Toys from the Streets.Toys from the Streets.
These toys have a wonderful history of their own. Do you know that when you have one of them in your hand, you may be holding what has comethousands of miles over sea and land from the hands of other children in distant countries? Whole families make a living by manufacturing these toys. The material—wood, paper, tinsel, wire, or what not—is given out at the factory, and the worker takes it home. There every one is busy; one cutting out pieces of paper of a given shape, one whittling pieces of wood to fit together, one gumming up thevarious parts, till the whole toy is finished and added to a growing pile. Nearly every civilised country has such workers—Austria, Germany, France, America, Japan, and England; and the toys in the end travel mile after mile in great ships and trains, to be sold in the streets for such a little sum!
Now think how some of these are made. Most of those which require gumming or fitting together arethe work of man's hands alone. The birdcage and dog musical-box in the illustration are of this kind. In the inside of the box under the dog is a little cogged wheel, which, when the handle is turned, rubs against pieces of metal and produces the musical sounds. The bird's song, or rather, croak, is caused by air rushing through a sort of parchment tissue when the floor of the cage is compressed. The train, carman, cart, and trailer are made almost entirely by means of moulds, though some parts have to be fitted together by hand. First of all, a model is made in wax or clay, or some other substance, then a cast is taken of it in plaster of Paris, then a double mould (in two pieces) is made from the plaster cast, and into these moulds liquid metal—an alloy mainly composed of lead—is run, and left to cool. All these five toys have wheels that move. They are electro-gilt—that is, the gilding is fixed on them by means of a bath through which an electric current passes.
The other toys in the illustration are made mainly by hand, though parts have to be cast in moulds or cut by machinery. The monkey bicyclist is hand-made; his body is composed of wool and wire. The weight hanging down under the string keeps him perfectly balanced, and as the string is raised or lowered he runs up and down more easily than a good many human bicyclists.
(Continued on page 389.)
Chinese Laundrymen.Chinese Laundrymen.
The differences in general appearance of the men of various races are most striking. No one could mistake a Chinaman for a North American Indian, or a Negro for a Malay or a Maori. Not only are these men of various races different in outward appearance, but they have also minds of different characters, and seem naturally fitted for different kinds of work.
The Chinaman has his own special fields of labour. He is a great trader with the countries near home, and sends out many junks to the East Indies, the Malay Islands, and the South Sea Islands, to collect edible birds' nests, trepang, ornamental woods, pearls, pearl-shells, tortoise-shell, and the skins of birds of paradise. At Singapore, there are hundreds of Chinese shopkeepers, who sell all kinds of miscellaneous articles, such as penknives, cotton thread, writing-paper, gunpowder, and corkscrews, often at a price which would be considered cheap even in England.
But it is when the Chinaman settles in some American or Australian town that his special abilities are best seen. He is surrounded and outnumbered by Englishmen and Americans, and is entirely under their government; and yet there are some kinds of work which he can do so well and so cheaply that no European can compete with him. He is an excellent gardener in a small way, and if he can obtain only a very little plot of ground, he will cultivate it so constantly and so carefully that he will be able to maintain himself in comfort with the money which he obtains from the sale of his vegetables and fruits. Many gardens belonging to Chinamen are to be seen on the outskirts of the cities of Australia and New Zealand, and early in the morning the Chinamen hawk their products through the streets.
The Chinaman is equally good as a laundryman, and in some cities the Chinese colonists do the whole of the laundry-work. In San Francisco, where there are thousands of Chinese, all the washing is performed by them. They work in the open air, just as the English and Scotch women used to do in their public washing-grounds, standing in the water rubbing and wringing their clothes. They have a curious practice in ironing, of spraying the linen with water through their mouths. They do the work very thoroughly, and at the same time cheaply. A Chinaman will live very comfortably on forty pounds a year, and, as he is an almost incessant worker, he can make sufficient money for his needs by work which is very poorly paid from an Englishman's point of view.
