Fig. 3.—Centipede (magnified).Fig. 3.—Centipede (magnified).
Centipedes and millipedes generally shun the light, and hide under stones and in crevices during the day. But there are some which love the sunlight. These kinds are remarkable for the great length and slenderness of the legs, which they part with readily when handled! Most of these long-legged species are brightly coloured with black and yellow stripes or spots. In their native haunts these creatures may be seen darting about after their prey in the sun, heedless of the notice they attract by reason of their pretty colours. Few birds or beasts would think of eating them, for these creatures have a providential instinct which tells them that the gaudily-coloured animals are generally very nasty to the taste!
W. P. Pycraft, F.Z.S., A.L.S.
So common is short-sightedness nowadays that military officers, and sometimes private soldiers, are allowed to wear spectacles. Formerly this was not the case. Where, by special permission of the authorities, exceptions had been made, the unfortunate wearers of glasses in the army came in for the ridicule of their comrades.
At the time when the French were fighting the Algerian chief, Abd-el-Kader, there was in a battalion of foot-chasseurs a spectacled adjutant namedDuterbre. His companions made great fun of him. A man who wore glasses could not, in their opinion, be much of a hero. One day Duterbre, engaged in a reconnoitring expedition, was slightly wounded, and taken prisoner by the enemy. He was brought before the Arab chief. The remainder of the French force had, in the meantime, taken refuge in a walled enclosure close by.
'Go to your companions,' said Abd-el-Kader to Duterbre, 'and tell them that their lives shall be spared if they will surrender. Yours, in that case, shall be spared also. But if they refuse to surrender, I will utterly exterminate them, and I will have you beheaded. And understand this clearly: I send you to your people on one condition—that whether or not they accept my terms, you are in any case to return to me. Do you accept my conditions?'
'I do,' replied Duterbre.
Duterbre left the Arab camp, well aware that his only chance of life lay in the surrender of his battalion. If the French soldiers resolved to fight on, he was bound in honour to go back to death.
Duterbre returned to his companions. He had always been a man of few words, and he said very little on this occasion. But what he said was to the point. It was this: 'Chasseurs! If you do not surrender, the Arabs are going to cut off my head. Now die rather than yield, every one of you!'
Then the brave fellow turned his back, and went straight to the Arab camp, with the message that the French refused to surrender.
The chief carried out his threat. The adjutant was beheaded, and his head—spectacles and all—was carried round the camp upon a pole for public exhibition. None could say that it was not the head of a brave man.
E. D.
No one can be pleased with me,I am dark and dull to see;Those whom money troubles teaseHate me, for I spoil their ease.Welsh am I, and English too,Scottish, in another view;Wide and narrow, small and great,Dreary, too, and desolate.Let him think of me, who eatsMarmalade, and other sweets;Full of work am I, and wealth,Though too closely packed for health.
No one can be pleased with me,I am dark and dull to see;Those whom money troubles teaseHate me, for I spoil their ease.
Welsh am I, and English too,Scottish, in another view;Wide and narrow, small and great,Dreary, too, and desolate.
Let him think of me, who eatsMarmalade, and other sweets;Full of work am I, and wealth,Though too closely packed for health.
[Answer on page 230.]
A Story of Adventure on the North Sea and in China.
(Continued from page 203.)
'What I am going to tell you,' Ping Wang began, 'is purely a family matter. It is the reason why I left China. My father was the mandarin of Kwang-ngan, and although he did not become a Christian, he was very friendly with the English missionaries, and when I was quite a little boy he asked them to teach me all the things which English boys were taught. When I was ten years old I was sent to a school at Hongkong, kept by an Englishman, and I remained there until I was eighteen. That, of course, accounts for my speaking English fairly well. When I was eighteen my father sent for me. But I found Chinese manners and customs were not pleasing to me after so many years among English people. Therefore I asked my father to permit me to return to Hongkong and become a merchant. He was considering the matter, and I believe that he would have given his consent, when he was seized by Chin Choo's orders and executed. He was unpopular with the authorities at Peking. The mandarin of every town has to squeeze as much money as he possibly can out of his people and send it to the authorities. My father was a kind-hearted man, and as he did not squeeze his people so much as most mandarins, he did not send so much money to the Imperial coffers as the authorities wished. Twice they reprimanded him, and Chin Choo, who lived at Kwang-ngan, hearing of this, went to Peking and asserted that my father retained for his own use the greater part of the money which he had squeezed out of the people. The high officials believed this false tale, and, having received bribes from Chin Choo, empowered him to have my father executed and succeed him as mandarin. My mother and brother were also killed, and our house burnt to the ground. Fortunately for me I was not in the town at the time, and hearing what had taken place I started off at once for Hongkong. Of course, it was useless for me to attempt to get Chin Choo punished, for such events are of frequent occurrence in parts of my poor country. So, having a little money, which I obtained by selling some jewellery which I possessed, I took a passage to England. What has happened to me since I have already told you.'
