head is broad and flat, while the body, which is as thick as a man's arm, tapers very suddenly towards the tail. The puff-adder is of a uniform brown colour, checked with bars of darker brown and white. It is slow and torpid in all its movements, and is peculiarly dangerous from its habit of lying half buried in the sandy track, not caring to move out of the way of passers-by, as other snakes generally do; still, if not molested or trodden upon, it does not attack man. If any unfortunate creature, however, should be bitten by this reptile, death occurs in a few hours. When irritated or alarmed, this snake has the power of swelling out the whole body, from which fact it derives its popular name.
It was Sports day at Oakwood School, a glorious 18th of June. Guests were gathering from near and far, and every lodging and primitive inn in the neighbouring villages was reaping a harvest from the invasion of relatives and friends of boys past and present. On the school tower, a landmark for miles, the house flag and the Union Jack floated proudly. The hundred boys looked a goodly sight below, clad alike in white with varying racing colours in broad sashes and ties.
It was Paul Fife's third term, and he had just been welcoming Captain Ferrers. 'I must go directly,' said the boy; 'I am in the sack race for boys under twelve. I must tie Boh up first, or he will come rushing after me and spoil my chance.'
Alert and active, Paul hurried off, and Captain Ferrers joined Dr. Rayne.
'So glad you think we are taking care of him,' said the Doctor. 'He is a favourite with us all; not quite a typical English boy yet, though. I am glad to see so many "old boys" here to-day, and parents too. Bless me, there's General McLeod of Clere; I have not seen him for years. It must bring back many sad memories: his son was here years ago, a splendid fellow—his death was a terrible blow,' and Dr. Rayne went off to speak to his old friend.
The bell rang for the sack race, and there was a general movement to the starting-post, where the eight small boys in for the final were standing, each tied up to the neck in his sack, ready for the start. The old General was keenly interested, and was standing immediately behind Paul.
The master starter yielded to the request, 'May we have our caps off?' and uncovered one after the other each little competitor's head. General McLeod made a hurried exclamation as the dark head before him was bared. Paul heard him, but had no time to look round, for with an 'Are you ready?—are you ready?—off!' the boys were started. Blundering, tumbling, struggling up again, they rounded the opposite post, and came hopping in, Paul an easy first. As he touched the winning tape, his uplifted face beaming with pride, the old General turned white to the lips, and stretching out his trembling hand he laid it on the head of the laughing boy, and gasped uncertainly, 'Miguel Sarreco!'
There was very earnest talk in the Head Master's study that night, between Dr. Rayne and the General and Captain Ferrers, glad of a quiet hour at last.
'If I might suggest it,' said Dr. Rayne, 'you should tell your story first, General; it may throw light on small things, which otherwise may escape my friend Ferrers's notice and remembrance of all concerning this poor little child.'
'I quite agree with you, and will reserve my story until after,' and Captain Ferrers sat down, listening eagerly while the General began.
'I must go back many years. My wife, as you know, Rayne, was of Portuguese descent, an ancestor of hers having married a señora in Lisbon, after the Peninsular war. She (my wife) inherited a little property there, and in some business connected with it I had met, at different times, a far distant connection of hers, Don Manuel Sarreco, with whom I became fast friends. About fifteen years ago I received an urgent message to go to him at once. I travelled day and night, only to find him dying—he had been mortally wounded in a duel. He knew me, and urged on me his last request, to take his two children and bring them up as my own in England. I hesitated, but his entreaties and the love I had for him prevailed, and I took on myself the charge. The eldest was a beautiful girl of seventeen, Miguel two years younger. They were wonderfully alike, only in the boy's case the raven black hair had a lock of white on one side, the "Sarreco streak," as it was proudly called, which appeared in the family generation after generation. I brought the children home with certain of theirmost cherished possessions, some fine riding-horses, and a pair of curious dogs of Andalusian breed.
'My son, Hugh (as you know) had joined the army, and having helped in the final subjugation of Burmah, was then stationed at Mandalay, in command of native troops. I sent the boy Miguel to Harton, and Inez rapidly picked up English at home. Two years later Hugh returned, as he had obtained a year's leave. To make a long story short, he fell in love with Inez, and they were married before he returned to Burmah.