What a busy world is this!Everything I viewHas some task it must not miss—Something it must do;There is nothing idle stands,All things work with head or hands.All day long the busy SunRunneth through the skies,And its work is never doneTill the stars arise:Then it goes to other lands,Nor one moment idle stands.In this world where all things work,I must busy be;There are tasks I must not shirk,Duties set for me;And since nothing idle stands,I must work with head or hands.
What a busy world is this!Everything I viewHas some task it must not miss—Something it must do;There is nothing idle stands,All things work with head or hands.
All day long the busy SunRunneth through the skies,And its work is never doneTill the stars arise:Then it goes to other lands,Nor one moment idle stands.
In this world where all things work,I must busy be;There are tasks I must not shirk,Duties set for me;And since nothing idle stands,I must work with head or hands.
I
t was the last day of the Winter Assize, in the year 1805, and a long row of prisoners stood in the dock of the court to receive the sentence of death.
Sixteen men to be hanged! It seems quite incredible now, but a hundred years ago the death sentence was given indiscriminately for offences of all sorts, some so trivial as hardly to deserve the name. For instance, the man of sixty, who stood first in the dock, had snatched a ham from a shop-door, to take to some starving children at home;and the country lad of some eighteen years or less, at the other end of the row, had set fire to a rick—it was an accident, it is true, but a quantity of hay had been burnt; the jury found him 'guilty,' and he was to be hanged with the rest.
Poor lad! The judge's words fell on his ear like strokes of a heavy hammer. Surely they could not be meant for him! It was but a few days ago that he had been a happy, careless lad, shouting and laughing over a bonfire in which he and some friends were to roast potatoes. A high wind got up suddenly, and some sparks from their fire were carried to a hay-rick at some little distance, and at once there was a blaze!
The other lads slunk away, terrified at the mishap, but this lad, Repton by name, ran up, and tried to stamp out the flames, and so was taken 'red-handed,' as the angry farmer expressed it, and was there and then lodged in the county jail.
And now he was to die! He sat in a corner of the dark underground room, dazed and miserable, whilst the men round him, sentenced like himself, were talking and laughing, and trying by these means to put away the thought of their fate. But Repton was stupefied with anguish, till at last merciful sleep overcame him.
He was roused next morning by the jailor, who said, roughly enough, 'You've escaped the gallows this time, lad. A reprieve has come for you.'
'Am I free? Can I go home?' asked the lad eagerly, not understanding the man's words.
The jailor burst out laughing. 'Free! What are you thinking of? Folks can't burn ricks, and be free. You are to be transported to Botany Bay for ten years, and then you will be free.'
The six months which Repton had to pass on the hulks at Sheerness among scenes of wickedness and brutality seemed afterwards like a bad dream, and the lad prayed—oh, so earnestly!—to be kept from the evil which surrounded him. Then came the day when, chained two and two, he and his companions were marched through the streets and shipped on board theNeptune, as unseaworthy a craft as ever sailed the ocean, but thought good enough for convicts.
However, theNeptunedid not sink; but she took nearly a year to reach her destination, and the convicts, stowed together in the hold, suffered torments from heat and thirst in the tropics. Then small-pox broke out amongst them, and many died; the rest were more like skeletons than living men, when theNeptuneat last cast anchor in Botany Bay. Here the men had to work on Government buildings, and at night were locked up in barracks, hardly more roomy or airy than the hold of the oldNeptune.
Most of the convicts did as little work, and gave as much trouble as they dared, and nothing but fear of the overseer kept them from open mutiny. At last, finding the overseer alone one day, and for once unarmed, two or three of the worst convicts set upon him, and would have murdered him, if Repton had not stood by him and helped him till assistance came to overpower the mutineers.
The overseer did not forget this act of Repton's, and next time one of the merchants came to the barracks to choose a servant from among the convicts (as was then the custom), he recommended the lad for the coveted post.
Now, indeed, Repton felt almost happy for the first time since his conviction. He was still a convict, it is true, and might be flogged at his master's will, or be sent back to the convict barracks, if he misconducted himself in any way. But, for the moment, he was actually free; he lived in a little shed of his own next the stable, and groomed the horses as a free man; and the relief of no longer being herded with wicked men, day and night, was too great for words.