'It is a very sad story,' Charlie declared, feelingly; 'and I am exceedingly sorry for you. But what surprises me is, that after having suffered so much in your native land you should think of returning to it.'
'I will tell you my reason. Chin Choo confiscated all our property, but I hope to be able to recover a very valuable portion of it. Before our house was burnt to the ground, everything that it contained was removed to Chin Choo's residence. Among those things was a large brass image of Buddha. If I can recover that I shall be a rich man!'
'But brass images of Buddha are not very valuable.'
'That one is, because it was my father's safe—a receptacle for his very precious rubies. He made the idol himself, and no one but he and I knew how to open it. Chin Choo will never discover the secret, or guess that the idol contains anything. Therefore I wish to return to my native place in disguise, and obtain that idol by some means or other. If I succeed in obtaining it, I shall be a rich man.'
'I should like to go with you,' Charlie exclaimed.
'I wish you could,' Ping Wang answered, eagerly. 'I can read character well enough to know that youare not what you pretend to be. You have come to sea for novelty or curiosity, but not for necessity. If you accompany me to my native place, I promise you that if I recover my father's idol I will repay you all the expense to which you have been put, and give you some of the precious stones.'
'I wasn't thinking of the stones, but of the adventure and experience. If my father raises no objection, and will supply me with the necessary money, I will go with you gladly.'
Ping Wang was delighted, and Charlie added to his high spirits by confiding to him the reason of his being aboard theSparrow-hawk.
'So your father is the man whom the skipper hopes to swindle!' Ping Wang exclaimed, and went off into a fit of laughter.
'Stop that row!' the skipper shouted, coming aft. 'Can't you find any work to do? I'll have no loafers aboard my boat. Here, you Chinee, you get for'ard, and trim the lamps.'
Ping Wang rose to obey.
'Hurry up!' the skipper growled, and kicked him.
In a moment Charlie was on his feet. 'You wretched little bully!' he said to the skipper. 'If you ill-treat that man again, I will knock you down.'
'You dare to threaten me on my own ship!' the skipper shouted, white with rage. 'I'm the skipper, and I'll let you know it. I'll clap you in irons if you give me any of your back answers.'
'Why not try kicking me instead?'
'I'll give you in charge for mutiny when we get back to Grimsby.'
'I shouldn't be in a hurry to enter a police-court, if I were you. Prosecutors are sometimes asked unpleasant questions.'
The chief engineer at that moment came up from the engine-room.
'Skipper, I want a word with you,' he said.
'Right you are,' the skipper replied, and walked over to him, well pleased to bring his argument with Charlie to an end. Charlie was not really a very formidable opponent for a grown man, but Skipper Drummond, like many bullies, was a great coward.
Charles, left alone, resumed his seat on the ropes and, forgetting for a time the skipper's existence, spent a pleasant half-hour in thinking over the story which Ping Wang had related to him.
About three hours after the quarrel, theSparrow-hawkarrived at the 'Dogger,' a submarine bank, the nearest point of which is about sixty miles from England. It is one hundred and seventy miles long and seventy miles broad.
'We shall shoot in an hour's time,' the mate said to Charlie, 'and you must give us a hand.'
'Whom are you going to shoot?' Charlie inquired, jokingly.
'I know whom you would like to shoot—the skipper. He has taken a dislike to you, and tells me that you are the biggest scoundrel he ever had aboard.'
The mate smiled as he spoke, and added, after a few moments' interval: 'The skipper is a queer customer, and, if you take my advice, you will do all you can to please him. Anyhow, he says that you are to give a hand when we shoot and when we haul the trawl.'
'I am to be fisherman as well as cook. Is he going to pay me double wages?'
'You had better ask him. Got a mug of tea handy?'
Charlie had, and he gave it to him.
'We shall want tea again after shooting,' the mate said to Charlie as he replaced the mug on the hook.