'I ought to mention that, some months before, the addition of two fine puppies of the Andalusian stock had become the pride of our kennels: they were born the day of the wedding of the Princess Louise with the Duke of Fife, and were unanimously christened "Fife" and "Louise." The dog I saw to-day was the same breed. When Hugh and Inez went away, Fife was an important part of the luggage. We went to see them on board, waving good-byes as the vessel steamed away, and I never saw them again.'
The General's voice faltered and failed, but soon he resumed: 'You may perhaps remember the sad bathing accident at Harton School, of which no one quite knew the end. Miguel Sarreco was one of the two boys drowned; his dog, Louise, had apparently tried to save him, for their bodies were washed in together some hours after the accident. The boy had been the only young one left with us at Clere: he was the darling of us all. Judge, therefore, the shock I felt to-day when a face like his looked into mine, and his own dog apparently jumped as formerly round him.
'Inez was so shocked by the news that a change from Mandalay was suggested, and Hugh obtained the command of Fort Sardu, one of the outpost stations in the Shan States. The Dacoit attack on this fort you will remember. We were just rejoicing over a letter from Hugh, telling of the birth of a little son, when we were stunned by the ghastly news of the massacre of every living soul at Fort Sardu.
'I travelled out to Burmah at once, hoping against hope. But all had perished. A sentry near the jungle alone was living, sorely wounded. When questioned, he was delirious, but just before he died he had quieted, and said that Pahna, the Karen woman, had got away into the jungle, but her arm was wounded, and as she went he heard the wailing of a child, and a dog with burning hair had rushed out from one of the huts after her. No one could say if it was truth or delirium, but every inquiry was made. No such woman had been heard of, nor had she returned to any of the Karen encampments, so if she had got away she must have died in the jungle, they said. The body of an infant had been seen among the dead at the fort and buried with the others, so that the sentry's tale seemed but a myth.
'Many months later, a letter, delayed some while, reached me from my boy. It had been written the day after the child's birth apparently. I have it here. After some private matter he says: "Our little son is a fine fellow, very dark, and his thick black hair has the 'Sarreco streak' very visible, which Inez is absurdly delighted at. The English nurse has jungle fever, and is kept away, but Pahna, the Karen woman, is a splendid substitute: she is the wife of my faithful native servant. Pahna is devoted to 'Bébé Ingalay.' Her English is curious; Inez she usually called 'Missee Sahib,' but now she has got to 'Missee Mahkloo,' 'Thakin Mahkloo' meaning me—her nearest rendering of McLeod." You start, Captain Ferrers?'
'Yes; I will say why presently—please go on,' said Captain Ferrers. 'I cannot say how interested I am.'
'The letter goes on,' resumed the General: '"Inez hung the Ragged Cross, the 'Sarreco badge,' round the baby's neck for a few moments to dub him true 'Sarreco.' Pahna looks on it as a charm especially his own, and hangs it over his cot. 'Fife' watches the little one jealously, so he is well protected."
'That is practically all,' said the General, folding the thin letter reverently with hands that trembled; 'but I feel surer and surer—my heart tells me that the little boy Paul Fife must be my own flesh and blood. He is Miguel Sarreco's very image: the same haughty poise of the head, and lean, sinewy body; but when he speaks, the voice is my son's, and the curve of the lips his also.'
'I think I can help you,' said Captain Ferrers, rising. 'I have here in my pocket-book the exact description of the finding the dying woman and the child in the jungle as given me by the Tounghi, "Maung Yet"—he is still to be found, I believe, if more is required. Her dying words over and over were as you see: "Thakin Ingalay—Bébé—Mah Kloo." He took the last to be the woman's own name, and impressed me with the same idea. But it must be meant for Macleod. This alone, coupled with the white lock of hair, is almost proof-positive. But still further, the dog was there, and on his brass collar (which I removed at once, not to risk losing it) was the word "Fife," the name of his owner, we thought, and so we called the child Fife too. Last, but not least, I believe I have in safe keeping the veritable "Sarreco badge" you mention, a curious kind of gold cross, fastened to a thin gold chain. Maung Yet gave it to me as a charm found on the dead woman. I may add that these Karen women are wonderfully faithful; probably both husband and her own infant were slain early in the fight, and she had alone been able to take away the English baby, and had carried him all those weary miles, saving him only to die herself. The hardships endured are terrible to think of.'