Repton loved horses, too, and took such care of his master's beautiful mare, and the little girl's pony, that there never was any fault to be found with him. As the months went on, he was trusted more and more by both master and mistress, and treated more like a humble friend than a despised convict.
Those were lawless days in the Colony; convicts were constantly escaping into the bush, where they lived as they could—often venturing out to rob houses, or attacking and plundering, sometimes even murdering, solitary travellers.
Mr. Edmonds, Repton's master, had a house in a somewhat lonely position, half-a-mile or more from any neighbour. He was, however, a man prepared for all emergencies, and, as he was known to be well provided with fire-arms, and not afraid to use them, his house had hitherto been left unmolested.
One night, however—a dark, stormy night—Repton was roused by the sound of steel grating against something. Listening more intently, he heard whispers, and finally came to the conclusion that men were trying to force open the house-door. Then it suddenly flashed into Repton's mind that Mr. Edmonds had been summoned hastily away that very evening by a message from a sick friend on the other side of the town, and there was no one in the house but a young nursemaid to protect the mistress and her little girl.
Hastily flinging on his clothes, he crept up in the darkness, and, getting behind the two men, who had by this time almost forced the door, he felled one of them to the ground with a well-aimed blow. The other, however, turned savagely on Repton, and the two were soon locked in fight. The burglar was, however, the heavier man of the two, and things were going badly for Repton, whose strength was all but exhausted, when the welcome sound of horses' hoofs was heard, and Mr. Edmonds came galloping up.
'Help, help, master!' cried Repton. 'Here, I cannot hold him much longer!'
Mr. Edmonds sprang from his horse, and came to him, and, with the lad's help, both burglars were bound hand and foot, and left in an outhouse till the police could fetch them away.
Then Repton's turn came, and his master shook him by the hand, convict though he was, and thanked him for his bravery, and he was taken indoors, where Mrs. Repton with her own hands brought some soothing lotion to bathe his wounds.
Nor was this the end. Mr. Edmonds, who had great influence with the Governor, obtained in time a free pardon for Repton, and set him up in business, and now some of the most respected families in Australia are the descendants of Repton the Convict.
"The two were soon locked in fight.""The two were soon locked in fight."
"Soon all three were scooping up handfuls of cartridges.""Soon all three were scooping up handfuls of cartridges."
A Story of Adventure on the North Sea and in China.
(Continued from page 379.)
'Here they come,' Ping Wang said, and as he spoke a shouting, wild-looking mob of Chinamen came running down the road to the mission station. Halting about twenty yards away from the mission wall, they waited until their whole force had arrived, contenting themselves in the meanwhile with yelling 'Down with the foreigners!' brandishing their weapons and waving their flags. Soon there were quite three hundred Boxers in the road facing the front of the mission, it being their hope to strike terror by a display of their numbers.
At a signal from the leader of the Boxers, about fifty rifles were fired point-blank at the wall. Fred raised his rifle, pressed the trigger, and the Boxer leader threw up his arms and fell on his face. Fred's shot was taken by the other defenders as the signal to fire, and they did so promptly.
The surprise and terror of the Boxers on discovering that they were not invulnerable formed a sight which none of the defenders will ever forget. Every man was seized with a desire to escape from the foreigners' bullets, and they turned and ran in confusion.
'Cease fire,' Barton commanded, when he saw the enemy routed, and Fred, Charlie, and Ping Wang obeyed instantly.
'I don't fancy that the Boxers will trouble us again to-night,' Barton said, a few minutes later, 'for their leaders will have some difficulty after this in convincing them that they cannot be wounded. There is no need for all of us to remain on duty. I dare say you fellows are hungry; come inside.'
'We are not presentable,' Fred said. 'Just look at the rags we are wearing.'
'They are pretty bad,' Barton admitted. 'Come into my room, and I'll see if I can't find you some better ones.'
Barton went into the rooms of two other missionaries, and returned with an armful of clothes. 'Now I will go and see about a meal for you,' he said. 'I will be back in a few minutes.'