Leaving the big kettle on the stove, Charlie went out to witness the preparations for beginning fishing, and was just in time to see the men anchor a small buoy, fitted with a light and a flag. This was anchored so that theSparrow-hawk, by keeping it in sight, should not wander away from the fishing-ground. They were in about twenty-six fathoms of water, and, if they lost sight of the buoy, they would probably steam into deeper water, and the net would then be unable to reach the bottom. By day the fishermen keep within sight of the buoy-flag; by night they watch the buoy-light. In fishing fleets, when some twenty or thirty steam trawlers belong to one firm, an old smack called a 'mark-ship' is anchored on the fishing-ground. It can be seen for many miles in daylight, and by night its whereabouts is made known by rockets fired from it. But 'single boaters,' such as theSparrow-hawk, have to rely upon their own little flag and light-buoys.
When theSparrow-hawkhad anchored her buoy she steamed off, and, punctually at five o'clock, 'shot her gear,' or, in plainer language, lowered her big triangular fishing-net. This having been done without a hitch, the men had their tea. Charlie took his in the galley, having determined to spend as little time as possible in the foc's'le. He had discovered that the crew of theSparrow-hawkwas composed of the black sheep of Grimsby and Hull. They were men whom no decent North Sea skipper would have had on his boat. On nearly all the trawlers working out of Yarmouth, Grimsby, and Hull, the men are fine, manly, thoroughbred Englishmen, facing danger fearlessly and uncomplainingly year in and year out. Drunkenness is almost unknown among them, and bad language is rarely heard. If Charlie had been on almost any other boat than theSparrow-hawkhe would have thoroughly enjoyed sitting at the foc's'le table, having a chat with the men. But to save a few pounds the skipper had engaged, at low wages, men who were known to be bad characters, and who could not, therefore, get a job on any other trawler. Skipper Drummond had himself been discharged for drunkenness by the owners of a fleet in whose employ he had been for some years. Where he got the money from to purchase a trawler was a mystery to most people, although it was discovered later that a betting-man was in partnership with him.
Charlie, being satisfied that the skipper intended to make an attempt to swindle his father, was anxious to get back to Lincoln as speedily as possible to make known what he had discovered. He had forgotten to ask the bow-legged cook how long theSparrow-hawkwould remain at sea, and could, therefore, form no idea of when he would get home.
(Continued on page 218.)
"The skipper cruelly kicked the Chinaman.""The skipper cruelly kicked the Chinaman."
"'Can he do this?' Charlie asked.""'Can he do this?' Charlie asked."
A Story of Adventure on the North Sea and in China.
(Continued from page 215.)
While Charlie was regretting his ignorance of trawlers' movements, Ping Wang appeared at the galley-door.
'Well,' Charlie said, 'has the skipper said anything more to you?'
'No,' Ping Wang answered, smilingly; 'I believe you have frightened him. But he will pay you out somehow or other.'
'I hope, for his own sake, that he won't attempt to, for I hate the little fellow already, and if he interferes with me unnecessarily I will give him a sound thrashing.'
'He is very strong,' Ping Wang remarked, warningly.
'Can he do this?' Charlie asked, catching hold of a bucket full of water and holding it easily at arm's-length straight from the shoulder.
Ping Wang made no reply but gazed at Charlie in astonishment. Charlie was slightly built, and Ping Wang had no idea that he was so strong. But he had gone in for a course of physical development exercises before coming to Grimsby, and was in fine condition.
'If the skipper thinks, as I did, that you are not very strong,' he said at last, 'he will be very surprised.'
'Well,' Charlie said, rather pleased at the astonishment he had caused, 'let us forget him for a time. When do we return to Grimsby?'
'In three or four days.'
'So soon? I thought we were out for three weeks, at the least. I had an idea that steam trawlers always remained out for three weeks.'
'Boats belonging to the fleets do. A steam carrier collects the boxes of fish from them every morning, and carries them off to London. But single boaters have to take in their own fish to Grimsby, and therefore they have to run in every few days, or else the fish wouldn't be fresh.'
'Then I shan't have to endure the skipper for as long as I expected.'
'You'll have to endure him for seven or eight weeks, I'm afraid. When we run in just to land fish we are not allowed to quit the ship. After unloading we sail as soon as possible.'
'But do you mean to say that he can prevent my leaving the ship at Grimsby?'
'I believe he can. You see, if men were allowed to leave whenever they liked, the fishing industry would soon be upset.'
'I didn't think of that. However, I will get a substitute if possible. There will be no objection to that, I suppose?'
'I don't know. The skipper is a curious kind of fellow, and he may refuse to let you go, so that he may have the pleasure of bullying you. Why don't you pretend that you are ill? He would put you ashore very soon then.'
'I don't like the idea of getting out of an unpleasant position in that way. By-the-bye, how do you pass the time away before hauling the trawl?'