There was a pause—the old General's head was bowed over his clasped hands. Then he rose to his full height and said: 'It is quite enough to assure me of what I felt sure of before. I thank God for all His mercy! and now I should just like to kiss my little grandson before I go. I will be here again early to-morrow.'
Captain Ferrers and Dr. Rayne, both frequent visitors at Clere, assert that the General grows younger. It may well be so, for the dark clouds of sorrow have lifted, and the sun shines for him with the laughter of a happy child. He can look hopefully forward now to life's evening. He is not the last of the McLeods.
Martia.
"They came hopping in, Paul an easy first.""They came hopping in, Paul an easy first."
Four hares were at dinner one day—The sweetest of herbage was theirs—And as they all nibbled awayThey seemed to be rid of their cares;For the grass was so green and the sky was so blue,They had plenty to eat and nothing to do.The sun shone so brightly that day,They did not think danger was near;The hunters and dogs were away,There was nothing around to cause fear.When, alas! from the sky there dropped with a plump,A something which made their poor hearts give a jump.Poor Fred was knocked backward at once,And Charlie fell flat on the ground,While Peter stretched out his long legsAnd fled without making a sound;But Tom, who was boastful, cried, 'Stop! Don't you see,It is only a kite from its string broken free!'Just let me catch hold of that boy,I'll give him a box on the ear—I'll teach him to fly his old kiteBeside us, to cause us such fear....Why, thereisthe boy! After all, I will wait—I must hurry off home, it is getting quite late!'Then off with a rush went brave Tom,His heart beating loud with dismay;While Charlie, and Peter, and FredCried, 'Isn't Tom valiant to-day?'And the boy shook with laughter to see Tom in flight,For he knew that fine words never drive away fright!
Four hares were at dinner one day—The sweetest of herbage was theirs—And as they all nibbled awayThey seemed to be rid of their cares;For the grass was so green and the sky was so blue,They had plenty to eat and nothing to do.
The sun shone so brightly that day,They did not think danger was near;The hunters and dogs were away,There was nothing around to cause fear.When, alas! from the sky there dropped with a plump,A something which made their poor hearts give a jump.
Poor Fred was knocked backward at once,And Charlie fell flat on the ground,While Peter stretched out his long legsAnd fled without making a sound;But Tom, who was boastful, cried, 'Stop! Don't you see,It is only a kite from its string broken free!
'Just let me catch hold of that boy,I'll give him a box on the ear—I'll teach him to fly his old kiteBeside us, to cause us such fear....Why, thereisthe boy! After all, I will wait—I must hurry off home, it is getting quite late!'
Then off with a rush went brave Tom,His heart beating loud with dismay;While Charlie, and Peter, and FredCried, 'Isn't Tom valiant to-day?'And the boy shook with laughter to see Tom in flight,For he knew that fine words never drive away fright!
D. B. M.
"After all, I will wait— I must hurry off home, it is getting quite late!""After all, I will wait—I must hurry off home, it is getting quite late!"
"After all, I will wait—I must hurry off home, it is getting quite late!"
"After all, I will wait—I must hurry off home, it is getting quite late!"
"After all, I will wait—I must hurry off home, it is getting quite late!"
The blacksmith, a tall, broad-shouldered man, wearing a leather apron, stood at the door with a hammer in his right hand, his shop being a kind of barn beneath a tall elm-tree, directly opposite the narrow lane, with a board signifying that it was a footpath to Barton. It was exactly the place I should have selected in order to get away from the main road had I known of its existence.
'Has the motor-car gone?' I inquired, stopping in front of the blacksmith's.
'Don't see much sign of it, do you?' he answered, rather gruffly.
'How long ago did it start?' I asked.
'About a quarter of an hour,' said the smith, and I saw that it would be useless to think of following it in the hope of overtaking Jacintha. Perhaps it was just as well, as she had suggested that her uncle might take me forcibly back to Mr. Turton, whose eagerness to bring me once more to Castlemore still furnished matter for surprise.