When he returned, he could not help smiling at what he saw. Ping Wang, wishing to dress like his friends, had put on knickerbockers and a college blazer, down the back of which hung his black, silky pigtail. Charlie was wearing flannel trousers and a khaki tunic, while Fred was attired in a black and somewhat moth-eaten suit, which was too short for him both in arms and legs.
'You look better than you did,' Barton declared. 'But, now, come and have your supper.'
He led the way along the verandah, and into a large airy room at the back of the building, where the supper was laid. Four ladies were hard at work making sandbags, a task at which they had been busy since early in the morning. Barton introduced the Pages and Ping Wang to them. In spite of the anxiety which the fact of the mission being besieged caused them, they were cheerful in their conversation, and insisted upon the new-comers making a hearty meal. After supper Charlie, Fred, and Ping Wang returned to their posts, relieving the missionaries, and enabling them to have some rest.
The night was very cold, and the sentinels had great difficulty in keeping themselves warm.
'I hope,' Fred said to Charlie, 'that the Boxers won't attack us while my hands are numbed, for I'm sure I could not shoot just now.'
'It's my opinion,' Charlie answered, 'that the reception we gave them has taken the pluck out of them, and that we shan't be troubled with them for some days. Then, perhaps, they will screw up their courage to make another assault.'
'Their silence strikes me as very suspicious,' Ping Wang declared. 'It's my belief that they are planning a surprise.'
Ping Wang's opinion was at once communicated to Barton, with the result that every man on duty was instructed to keep an extra sharp look-out. The order was, as a matter of fact, not needed; for the sentries were as alert as they possibly could be. Hour after hour they peered into the darkness, but without seeing any signs of the enemy.
At daybreak Number One and his assistant cooks brought breakfast to the shivering defenders. They enjoyed their breakfast thoroughly, and thanked Number One for its excellence. He smiled, and sent his assistants away with the crockery. He himself remained, without asking permission, upon the platform. A spare rifle was there, and he took possession of it. Barton was about to send him back to the kitchen when Charlie suddenly exclaimed, 'What's that, just over there?'
'It looks to me uncommonly like an overturned wheelbarrow,' Barton replied. 'We shall know when it gets a little lighter.'
'It is a wheelbarrow,' Fred declared, a few minutes later.
'Well,' Charlie exclaimed, 'this is the first time that I have heard of a man coming into battle on a wheelbarrow!'
'I can see what it was used for!' Fred exclaimed. 'It carried the ammunition. I can see the cartridges lying on the ground. We must have those. I will go down and get them. Where's the ladder?'
'We certainly need more ammunition,' Barton admitted, 'but it would be a dangerous job for you to get those cartridges.'
'I object too,' said Charlie. 'It would be madness to run the risk of losing our best shot. I will go and get the cartridges, and, with Mr. Wilkins and you two to keep off any one who approaches me, I shall be pretty safe.'
'Charlie's plan is the better of the two,' Ping Wang joined in; 'but he mustn't attempt to carry it out without help. If he has one or two men with him the Boxers will be less likely to attack him, and certainly the job will be done more quickly. I'll be one of the men to accompany him, and I should like Number One to be the other.'
Ping Wang asked Number One in Chinese if he would care to take part in fetching the ammunition. His face beamed at the idea.
'Get the ladder, then,' Barton said; and Charlie added, 'Bring a sack.'
Number One fetched both at once. The sack was thrown down into the road, and the ladder lowered quickly.
Charlie was the first to descend, but his companions followed so quickly that all three were on the ladder at the same time. Snatching up the sack the moment that he touched the ground, Charlie ran to the overturned wheelbarrow. Ping Wang and Number One were only a yard or two behind him, and soon all three were scooping up handfuls of cartridges and dropping them in the sack.
'Guns, mistah,' Number One exclaimed when the sack was about half full, and pointed to three rifles lying near.
'Pick them up,' Charlie said, 'and run back with them at once.'
'Can do,' Number One replied, and, collecting the rifles, ran back to the ladder, climbed up it, and handed his prize over the wall to Barton. Then, running to the barrow, he resumed his work of picking up cartridges.