'Some of the men turn in, and others play cards or draughts. Do you care about draughts?'
'Oh, yes, but I won't go down in the foc's'le to play.'
'I will bring the board up here if it is not being used.'
Ping Wang hurried away, and returned in a minute or two with the draughts.
'They are having a sing-song in the foc's'le,' he said. 'The skipper is there, and is a little bit the worse for drink.'
Charlie won the first game at draughts, and they had just begun a second when the skipper suddenly appeared at the galley door. His face was flushed, and there was a wild look in his eyes.
'The galley is not the place for playing draughts,' he said, and with his hand swept the pieces off the board.
Charlie and Ping Wang made no remark. It was plain to them that he had paid that visit for the sole purpose of bullying them, and they were wondering what his next complaint would be.
'I want a mug of tea,' he said, seeing that the kettle was not boiling.
Charlie put the kettle on the fire at once.
'That's the result of playing draughts when you ought to be at work,' the skipper growled. 'I always want some tea at this time.'
'In future it shall be ready, sir,' Charles replied, calmly.
'Future—eh?—I want it now. What's that Chinee doing here?'
'I thought you noticed that Ping Wang was playing draughts with me.'
'You're not paid to think. I do that for all the crew.'
Then the skipper turned his attention to prying into the pots and pans, to see if he could discover anything which would give him an opportunity to find fault. To his evident annoyance he did not succeed in discovering anything, for Charlie had done his work thoroughly, and the cooking utensils looked much cleaner than when he entered on his duties.
In a few minutes the tea was ready, and as soon as the skipper tasted it he made a grimace, and exclaimed, 'Beastly wash!—Do you hear?' he exclaimed, finding that Charlie did not speak. 'It's wash!'
'It is made in exactly the same way as the other tea you have had during the day,' Charlie declared.
'Then I must have drunk wash before. But I won't drink this. Here, Chinee, you drink it.'
'Me no want any, skipper,' Ping Wang answered.
'Don't want it, eh? What does that matter? Drink it at once.'
Ping Wang shook his head, and the skipper immediately flung the contents of his mug full in the Chinaman's face. The tea was very hot, and with a cry of pain Ping Wang ran at his tormentor. Stepping backwards quickly, to avoid him, the skipper stumbled over the weather-board at the entrance to the galley, and fell heavily on to the deck.
The mate, who had been pacing the deck, ran to pick him up. 'What's the matter, skipper?' he asked.
'That Chinee has knocked me down,' the skipper declared.
'He did nothing of the kind,' Charlie declared, and related to the mate exactly what happened.
'You'd better get an hour or two's sleep before we haul,' the mate said to the skipper, and, taking his arm, led him away.
'I think we had better turn in also,' Ping Wang said, and Charlie at once went forward with him.
The other men were already asleep. The ventilators were all closed, and the foc's'le was so close and stuffy that Charlie thought, at first, that he would have to go on deck again. But, being very tired, he determined to stay where he was, and clambered into his bunk. He slept soundly, in spite of the bad air, until Ping Wang aroused him. It was a quarter to eleven, and the men were donning their oilskins, with a view to hauling.
'You had better put the kettle on,' Ping Wang said to Charlie; 'all hands will want tea before they turn in again.'
Charlie, wearing his oilskins, went to the galley at once. As he passed along the deck he shivered, for a breeze had sprung up, and the air struck cold, after the stuffiness of the foc's'le.
(Continued on page 226.)
'We must not forget the gardener,' says a visitor, describing Walmer Castle at the time when Wellington was Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports. This gardener, a fine-looking, elderly man, was at the battle of Waterloo, and when his regiment was disbanded, the Duke offered him the post of head gardener at Walmer Castle.
The good fellow objected, for, to use his own words, he 'did not then know a moss rose from a cabbage,' but the Duke was determined, and, as a soldier, the man could but obey orders. 'But now,' he said to the visitor, 'I get on pretty well.'
'And like it?' he was next asked.
'Oh, yes.'
'But suppose war were to break out—would you be a soldier again?'
'Why, that must depend on the Duke: if he said I must go, of course I must.'
'How did you manage when you first came here?'
'Why, as well as I could. It was rather awkward.'
'Perhaps you studied hard—read a good deal?'
'No, I didn't read at all.'
'You looked about you, then?'
'Yes, I did that.'
'And now you get on very well?'
'Why, yes; but I am plagued sometimes: the names of the flowers puzzle me sadly.'
'And what does the Duke say to that?'
'Oh, I have him there,' said the soldier gardener, 'for he doesn't know them himself!'