But still, even if I ran some risk, I was determined to lose no time in returning the locket to its owner, who had certainly done me a good turn. My direction, which a little while ago had appeared uncertain, was now decided for me, and henceforth, instead of directing my steps towards London, I aimed at reaching Hazleton, whence the journey could be continued with greater safety from pursuit.
'Can you tell me how far it is to Hazleton?' I asked before moving on from the smithy.
'Jim,' cried the blacksmith, turning towards a man who was hammering a horse-shoe, 'here's the champion walker wants to know how far to Hazleton.'
'About thirty miles,' said Jim.
'Which is the way?' I demanded.
'Bear to your left till you come to the main road,' said the smith, 'then take the left again.'
Having thanked the man, I walked on, still looking sharply out for Mr. Turton's cab, until I came to a small village with a green, on which a few boys were playing cricket. Here there were two forked roads, and after staying five minutes to watch the game, I followed that to the left. I took the precaution to place the locket in my empty watch-pocket for greater safety, and as I left the village behind, I took out all the money in my possession—four shillings and sevenpence—and counted it, although I knew perfectly well what it amounted to. Even if the weather remained fine, which appeared extremely doubtful, I could not hope to reach Hazleton in less than two days, and then I must hang about the entrance to Colebrook Park until I succeeded in seeing Jacintha alone. As to what was to happen after that, I did not trouble myself; Hazleton had now become my fixed destination, and by securing a free bed in the open air for two nights, I reckoned it would be possible to fare well on the way.
Now that I had set my back towards Barton, I felt perfectly safe from Mr. Turton, and the road became so hilly and beautiful, with woods and undulating fields on each hand, that it soon began to engage all my attention. Villages came close together, and, indeed, the only drawback that afternoon was the lowering sky, which certainly foreboded a bad night.
At about five o'clock I passed through a kind of model village, with some quaint cottages and a few nourishing shops, in one of whose windows I saw some extremely tempting-looking small pork pies. Having eaten only bread and cheese for dinner, I was beginning to feel ravenously hungry, so, entering the shop, I inquired the price.
'Twopence each,' said the girl behind the counter, 'fresh made this morning.'
'I will have one,' I answered, when it occurred to me that if I was going to sleep out of doors, it might be wise to buy two, keeping one in reserve for supper. Then I asked for a glass of milk, and as there was a penny change out of sixpence, I bought a large cake of chocolate.
On leaving the shop, the sky looked blacker and more threatening than ever, and I wondered whether Jacintha and her uncle had arrived home yet. Eating one of the pork pies as I walked on, I followed it by half the cake of chocolate, and then the rain began, with large drops, which made me dread a thunder-storm.
After a little while the rain ceased, however, and quickening my steps, I began to think I should be driven to pay for a night's lodging after all. Presently I came to a kind of open moor, covered with bracken, bramble, and brilliant patches of heath. A rabbit scampered across the road, but there was no one to be seen, although a railway ran close at hand through a cutting on the right. I could see the tops of the signal-posts and hear the rush of passing trains now and then. When I had walked a mile or more across the moor, the rain began again with flashes of vivid lightning and long rolls of thunder. I turned up my collar and buttoned my jacket, which was soon nearly wet through, and at last stood up in the wet bracken under a beech-tree. A more vivid flash of lightning, however, reminded me that I had heard of the danger of standing beneath trees in storms; so, plunging into the deluge again, I followed the road up a steep hill, in the hope of seeing a village, or some kind of shelter, from the crest.
But the only human habitation in sight was a solitary house, which looked curious enough amidst those lonely surroundings. It stood at the corner of a cross-road still several hundred yards distant, a new-looking house, built of red bricks, with a tiled roof, with a garden and railings in front. Determined to find shelter somewhere, I set off down the hill at a run, and, as I drew near the house, rejoiced to see that it was apparently empty. Bythe iron railings stood a black board, announcing that it was to be let unfurnished, while the wisps of straw about the path seemed to show that the tenants had but recently forsaken it, because of its lonely situation, no doubt. Opening the gate, I went up the stone steps and stood beneath a small porch before its front door, where at least I was out of the rain, which now poured down in torrents. On each side of the small porch was a shelf, evidently intended to support flower-pots, and underneath one of the shelves I saw an old sack.