'We needn't trouble about the others,' Charlie said when they had collected all but about thirty, which were scattered over a wide space, and, slinging the sack over his shoulder, he started for the ladder. At the same moment four shots were fired at him from the houses facing the mission, but without touching him or his companions. Mr. Wilkins, Barton, and Fred returned the fire instantly, but their opponents were hidden from view, and their shots were wasted—at least, they imagined that they were wasted; but it was a very fortunate thing for them that they had not touched a Boxer, for the fanatics no sooner found that they were unhurt by the foreigners' fire than they jumped to the conclusion again that they could not be wounded. One of them, springing up from his place of hiding on the roof, tried a standing shot at Charlie, but, before he had time to fire, Mr. Wilkins's rifle rang out, and the Boxer fell forward into the street. His death was not witnessed by the other Boxers, for they were in a different house. One of them exposed his head for a moment, and Barton and Fred fired simultaneously, and one, or perhaps both, hit it. But the other Boxers kept under cover, and one of them shot Number One through the left arm.
Ping Wang and Number One climbed the ladder in safety, but Charlie, whose progress was hampered by the sack, had not reached the foot of it.
'Drop the sack and run!' Fred shouted, but his brother either did not hear or would not take his advice.
'Run, Charlie! never mind about the sack,' Fred again shouted, but Charlie was now close to the foot of the ladder, and had no intention of losing his prize. A bullet tore up the ground a yard in front of him, and Fred, in desperation, fired the contents of his magazine at the spot where the man was hidden. The rapidity of the firing apparently frightened him, and Barton having wounded the other man, Charlie climbed the ladder without further harm; but just as he reached the safe side of the wall, a crowd of fully one hundred Boxers rushed round the corner, and began a determined attack on the mission.
(Continued on page 398.)
Those of you who have kept silkworms or other caterpillars must have noticed that these insects, from time to time, become listless, cease feeding, and finally 'moult,' or change their skin; but it may not have occurred to you to inquirewhythis change is necessary.
The reason is certainly a curious one, since it is the caterpillar way of growing. With most living creatures, growth is continuous until the full-grown size is reached; that is to say, it takes place by imperceptible degrees. Boys and girls add to the number of their inches so gradually that neither they themselves nor their friends can perceive the change, except by reference to old measurements. You cannotseepeople or animals growing, because the process is so steady and gradual. But with the insects, and their relatives, the crabs and lobsters, this is otherwise. Owing to its peculiar nature, the hard outer skin, which is of horny, or, as it is called, 'chitinous' nature, cannot grow gradually, and so the skin has to be cast off periodically. This casting-off process is known as 'moulting.' At each change of skin a sudden and easily noticed increase of size takes place; and, before further growth is possible, another moult must be undergone.
Directly after each moult the body will be found to be quite soft, but the skin quickly hardens again.
The manner in which the 'old clo'' are cast off is curious. For some time before the change takes place, the insect appears to 'sicken,' taking no food and wearing a very mournful air. At last it wakes up into something like activity. Now is the time to watch. If—in the case of a silkworm, for example—the watching is begun a little earlier than this, it will be found that the day before the change, the insect deliberately binds its hinder legs to the leaf on which it rests by silken threads. This done, it remains motionless. Soon after, through the transparent skin, a second head, larger than the first, will be seen; then the body is raised, and the skin is separated from it by the formation of a fluid which circulates between the old skin and the body. Next, by a series of vigorous movements, the old skin cracks along the back, and the insect first pushes out its head and the fore-part of the body, and then withdraws the hinder part. In a few minutes all is over, and the old skin is left bound to the leaf by the silken threads. How complete this change is may be seen from the fact that even the breathing tubes and the inner lining of the digestive organs are cast off.
This process, in the case of the caterpillar, takes place no less than four times—in some caterpillars five times. Ten days separate each of the first four moults, and an interval of sixteen days elapses between the fourth, or fifth, and last. This last moult is followed by a still greater change, the caterpillar passing into a state of coma, or sleep, during which it is turned into the butterfly or moth. For this purpose it spins a winding-sheet of silk, or digs down into the ground and forms a case, or cocoon; or else it hangs itself by the tail, and becomesstrangely transformed into what we call a 'chrysalis.' From the cocoon, or chrysalis, as the case may be, the butterfly or moth sooner or later makes its appearance.