The visitor also stated that the garden abounded in flowers—not rare ones, but rich and luxuriant, with a well-kept lawn, in the midst of which was a lime-tree, which the Duke always declared to be the finest he had ever seen.
The experiment of turning a soldier into a head gardener seems to have been quite successful.
A little English schoolboy was sauntering along the quay, looking rather bored. It was a picturesque scene—this port of the Black Sea—with the varied craft in the harbour, and the varied nationalities represented by the groups of men who chattered and gesticulated, or lounged and slept in the sunshine.
But what, he thought, were the summer holidays without cricket? Of course, it was jolly to be with his people again, but Dick did wish they lived in England. The boys at school had envied him because his journey home would take him through the unrestful Balkan territory, and he might have all manner of adventures. It was very hard that there had been none, though the train after his had been held up, and had not got through without some fighting.
He reached the end of the stone pier, where half-a-dozen men were leaning over a low parapet.
'What is your pleasure, little Milord?' one asked him. This was their nickname for the boy, who had been a favourite with them since he had learnt to order them about in their own tongue when not much more than a baby.
'My pleasure is a cricket match,' he answered, 'and as far as I can see it is a pleasure I shall have to do without.'
'Would not little Milord like to fish?' asked another. 'See, one already is trying his luck,' and he pointed to a boy about Dick's age sitting on the parapet with his line in the water below.
'A foolish place to try, with the current running as strong as it does round the end of the pier,' Dick said. 'He is not likely to get a bite there.'
Even as he spoke the boy jumped up suddenly and turned round. No one saw exactly how it happened, but he missed his balance, and with a scream fell into the water.
For a minute Dick waited. He was such a little chap, and of course one of those big men would jump in after the boy. But no! they stood staring at each other with terrified faces, and never moved.
Then over the wall went Dick into the water beneath. The boy had risen, and he struck out for him, reaching him easily enough, for the current carried him. It was getting back which was difficult.
The men at the pier-head ran about and shouted in a frantic way. 'A boat!' shouted one. 'A rope!' called another; while a third wrung his hands and moaned, 'They are lost! they are lost!'
And Dick battled and battled against the current with the dead weight of the boy hindering him from making any perceptible way. It never even occurred to him that by letting his burden go he might at any rate save himself. And his English pluck came to his help. He wouldn't be beaten. He justhadto get to land somehow, and he must not let himselfthink of anything else. The men, too, had at last found a rope and were flinging it to him. If only he could get near it! Once it was just within his grasp, but he was beaten back again. Then, with a final tremendous effort, he struck out again and reached it, and held on like grim death, though the singing in his ears and his struggling, panting breath warned him his strength was nearly exhausted. By this time, however, a boat was nearing them, and soon the boys were on land, though the lad Dick had saved was with difficulty brought back to consciousness.
Dick himself was rather white and limp, but otherwise not much the worse for his adventure.
'Why didn't one of you go in after him? I gave you a chance,' he said to the men.
'The water was too cold,' muttered one.
'Too deep!' said another.
'Too dangerous!' growled a third.
And the small schoolboy shrugged his shoulders and went home, to be made a great fuss over by his mother and sisters, which he thought absurd; but he liked the quiet look of pleasure his father gave him when he came in after hearing the news in the town, though he only said, 'Good business, my son!'
And although he is very shy of showing them, I think Dick is rather proud of his two medals: one of the country where the courageous act was performed, and that other of dull bronze which the Royal Humane Society presents to England's brave sons and daughters.
Dick thought it took far more courage to walk up and receive this medal amidst the cheers of the boys and their gay company on Prize-day, than it did to jump in to the rescue of the boy in the Black Sea.
"The elephant uses his nose as a hand.""The elephant uses his nose as a hand."
The wonderful contrivances by which animals manage to do beautiful work without tools, to walk without feet, to fly without wings, to talk without a voice, and to make their wants known not only to each other but to their human friends, without understanding or speaking human words, would fill a large book. No creature boasts of a hand like our own; even that of the monkey, though his fingers resemble man's, has a thumb which is nearly useless. The American spider-monkeys prefer to use their long tails as hands, plucking fruits with the tips and carrying them to their mouths. The elephant uses his nose as a hand (for his trunk is nothing else but a long nose), and with this makeshift hand he can pick up either a heavy cannon or a sixpence from the ground. The horse uses his tail as a hand to drive off flies which he cannot otherwise reach. On board ship a hen was once seen to use her neck as a hand. She and the other fowls used to quarrel over the laying-boxes, and though the nests looked all alike to a human eye, this hen coveted one special box, and would lay nowhere else. One day her master took the china nest-egg out of the box and put it into another one, to see what she would do. He watched her through the chink of a door, and saw her hunt till she found the egg, curl her neck round it like a big finger, lift it thus, and carry it back to the old box, where she sat on it in triumph.