This I picked up and examined, and finding that it was not very dirty, I thought there could be no harm in taking possession of it, for if the rain continued, the sack would serve the purpose of a cape to protect my shoulders. Placing it round them at once, I stood gazing at the rain, while the evening gradually darkened. The thunder sounded as if it were exactly overhead, and the lightning seemed to dance around me. Presently I began to wonder how to pass the night, since it would be madness to leave this shelter in the deluge, while yet I could not very comfortably remain where I was.
It must have been between seven and eight o'clock when a happy thought occurred. How idiotic to feel doubtful where to sleep when here was a whole house apparently at my disposal! It could not injure anybody if I made it a shelter for myself for the night, whereas it would be an immense boon to have a roof over one's head until the rain ceased—- although it looked as if it never would leave off.
Drawing the sack over my head, I came forth from my shelter and inspected the front of the house, only to find that every window was securely fastened. Going round to the side gate of lattice-work, I found it unlocked, however, and made my way at once to the back garden. There, by great good fortune, was a window with the bottom pane broken, and having enlarged the hole, I was able to put in a hand and push back the fastener, so that to open the window and effect an entrance was the work of a few seconds.
Having shut the window, I looked about, and saw that I stood in a kind of breakfast-room, entirely empty; but on going to the adjoining kitchen, there was a heap of shavings and paper by a packing-case in one corner, and on this I determined to make a bed. The rain still pelted, the thunder rolled, and the lightning flashed, while the interior of the house seemed dismal and oppressive, I confess to a feeling of timidity which I had not experienced since I left Castlemore—such as, indeed, I had scarcely been conscious of in my life before. The evening was already dark, and the night promised to be absolutely black. When I went to the kitchen door and looked out into the stone-floored passage, I could scarcely see my hand before me, and there was no means of obtaining a light.
Returning to the kitchen, I shut the door, and, making the most of the still remaining light, I began to prepare my bed for the night, but as I turned the shavings a mouse ran over my hand, and for the moment I felt so startled that I walked to the farther side of the room.
There I began to persuade myself that there was no danger to be feared from a mouse, and presently, returning to the corner, I shook out the shavings and pieces of paper until they somewhat resembled the shape of a bed. A few minutes later, however, it seemed to become suddenly black, save when the flashes of lightning lighted the room, for, of course, the windows were without blinds. Sitting down on the bed, I determined to eat my supper and try to sleep, not caring how early I woke, so long as it was daylight. I congratulated myself on the possession of the second pork-pie and the chocolate, and lest the morning should prove as wet as the night, I only ate half of my provender, although I could very readily have dispatched the whole.
Then, having taken off my boots and spread the sack out to dry, I said my prayers and lay down at full length; but, instead of falling asleep at once, my thoughts turned to the past, and I seemed to live over again every interview I had ever had with Captain Knowlton. When I remembered his cheerful personality, it seemed impossible to realise that he could be dead, and yet by this time I had not the slightest hope of ever seeing him again. I tried to dwell on Mr. Bosanquet's encouraging words, but it was useless to-night as I lay watching the lightning; and, oppressed by grief at Captain Knowlton's loss, I could not keep back a few tears. Then I must have fallen asleep, for, I know not how much later, although the kitchen was still in total blackness, I found myself sitting up, and thinking for the moment that I was back in my room with Smythe and the other fellows at Mr. Turton's. Before I had quite realised the actual surroundings, I grew cold from head to foot, with that uncomfortable sensation called goose-flesh, as if every individual hair were standing on end. My teeth began to chatter as I strained my ears to listen.
There could be no doubt about it. I could distinctly hear a low, pitiful weeping apparently just above my head. That the sounds came from some human being in intense distress I entertained no doubt whatever, and yet, inconsistently enough, I felt frightened out of my wits. Rising, I felt my way by the empty dresser to the door, and there stood listening. Still the melancholy sound continued; such a dismal wailing as I had never heard before. How I longed for the day to break, or even for the lightning, which had now ceased, although in unison with the sounds of continuous weeping I heard the rain beating against the window-panes.