Fig. 1.—Dragon-fly moulting.Fig. 1.—Dragon-fly moulting.
To give an idea of the great increase of growth in insects, let us take the case of the silkworm. At the time of hatching, the little worm weighs about the one-hundredth part of a grain; when fully grown, it weighs ninety-five grains. During this time, therefore, it has increased ninety-five thousand times its original weight, and it has eaten sixty thousand times its weight of food!
Fig. 3.—Empty Case of a Newly-moulted Cockroach.Fig. 3.—Empty Case of a Newly-moulted Cockroach.
The change from the worm-like caterpillar to the butterfly is a great one, and, if we did not know it so well, would be startling. This change is known as a 'complete metamorphosis.' The dragon-fly is another insect with a complete metamorphosis. How the dragon-fly moults you will see in the illustration (fig.1): even an acrobat might envy him!
Carefully examine the series of figures fromatod. The empty case atashows the last stage of the larval life. Out of this case the young dragon-fly is just emerging. Inche has gained his freedom, and is stopping to take breath and allow his wings to expand. By the time this has taken place, they will be nearly as long as the body (as ind).
The locust furnishes us with an instance of what is known as 'incomplete metamorphosis.' In other words, the young, when they emerge from the egg, are very little different from the parent form. The youngest locust in the illustration (fig.2) is obviously a locust, though he lacks wings; but there is no promise of the butterfly in the worm-like caterpillar.
Fig. 2.—Stages of Locust's Growth.Fig. 2.—Stages of Locust's Growth.
The cockroach, like the grasshopper and the locust, only undergoes an incomplete metamorphosis. The empty case of a newly-moulted cockroach is shown in fig.3. The slit(s) along the back marks the spot where the insect crept out.
(Continued from page 382.)
Some More Toys from the Streets.Some More Toys from the Streets.
The most remarkable toy in our second illustration is that in the middle. It is a wonderful Japanese screen or fan, which shuts up into the space of a few inches. These fans are made in three sizes, the largest, and the very latest, as far as invention goes, being eighteen inches in diameter. The whole of the fan is made by machinery! Anamazing machine cuts out each layer of paper of the proper size and shape, and when all the parts are ready, sticks them neatly together. Most Japanese toys—which reallyareJapanese, not mere imitations of Japanese designs—are made by hand; but this one is due to machinery alone.
The other toys in this picture are mostly machine-made, and their uses can be easily seen. But the cup and ball, and the 'two bears,' as the strange figures hammering on an anvil in the top left-hand corner are called, are made by hand. The latter comes all the way from a little village in Austria, and the figures are cut out by the villagers in their homes, before being fastened together. The sewing-machine is one of the most popular toys: thousands of gross of these have been sold, according to Messrs. Lawrence, of Houndsditch, who very kindly gave us some facts about this business. A 'gross' means one hundred and forty-four; when you consider that many times one hundred and forty-four thousand have been made and purchased, you will see what a vast trade is done.
The little train in a box, a very popular toy, is made in Germany, mainly by machinery. All the wheels of each carriage go round, and the carriages themselves can be unhooked and used separately. The funny little camera—of course, it does not take real photographs—is an English toy. So is the tiny tin of biscuits. The biscuits are real, and are made specially for these wonderful little boxes.
(Concluded on page 403.)
Pardon, dearest Araminta,If I go not on my knees,For my joints are out of order,When I bend they crack and wheeze.When I saw you in the doll's-house,Then I felt young Cupid's dartStriking through my crimson waistcoat,Till it stuck within my heart.Though my blood is not the bluest,Still, for you (the fact remains)I would gladly shed the last dropOf the sawdust in my veins.Do not scorn me, Araminta,To my suit your favour lend;I would fold my arms around you,Only that I cannot bend.For, before I fell in love, dear,Ere I hoped with you to wed,Careless Mistress Baby dropped meDown the stairs upon my head.But I'll probably recoverWhen I've had a dose of glue,And, come life or death, will everBe to Araminta true.