Stories of rats who have been seen to carry off eggs, embracing them by their tails, are common enough, and everybody has watched animals of different kinds using their mouths to carry things from place to place. Not only lions, tigers, wolves, and bears carry their young in this way, but rabbits, squirrels, mice, and many other creatures. The mother-whale tucks her little one under her huge fin, using it as a hand and arm in one; in time of danger she carries him off thus at the risk of her own life from under the very harpoons of the whalers.
All young animals have an instinct which prompts them to run to their parents for protection when frightened, trusting not only in the older and wiser heads, but in the faithful hearts which have never failed them. Though sheep, cattle, deer, and such-like, have no notion of using their jaws as hands, or of lifting their little ones, many of the young will use their limbs to cling to those who are strongerand swifter than themselves. The four-footed elders will perish rather than desert the youngsters, and will, if possible, contrive to beat a retreat, helping along the weaker ones as best they can.
A very touching story of the devotion of deer to their fawns comes from America. While two men were riding along a creek in California, they saw, some distance ahead, a doe and her fawn drinking from the river. The bank was very steep, and the river deep at that point. When the deer saw the hunters they were startled, and in trying to turn, the little one lost its balance and fell into the creek. The water was running very swiftly, and of course the fawn was carried down-stream. At this the poor mother seemed to lose all fear of the men, and ran wildly along the bank, trying to reach her little one with her head, but in vain. She next ran forward for a short distance, plunged in, steadied herself by planting her feet firmly among some rocks, and waited. Presently the fawn was washed against her, and, as it was being swept by, caught hold of its mother, stretching out its forelegs and clasping her neck, much as a little child uses his arms in clinging to his nurse. The doe then carefully stepped ashore with her precious burden. She lay down beside the baby deer, and, although the hunters were not thirty yards away, she licked and fondled the little thing till it rose to run, when she too sprang up, and the pair trotted off unharmed to the woods.
"He saw her curl her neck round the egg like a big finger.""He saw her curl her neck round the egg like a big finger."
Many birds use their wings as arms and hands when flight will not serve their turn. A partridge was seen to hustle and drive her little troop of chicks into the shelter of a rabbit-hole with her wings, out of the way of a hawk whose shadow had fallen on the grass at their side. Here she kept them prisoners till all was safe.
"The fawn caught hold of its mother, clasping her neck.""The fawn caught hold of its mother, clasping her neck."
The lesson to be drawn from such stories is that even wild, untaught creatures do not use their limbs in a senseless way as parts of a machine, without thinking, but are able to turn them to a variety of uses in times of difficulty. We shall, of course, find that tame animals such as the horse, dog, and cat act more wisely in such ways than their wild relations. The dog, for instance, turns his rough idea of using his mouth for carrying food or young ones, to fetching and carrying for his own benefit or his master's. A handsome brown spaniel lately noticed that his mistress, in carrying a bowl of water, upset some of the contents on the floor. Off dashed Master Jack, intent on 'making himself generally useful,' and quickly returned with the house flannel from the kitchen. This he laid beside the pool, with an intelligent, uplifted look which said, 'There! wipe it up.' Did not this sensible fellow's mouth become a splendid makeshift hand, and his glance an excellent speech?
Edith Carrington.
The leaves and flowers of plants often grow into very strange shapes. The flowers of various kinds of orchids are very remarkable for the peculiar forms which they take. Some of them have a great resemblance to bees, flies, or butterflies, and this resemblance is at times so great that we wonder whether it is only an accidental likeness, or whetherit serves some useful purpose. One of the oddest shapes which any plant takes, however, is that of the leaves of the pitcher-plant; and in this case naturalists, who have studied the plant carefully, are able to show us that the strange shape of the leaf really serves a purpose.
The pitcher-plants are most abundant in the islands of Borneo, Java, and Sumatra, and in the Malay Peninsula. Though not so plentiful elsewhere, they are also found in Ceylon, Madagascar, the Moluccas, and one or two other places. The plant is a kind of creeping or climbing shrub which runs along the ground, or climbs up other shrubs and short trees. It seems to thrive best upon the mountaintops, and the summits of the mountains of Borneo are often gaily decked with it.