Afraid to open the door, feeling that I would gladly endure any penalty in exchange for a box of matches, I did not make the least attempt to go to sleep again, but stood close to the kitchen window on the look-out for the first sign of dawn. Never had time seemed to pass so slowly. The sounds of mice in one corner made me shudder, and for once in my life I was thoroughly and shamefully terrified.
The first shade of grey on the ceiling caused a feeling of intense relief, and I began to upbraid myself for timidity. As the light gained brightness, courage returned, and when at last it was day, although nothing could have appeared much more dismal than the outlook from the window, I determined to pull myself together and to make a tour of inspection.
(Continued on page 102.)
Alone in the Empty House.Alone in the Empty House.
The Best BeginningThe Best Beginning
Gustavus Adolphus, King of Sweden, was not only an excellent ruler and fine general, but deeply religious.
On one occasion, at the beginning of a great war, he landed his troops in Germany. Directly he landed in the early morning, after giving some necessary orders to some of his officers, he retired a few paces from them and knelt down to pray. He noticed that this action on his part appeared to surprise some of his men; whereupon he said, 'The man who has finished his prayers has done one half of his daily work.'
A word of ten letters; a woman's name.
C. J. B.
[Answer on page 130.]
3.—
4.—Amble-side, in the Lake District, near which place lived Wordsworth, Dr. Arnold, and Harriet Martineau.
An Indian once asked his neighbour for some tobacco. The neighbour put his hand in his pocket and gave him a handful. The next morning the Indian came again, and brought a quarter-dollar which he had found between the tobacco. The neighbour was surprised at such honesty, and asked the Indian why he had not kept the money.
'It is just like this,' he answered. 'In my heart I have a good man and a bad man. The good man said, "The money does not belong to you; give it back to its owner." The bad man said, "It has been given to you; it belongs to you." The good man replied, "That is not true, and such conduct is evil; the tobacco belongs to you, but the money belongs to him who has given it away by mistake; you must give it back again." The bad man answered, "Think no more about it, and do not let such a trifle disturb you. Keep the money." I was in doubt as to which voice of my heart I should listen to. At last I lay down in bed, but the good man and the bad man quarrelled so all the night in my heart that I had no peace, so I felt obliged to bring you back your money.'
The Lime, or Linden, is very notable amongst our trees on account of its beauty and usefulness, and also because it will grow anywhere. It is especially a London tree, for we see it in parks, squares, many private gardens, and along some roads in the metropolis. But the smoke of London seldom allows the tree to attain its full size. Often the stroller in July, passing along a road or lane, becomes suddenly aware of a delicious scent floating upon the summer breeze. He looks up, to find this perfume comes from a lime, putting forth its clusters of flowers upon their leafy branches—flowers to which, by day or night, crowds of bees, flies, and other insects resort. About the suburbs of London the lively sparrows often have their assemblies in lime or plane-trees; and in most years, the London limes, towards autumn, put forth a few fresh leaves.
The lime is a hardy tree, and flourishes even in the cold regions of Sweden and Russia. It is supposed to have been introduced to Britain by the Romans, who brought trees and plants into these islands from various countries where the Roman banners had been carried. Amongst the Swiss, this tree has been regarded as an emblem of liberty, and planted for a memorial. From the lime, called in Sweden 'lind,' the greatest of our early botanists took his name; it was chosen by him because a large lime-tree overhung his father's house, and so he has always been known as Linnæus.
'Linden' comes from the Swedish name, but 'lime' is an ignorant mistake, which cannot be altered now. Properly, the tree belongs to the citron family, akin to the orange and lemon, and the other name of the linden seems at first to have been 'line,' because the bark was used for making cord and other lines.
From 'bast,' as the inner bark is called, a great number of mats are made in Russia, and sent all over Europe; a small quantity is also woven in Lincolnshire and Monmouthshire. Hats and shoes have been made from lime-bark, and the solid wood is serviceable in many ways. It has supplied bowls, plates, sounding-boards for pianos; and some beautiful carving—that of Gibbons, for example—has been executed in lime-wood. It is white, but very tough when properly dried.