Pardon, dearest Araminta,If I go not on my knees,For my joints are out of order,When I bend they crack and wheeze.
When I saw you in the doll's-house,Then I felt young Cupid's dartStriking through my crimson waistcoat,Till it stuck within my heart.
Though my blood is not the bluest,Still, for you (the fact remains)I would gladly shed the last dropOf the sawdust in my veins.
Do not scorn me, Araminta,To my suit your favour lend;I would fold my arms around you,Only that I cannot bend.
For, before I fell in love, dear,Ere I hoped with you to wed,Careless Mistress Baby dropped meDown the stairs upon my head.
But I'll probably recoverWhen I've had a dose of glue,And, come life or death, will everBe to Araminta true.
It happened in Russia, when I was spending the winter with a cousin who lives in St. Petersburg. This was ten years ago and we were mere boys, both of us. There is plenty to do in Russia, in winter, for those who like sledging, skating, ice-yachting, and so on, and I think I thoroughly enjoyed all these forms of amusement. Well, one day near the beginning of the winter, before the really great snows had fallen, a big wind came and swept away every particle of snow that had fallen from the twenty miles of ice which divided St. Petersburg from Cronstadt, thus giving us such an opportunity for a day's skating on a grand scale as we might never meet with again throughout our lives.
My cousin Tom had an idea in the evening just before bed-time, with the result that we ordered sandwiches for an early hour next morning and went to bed promptly, our minds full of the delightful day we were going to spend on the Gulf of Finland, now a shining field of splendid, smooth ice.
The great day broke magnificently, a glorious, sunshiny December day, the thermometer at zero, or near it, but the air so dry and bathed in sun that one was not conscious of the cold.
Oh, the joy of feeling oneself flying through the air as we raced side by side over the firm, glass-like plain of ice! We must have skated at full pace for five miles at least before we pulled up, puffing and gloriously happy, in response to an exclamation from Tom.
'It's splendid,' he said, 'and I should like to go on for miles and miles; but Father warned me to look out when we came somewhere near the middle of the gulf; he has skated here a good deal in former years, and he says one must be on the look-out for fissures which are caused by a very hard frost like this; the ice suddenly cracks and parts, sometimes only a few inches, sometimes several feet, even up to fifteen feet or so. I believe I see a crack on ahead, and that's why I stopped.'
We skated slowly forward a short way. Sure enough, there opened out before our eyes, plain as possible, a fissure of several feet in width, the water looking black and cruel as it welled up to the edge of the ice as though it longed to get at us.
'Nice sort of place if one had skated up to it at dusk, eh?' said Tom.
The water certainly looked very grim.
'It's all very well, but what are we going to do?' said I. 'It will be no fun if this is the end of our skate, and we can't get to Cronstadt!'
'Perhaps it's only a local crack; we will skate along it, first one way and then the other, and see.'
We did so, but it appeared that the spot at which we originally struck the fissure was the narrowest place; it widened at either side.
We stood and stared at it. Tom spoke first.
'Dareyou?' he asked.
I saw what he meant and remained silent, considering. 'It's about six feet,' I said, 'I suppose one could fly it—both feet together, eh?'
'Yes; come on—no use thinking—we will go for it; I will give you a lead. Hold out your coat to me and pull me in if I fall short.'
Tom took a good run, got up a great speed, and launched himself into the air. He must have cleared eight or ten feet at least. 'Come on!' he laughed, 'it's as easy as winking.'
I must confess that I was more than a little frightened as I prepared to follow my daring cousin. I imitated his methods as closely as I could; I got a terrific speed up and let myself go.
I cleared the open water easily, but so great was my impetus that I turned head over heels at the other side, and lay panting and laughing on the ice.
Presently we were in full sweep once more towards Cronstadt; we reached the 'half-way house' without adventure; this was a little wooden hut built on the ice for the accommodation of travellers in need of shelter or warmth. It was kept by a man and his wife, who must have found it a weird house to live in all the winter.