There are thirty or forty different kinds of pitcher-plants, varying in size a great deal. But the strange thing about all of them is that the ends of their leaves are shaped like pitchers, or perhaps it would describe them better if we said they were like jugs with lids. It is from this peculiarity that the plant takes its name. The leaf is the shape of any ordinary leaf until it reaches its point, where it is drawn out into a long stalk or tendril, at the end of which is the jug or pitcher, which, you must remember, is formed out of the leaf itself. Each plant has its own shape of jug, and the jugs vary in size a good deal. Some are long and slender; others are broad and shallow. Some are tiny jugs only an inch deep, while others are perhaps twenty inches deep. Their colour is green, but the mouth of the jug and the under side of the lid, which is always open, are spotted with red or purple, somewhat like a flower.
Not only do these strange leaves look like jugs, but they are also used as jugs. Each of them contains a little supply of water, varying with the size of the jug from a few drops in the smallest, to as much as two quarts in the largest of them. Thirsty travellers have sometimes quenched their thirst from these natural jugs, when no other water was to be found. Though the water itself is palatable, it is a little warm, and it is always full of insects.
If any one were to watch one of these jugs of the pitcher-plant for some time attentively, he would soon find that it served as a trap for flies and insects. One by one the little creatures alight upon the outside of the jug, and creep into the open mouth, and few or none of them ever return. They slip into the water at the bottom of the jug and are drowned.
If we examine a jug carefully, in order to learn why the insects enter it, and how it is that they cannot get out again, we shall be surprised at the clever way in which the trap is made. The mouth of the jug has a thick ring round it, which makes it firm, and keeps it always open. The lid stands over this mouth, and seems to be always raised a good deal, so that insects and flies may enter freely; but it covers the mouth in such a way as to prevent anything from falling accidentally into the jug from above. The underside of the lid and the mouth of the jug are often gaily coloured, so as to attract insects, as brightly-coloured flowers do. Some of the jugs even make a little honey, which, forming just inside the mouth, attracts insects by its scent. Within the jug, just below the mouth, there is a row of stiff hooks, which have their points turned inwards towards the bottom of the jug. Below the spikes the sides of the jug are so smooth and slippery that few insects could stand on them.
It is easy to see how the trap works. Insects are attracted to the pitcher by the bright colours of the lid or the scent of the honey. They creep into the mouth, and crawl between the hooks, whose sharp points are set the other way, and they step upon the smooth and slippery inside of the jug. In another instant they have slipped into the water at the bottom of the jug. Do what they will, they cannot climb up the slippery sides of the pitcher, or pass the row of sharp hooks, whose points are turned against them. They are caught.
Now all this is very strange and wonderful, and it makes us wish to know why Providence has given the plant this clever machinery. We cannot help asking ourselves why the pitcher-plant entraps these insects. I am afraid that you would hardly be able to answer this question for yourself, however carefully you might watch a pitcher-plant. Indeed, it is only a few years since clever men, making careful experiments, were able to find out the real truth. The fluid at the bottom of the pitcherdigeststhose insects, and the pitcher-plant feeds upon them. Just as the juices of our stomach dissolve meat, so that it may pass into the blood and nourish us, so the fluid in the jug of the pitcher-plant dissolves the flesh of the insects which fall into it, and makes that flesh fit to nourish the plant. This strange plant lives, in part at least, upon flesh; and all the clever mechanism of its jug is used simply to get a meal.
As through the busy world you go,Remember this is true,That though one seems a little thing,Yet one and one make two.The task one could not do alone,Is done with help from you,For though you are a little one,Yet one and one make two.The thread that's rolled the reel around,That baby's hands can break,When with it other threads are bound,The strongest rope doth make.The rope thrown by some helping hand,And drawn the waters through,May bring a drowning man to land:—So one and one make two.The minutes grow into the hours,The hours into the day,The days to weeks, to months, to years,And thus time flies away.And deeds of good by children done,Though small they seem to you,May grow into a mighty sum,For one and one make two.
As through the busy world you go,Remember this is true,That though one seems a little thing,Yet one and one make two.
The task one could not do alone,Is done with help from you,For though you are a little one,Yet one and one make two.
The thread that's rolled the reel around,That baby's hands can break,When with it other threads are bound,The strongest rope doth make.
The rope thrown by some helping hand,And drawn the waters through,May bring a drowning man to land:—So one and one make two.
The minutes grow into the hours,The hours into the day,The days to weeks, to months, to years,And thus time flies away.
And deeds of good by children done,Though small they seem to you,May grow into a mighty sum,For one and one make two.