A handsome tree when solitary, the lime is particularly beautiful in an avenue. There is a famous avenue of large size at Ware Park, and another remarkable one in the Cathedral yard at Winchester.
Notwithstanding the superior power of Professor Charles' gas balloon, the Montgolfiers stuck to their hot air, 'for,' said they, 'see how much cheaper it is, and how much more quickly the balloon can be inflated—about ten minutes against three days.' So, in answer to frequent demands, their air-ships sailed into the skies, andeven the applause of royal hands increased the uproar with which each successful experiment was greeted.
On the morning of September 19th, 1783, the road between Paris and Versailles was crowded to excess. The stream of carriages seemed endless, and the eager throng pushed its way between the vehicles till there was hardly room for horse or man to move. The windows all along the route were full of faces, while the house-tops themselves were invaded by sight-seers. And all this excitement was because the King had commanded Stephen Montgolfier to send a balloon up from the gardens at Versailles. This time, however, there were to be passengers, and as no human being had ever breathed the upper air before, it was questioned whether he could do so and live. The pioneers, therefore, should not be human, and in due course a cock, a sheep, and a goose were chosen. These were the first living passengers in the cloud-cruisers, and after a voyage at a great height, of eight minutes in duration, they returned to the earth in perfect health. But what bird or animal could have wondered if, after that 19th of September, they had quacked, and crowed, and bleated with more pride than before?
Then Montgolfier was busier still, and on November 21st, in a fire-balloon specially decorated for such a great occasion, two gentlemen, named Pilâtre de Rozier and D'Arlande, made the first ascent. Of the former of these we shall have to speak again.
But as hot air, as a means of flight, has been surpassed by hydrogen gas, we ought to give more attention here to the grand voyage made eleven days later by Professor Charles and his skilful helper, M. Robert. During the preparations all went well. The balloon was made and fitted at the Tuileries, with a lovely car in the shape of a fairy's boat, bright with blue panels and golden ornaments. But when things had gone thus far, trouble began.
On November 29th a rumour (too soon confirmed) ran through Paris that the King forbade the ascent to be made. At midnight Charles was aroused from sleep and summoned to appear before a high official, who presented him with the royal order to give up his project. We may readily believe that after this he passed a restless night, and his trouble became harder to bear when his enemies whispered that he himself had asked for the order to be made because, at the last moment, his courage had failed him. Sad to say, such whispers as these will travel as fast and far as shouts of praise, and Professor Charles felt thoroughly depressed. But there was some comfort in the heavy rain that fell, for no one could expect the balloon to ascend in such weather, and before the clouds cleared away perhaps his difficulties would clear away too.
The King, however, was deaf to all appeals; maybe he thought Professor Charles was too valuable to France to run the risk of being killed. But if this was the reason, there were four hundred thousand people in Paris who did not agree with him, and when the next morning broke quite cloudless, they gathered at the Tuileries in a somewhat impatient manner. Who was to be obeyed, the people or the King? Well, up to the last minute Professor Charles would not decide. The arrangements were continued. The great balloon was moved into the open space, with a small one, five and a half feet in diameter, beside it. This was to be sent up first, to see if the air was sufficiently quiet. The rope which controlled it was placed in the hand of Stephen Montgolfier, 'for,' said Professor Charles, 'it was you who first showed us the way to the clouds.' At a signal given, M. Montgolfier cut the rope, and for a moment the attention of the spectators was engrossed by this little pioneer as it rose into the blue above them.
Finally, at a quarter past one, M. Charles made up his mind to keep his promise to the people, and disobey the King for once, and, accompanied by M. Robert, stepped into the blue and golden car. Amid a deafening tumult, that must have been heard at Versailles, they rose slowly into the air. His own description of the voyage has been preserved, and as he was a man who could describe what he felt and saw (and let all 'chatterboxes' know that this is harder than it seems), no story could be more interesting. They rose straight up for one thousand eight hundred feet, and then hung poised in the air. The view was entrancing, and as the aeronauts looked down at the Tuileries and the buzzing crowd, Professor Charles felt as though he had escaped from a swarm of wasps ready to sting him without mercy if he failed to please them. However, his troubles from that point of view were over, and he turned his thoughts to the delights of his voyage. Presently they heard the report of a cannon, which meant that the people of Paris could no longer see them. Far below, like a silver brook, wound the river Seine, and twice the balloon floated across it. Village after village drifted away beneath them, till, at the end of two happy hours, they settled in a broad meadow at Nesle, twenty-seven miles from Paris. Here they were joined by three Englishmen who had ridden after them from Paris on horseback. These Englishmen, together with the village clergyman, signed Professor Charles' papers to prove that they had witnessed his descent, while the awestruck peasants gathered round and helped to hold the balloon.