'We heard wolves last night,' they told us; 'get back before dusk if you are wise!'
We thought little of the warning. We meant to be home by daylight. As for the wolves, they would have to be active animals to keep up with us at our pace!
Having enjoyed a cup of coffee and a cake apiece we continued our journey, and a few miles beyond the rest-house, came across another fissure which we calculated to be ten feet across.
By this time we were reckless, or very over confident. 'My turn to give you a lead!' said I, and suiting the action to the words, I worked up pace, flew out, and cleared the black water with ease. Tom followed and cleared it also, but in alighting he twisted his ankle a little. He uttered an exclamation of pain and sat down a moment, rubbing his leg. He said it was nothing serious, however, and indeed, he was up and off again in a few moments.
(Concluded on page 406.)
A curious sight is told of by a gentleman who was lately in Zanzibar. 'Perhaps the most vivid impression that I brought away from my hurried visit to Zanzibar,' he says, 'was that of seeing the native carpenters in the Cathedral carving the memorial to Bishop Smythies, and planing with their toes, which were decked with silver rings!'
'What a lovely day!' said Eileen, as she sat by her little brother's side, whilst John, the old boatman, rowed them across the bay. The rarest shells were only to be found at the Point, and both children were eager collectors.
'It seems always smooth water in this bay,' said Maurice—'so different from where we went last year in Cornwall. There the great, big waves seemed always dashing against the shore.'
'You wait a bit, Master Maurice!' said old John. 'You have only been here a week or two, and it has been fine weather all the time; but when a storm gets up, I will answer for it you would not know the place. There are no fiercer waves round England than those that beat against the cliffs yonder at times'—and the old man waved his hand at the cliffs just behind him.
'I should like to see a storm here,' said Maurice, as he clasped his hands round his knees and stared thoughtfully before him.
'Don't say that, sir,' answered John. 'It is a terrible thing, is a wreck on this coast; some poor vessel is sure to be dashed against the cruel cliffs in a storm, and then there are orphans and widows to mourn her loss.'
'Did you ever see a shipwreck?' asked Eileen.
'Many a one, Missy,' was the old man's quiet answer.
'But I mean, were you ever in a shipwreck?' pursued Eileen.
'I was, once,' said John, slowly.
'Oh, tell us about it, please!' begged Maurice.
'It's a long time ago now,' said the old boatman. 'I was a lad of twelve or thereabouts, on my first voyage. The vessel was theHope, of Liverpool, and we had a cargo of Manchester goods. It was roughish weather when we started, and it kept on getting worse and worse, and by-and-bye such a storm arose as it seemed impossible for any ship to weather. Anyway, it was too much for the poor oldHope—she was driven on to the rocks off the Welsh coast and broke up like matches.'
'But the people on board! what became of them?' asked Eileen in an awe-struck tone.
'Drowned!' said old John, shortly.
'But,' said Eileen, suddenly, 'you were on that ship—you said so—and you are not drowned!'
'No, Missy, I am not,' said the old man suddenly. 'I had a most wonderful escape. It seems hard to believe that a little ignorant boy as I was should have been the only one saved out of that fine crew; but so it was.'
'Tell us about it,' said Maurice, fixing his eyes on the old man's weather-beaten face.
'When the storm was at its worst, and it was plain that the ship must founder, a kind-hearted sailor took me with him to the top of the main-mast. We had hardly got there before the ship gave a great lurch, and I believe the mast fell. Anyway, when next I knew anything, I found myself lying on the grass at the top of a low cliff, with the sea roaring below me. I had been thrown there as the mast fell.'
'Were you the only one saved?' asked Maurice.
'So they told me,' said old John. 'But come,' he said, in a different tone, and beginning to row at his utmost speed, 'we must get to the Point before high tide, or there will be no shells for you to-day.'
The mention of shells drove away the melancholy thoughts which John's story had occasioned, and the wreck of theHopewas forgotten as the children landed at the Point and began eagerly searching for new specimens.
S. Clarendon.