T
wo hundred needlewomen were busy for a month making the 'Giant's' coat. It contained twenty thousand yards of white silk, of double thickness, at six shillings a yard, and when finished measured ninety yards round and sixty yards in height. When it was filled it held 6098 cubic yards of gas. M. Nadar, its master, introduced it to the people of Paris in the hope that the money they would pay to see it would enable him to carry out his experiments with flying machines. On October 4th, 1863, the Giant was ready to make its first voyage in the clouds, and nearly five hundred thousand people assembled to see it start.
It was like a cottage made of wicker-work, and mounted on small wheels. In two of the four walls there was a door with two small windows each side of it, and inside there was a little world of wonders. The 'cottage' was only fifteen feet long, twelve wide, and eight high; but it was divided up so carefully by thin partitions that there was room for a small printing-office, a photographic department, a refreshment-room, a compartment for the captain's bed and passengers' luggage, and another at the opposite end, with three beds in it. Outside all this, but inside the walls of wicker-work, was an inflated rubber lining, so as to prevent it from sinking if, by any mischance, the 'Giant' should fall into the sea. Thus, according to circumstances, the building could be either the car of a balloon, a ship at sea, or a caravan being drawn by horses upon the wheels already mentioned along a country road. From the inside a narrow stairway led on to the roof, or deck.
When all was ready, M. Nadar, leaning from the deck, gave the word. The ropes were let go, and the Giant rose solemnly towards the sky. Fifteen voyagers waved their hats and handkerchiefs over the bulwarks, returning the greetings of the crowd till carried beyond sight and hearing.
Though the launch was a success, the poor Giant had been served very badly by some careless persons, all unknown to those on board. The pilot, a clever aeronaut, named Godard, was a little surprised that very soon after leaving the ground he had to begin throwing out ballast, to stop them from sinking. This went on for some hours, and when darkness had fallen, and all the world had disappeared, it became clear that the balloon must descend. They had attained a height of many thousand feet. It was nearly nine o'clock, and supper on deck was over, when Godard, finding that the descent was becoming too rapid, called out, 'Hold to the ropes!'
Every passenger seized some portion of the ropes, so that the shock of contact with the earth might be somewhat lessened. Down came the Giant, a great deal more swiftly than it had risen; and the last bags of ballast were emptied over the side with little effect. The blow was tremendous, and the wonder is that the passengers escaped with their lives. An inquiry was held, and the Giant itself was proved blameless. The valves for allowing the escape of gas had never been properly closed! Thus, from the very moment when they left Paris, the gas was pouring out at the top; and it was only through the enormous quantity used that they succeeded in rising at all.
A fortnight later M. Nadar was ready to sail again. This time the Giant had nine passengers, who were destined to make an eventful voyage. Anchor was weighed in the evening, and very soon, at a great height, all eyes were turned to watch the beautiful sunset. As the shadows of night gathered round them, however, more than one traveller looked anxiously at the gigantic ball above. Supposing anything should go wrong with it! It looked such a tremendous distance down to the earth.
When day dawned again at last, after a night during which no one had closed his eyes, they found themselves hanging over the fens of Holland, many miles from Paris. Fearing that the wind might carry them out to sea, they agreed to descend. But, on reaching the lower air, the huge balloon was caught in what proved to be almost a hurricane. It drove them towards the ground at a long angle, until, like a falling kite, the Giant struck the earth head foremost, dragging the car behind it at a terrible speed. The travellers hung on for dear life. Again and again the car struck, and rebounded thirty or forty feet into the air. With the first blow the valve-rope was jerked beyond reach, so that it became impossible to let the gas escape.
Mile after mile they tore through the country, crashing into trees, and scattering herds of cattle right and left. All the anchor-ropes, dropped one after the other, had been snapped like thread, the last catching in the roof of a cottage, and tearing it open before giving way. Then, to the horror of the passengers, a railway-train appeared a short distance ahead, spinning along at great speed. A collision seemed inevitable; but with one united effort they shouted to the driver. He heard them, and reversed his engine, and the next moment they whirled by, dragging telegraph wires and poles after them. And now a hero came to their rescue. Jules Godard, the pilot's brother, after many fruitless attempts, climbed into the network and secured the valve-rope. The gas was now slowly discharged, and before the bag was empty the passengers had either jumped or been jolted from the car, bruised and shaken, but happily without loss of life.
After making such a wonderful name for itself, the Giant took a short sea voyage on board a real ship, and crossed the Channel to England, and, blown out with harmless air, hung under the great glass dome of the Crystal Palace for visitors to admire. After this it made only one or two more journeys to the clouds, and ended its career as a poor captive balloon in the gardens of Cremorne.