The sun had already set, but the gas was not all gone, and so Professor Charles went up once more, this time alone. He clapped his hands as a signal to the peasants to let go, and ten minutes later was soaring at a height of nine thousand feet. In that ten minutes he had passed from an atmosphere of spring to that of winter; for although it was December 1st, it was warm weather on the earth. Perfect silence was around him, and when he clapped his hands the noise was quite startling. As already stated, the sun had set when he left the earth, but now he saw it again just above the far horizon. All below was dark with shadow, and on him and his balloon alone the sun was shining. Delighted by these new experiences, he turned his eyes in all directions. Not a human being was visible, not a human voice could be heard, and while he looked and listened the sun sank out of sight once more. Professor Charles, for the first time in his life, hadseen two sunsets in one day. Perhaps he thought that was enough, for he pulled the valve-line, and a few minutes later alighted in a field two miles from his starting-place, and the home of one of the Englishmen. The next morning he and Robert entered Paris in triumph, and a few hours later, through another gate, the balloon entered in triumph too, being escorted by bands of music and crowds of people.
"M. Charles stepped into the blue and golden car, and they rose slowly into the air.""M. Charles stepped into the blue and golden car, and they rose slowly into the air."
The kind old King evidently forgave Professor Charles for disobeying him, for he immediately presented him with a pension, and first-class lodgings in the Tuileries, where he continued his studies till his death in 1823.
John Lea.
When Jack and Tom were little kits,No settled home had they;But Mother found within the barnA hamper full of hay,And there she took her children two,And told them what they ought to do.She said, 'Now, darlings, make no noise,And if you do no harm,And learn your business, you will liveIn comfort at the farm.Just catch a mouse—for that's your trade—And then your fortune will be made.'Now, when the kits were left aloneThey soon began to play,For neither cats nor children canBe busy all the day;But as they tossed the hay about,A little mouse came creeping out!'Look! look!' cried Jack, with eager eyes.'I see!' cried Tom, 'I see!You go and seek another mouse,And leave this mouse to me.''Indeed, I won't!' cried Jack at once;'You surely take me for a dunce!'That mouse is mine—I saw it first;So, Tom, away you go,And let me tackle it at once,And lay the rascal low.'But naughty Tom would not submit;He said, 'It's mine—I'll capture it.'But while they quarrelled loud and long,They quite forgot their prey,And when at last they made it upMiss Mouse had slipped away—For if you fight and disagree,You ne'er will catch the enemy.
When Jack and Tom were little kits,No settled home had they;But Mother found within the barnA hamper full of hay,And there she took her children two,And told them what they ought to do.
She said, 'Now, darlings, make no noise,And if you do no harm,And learn your business, you will liveIn comfort at the farm.Just catch a mouse—for that's your trade—And then your fortune will be made.'
Now, when the kits were left aloneThey soon began to play,For neither cats nor children canBe busy all the day;But as they tossed the hay about,A little mouse came creeping out!
'Look! look!' cried Jack, with eager eyes.'I see!' cried Tom, 'I see!You go and seek another mouse,And leave this mouse to me.''Indeed, I won't!' cried Jack at once;'You surely take me for a dunce!
'That mouse is mine—I saw it first;So, Tom, away you go,And let me tackle it at once,And lay the rascal low.'But naughty Tom would not submit;He said, 'It's mine—I'll capture it.'
But while they quarrelled loud and long,They quite forgot their prey,And when at last they made it upMiss Mouse had slipped away—For if you fight and disagree,You ne'er will catch the enemy.